‘Give me your wheelchair and you’ll walk’—The boy in the wheelchair began to cry… An hour later

Jonah closed his eyes. “Good.”

The sensation spread, growing, trembling into awareness, into something that felt like possibility. Samuel pushed forward, muscles shaking, disbelief flooding his senses as his body began to respond in ways it never had before. With a cry that startled the birds above, he stood—unsteady, but standing—tears streaming freely as he gazed at the ground beneath his feet.

“I’m standing,” he whispered. “I’m standing.”

Jonah opened his eyes, a soft relief in his expression, and nodded encouragingly.

Samuel took a step. Then another, each movement fragile but monumental, until he collapsed into Nadia’s arms, laughing and crying all at once.

The miracle didn’t stay a secret for long.

Marianne arrived moments later, her breath caught by the sight of her son walking toward her, his determination shaking but resolute. She dropped to her knees, holding him as if letting go might make the moment vanish.

That night, the Prescott household was filled with disbelief and awe, but with the morning came unease. Jonah didn’t return to the park. Not that day, or the next, or the day after.

Samuel felt something was wrong.

They searched, and it wasn’t long before an elderly vendor whispered about an accident, about a boy hit by a motorcycle and taken to a public hospital at the city’s edge.

Samuel’s heart shattered.

The hospital was dim and crowded, its air thick with exhaustion and waiting. They found Jonah at the end of a long hallway, small and still beneath wires and machines, his breathing aided by mechanical rhythm.

Samuel made his way toward him, on legs uncertain but steady, taking Jonah’s hand with reverence and desperation.

“You saved me,” he whispered. “Please stay.”

Marianne watched her son pray for the first time—not out of fear for himself, but out of love for someone who had given without asking anything in return. When Samuel’s father, Lawrence Prescott, arrived, his composed facade crumbled at the sight of his son standing beside a dying child. He moved with sudden urgency, calling in specialists and surgeons, using every resource at his disposal to save the boy who had changed everything.

Jonah fought back, slowly but persistently, until one quiet afternoon his eyes fluttered open and he spoke Samuel’s name.

From then on, their lives became intertwined in ways neither family fully understood. But miracles have a way of attracting hunger, and hope draws those who wish to consume it.

Strangers came, desperate and demanding, convinced that Jonah owed them salvation. One night, overcome with fear about what his presence might unleash, Jonah slipped away without a word, leaving behind only silence and the echo of what he had given.

Samuel mourned, but he also understood. Some people come not to stay, but to awaken something vital and then leave so it can grow. And though Jonah vanished into the vastness of the world, what he had planted remained—steady and enduring—in every step Samuel would ever take.