It was as if the dormant nerves in Alexander’s legs had awoken from a long slumber, crackling with energy and life. The sensation began as a gentle warmth, then escalated to a vibrant throbbing, coursing through his muscles and bones. Alexander gasped, clutching his sheets, his mind caught between disbelief and hope.
He glanced at the clock—3:00 a.m., the witching hour. In the dark, his room seemed larger, more oppressive, the shadows lengthening as if challenging him to confront his deepest fears. Was this a cruel joke of his imagination, a twisted endowment of false hope, or the beginnings of a miracle as promised by a child?
