Evan Roth stopped just inside the doorway of the therapy room, his body reacting before his mind could form a single coherent thought. His briefcase slipped from his hand and landed against the wall with a dull sound he barely registered. The wheelchairs that usually framed the space like silent sentries stood empty near the window, pushed aside as if they no longer belonged there. On the padded floor, his twin sons sat cross legged, their thin legs extended in front of them, while Rachel Monroe knelt nearby, her hands resting lightly against their calves as she spoke to them in a voice so calm it felt almost unreal.

For a moment, Evan could not breathe. The sight alone was enough to send a sharp wave of fear through him, the kind born from months of warnings, medical charts, and carefully rehearsed boundaries drilled into him since the accident. “What is going on here?” he asked, though the words came out strained and uneven.

Rachel looked up slowly, clearly startled to see him, but she did not withdraw her hands. “They asked to sit on the floor,” she said evenly. “Their backs were stiff, and I wanted to help them stretch a little.”

“You had no right,” Evan replied, stepping forward despite himself. His heart hammered in his chest as he gestured toward the empty wheelchairs. “They are not supposed to be out of those chairs. You know that.”

“They are supposed to be comfortable,” Rachel answered, her tone steady without being defiant. “And they are supposed to feel like children, not patients.”

The twins sensed the tension immediately. Aaron’s fingers curled against the mat, his earlier smile fading into uncertainty, while Simon glanced between his father and Rachel as if unsure which reaction was expected of him. Evan felt something sharp twist inside his chest at the sight.

“Put them back,” he said quietly. “Now.”