Page 14 of Property of Max
And Lila… she’s the one who lingers most. The way she bent over her brother with such gentleness, every touch sayingyou’renot a burden, you’re mine to protect.The way her eyes lit with pride when Bree spoke. And the way she melted…just for a second…when I held her. Like she wanted it as badly as I did.
I shove my hands into my pockets and turn toward my house, boots grinding against the gravel path. The park stretches quietly beside me, its pond glowing with the last of the sun. I keep walking until I hit the strip of grass that runs along my fence line.
My house sits right against the park property, close enough that on weekends I hear kids screaming with laughter and smell burgers grilling across the way. I thought I wanted distance. Solitude. Space to breathe. That’s why I moved out of the compound.
But tonight, the silence feels heavier than usual. And no matter how many times I tell myself to let it go, I can’t stop thinking about them.
That girl with too much fire in her heart.
That boy trapped in his own body, but still stronger than most men I know.
That woman… carrying all of it on her shoulders and still standing tall.
I don’t have room in my life for this. Not now. Not when my own world is still a mess.
And yet, I already know. I’m not forgetting them. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
Chapter Six
Lila
I sit back and watch as Micah’s body is pushed beyond its limits during physical therapy. Every stretch, every movement looks exhausting, but he endures it with that same quiet strength he always has. Today, on top of his regular therapist, there’s a student shadowing. Wide-eyed, eager, soaking in every detail.
I don’t mind. Locked-in Syndrome is rare, and Micah and I agreed long ago that if his struggle could teach others…help even one future patient…then it was worth the extra set of eyes. Still, part of me clenches at every adjustment, every instruction. He’s my brother, not a case study.
But Micah wanted this. And when I catch the faint flicker of determination in his eyes as they guide his limbs, I know why. He’s not just surviving. He’s showing them what strength really looks like.
“Wait,” the student gasps. “His fingers just moved. And… how is he breathing on his own?”
I take a long sip of sweet tea to hide my smile.
Because my brother is a freaking beast, that’s why.
“Micah’s brain injury happened when he was only twelve,” the therapist explains, calm and steady. “At that age, his brain was still developing at a rapid rate. It took over a year, but eventually his lungs kicked back in and started working on their own. He can swallow small amounts, move his fingers a little, even his toes if you tickle the right spots.”
The student’s eyes light up. “So… is it possible for him to regain control over his whole body?”
My chest tightens already knowing the answer.
“Unfortunately, no,” the therapist says gently. “It’s been four years, and his brain has healed as much as it’s going to. But don’t let that fool you. Micah here is as sharp as they come. And with the way eye-tracking software improves every year, his ability to communicate has far exceeded what we’d expected at this stage.”
He isn’t wrong. Every year they come and update Micah’s device, and every year I’m floored by what new doors it opens.
“I read he can live a full life,” the student says, hopeful. “Locked-in syndrome doesn’t affect life expectancy?”
“No more than being in a wheelchair would,” the therapist replies. “As long as he’s properly cared for, Micah could live to be an old man. The biggest risk is respiratory…pneumonia, infections. Things his body can’t clear on its own.”
“Because he wouldn’t be able to cough out his lungs,” the student says quietly.
Micah’s eyes flick, sharp and knowing, and my stomach knots.
I hate this part. I hate how clinical it sounds, like my brother is a condition instead of a person. But I also know his therapist is a good man. He’s always treated Micah with respect. Today, he’s teaching, showing this student what a future patient might need.
But… still. Watching my brother studied like he’s a textbook, while he listens with those wide, intelligent eyes...it burns in a way I’ll never get used to.
“Alright, Micah,” the therapist says as he lifts my brother from the mat back into his chair. “We’re done torturing you for today. But I’ll be back tomorrow around lunchtime.”
Micah’s gaze shifts immediately to his screen. The therapist pauses, waiting. He knows my brother has something to say.
