๐Ÿ’›๐ŸŒŸ โ€œYOU NEVER LET GOโ€ โ€” A Love Written in Circles, Not Lines ๐ŸŒŸ๐Ÿ’›

โ€œLucy, can you handle a kid like that?โ€
That was the question they asked her the day she met me โ€” a sevenโ€‘yearโ€‘old boy with thin legs, a fragile frame, and a wheelchair the world thought I would never leave.
Doctors spoke in certainties.
โ€œSheโ€™ll never walk.โ€
โ€œHeโ€™ll never stand.โ€
โ€œHeโ€™ll always need help.โ€
But Lucy didnโ€™t listen to any of them.
She didnโ€™t argue.
She didnโ€™t defend.
She simply walked over, took my small hand into her warm one, and whispered,โ€œCome on, sweetheartโ€ฆ letโ€™s go home.โ€ โœจ๐Ÿ’›
And from that moment on, she never let go.
Nights at the laundromat, the hum of machines rocking me to sleep.
Days in clinics, stretching muscles that screamed in pain.
Trying. Failing. Crying. Trying again.
She pushed me through every storm โ€” literally and figuratively.
She held my legs steady.
She wiped my tears.
She taught me how to fight even when the world expected me to surrender.
At 14, braces strapped to my legs, sweat pouring down my back, fear trembling in my bonesโ€ฆ I stood.
And thenโ€ฆ one step.Then another.
And another.
I still remember the sound she made โ€” a broken, trembling cry โ€” as she fell to her knees and sobbed into her hands.
โ€œYou did itโ€ฆ my baby, you did it.โ€ ๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ˜ญ
For decades, she was my strength.
My legs.
My courage.
My mother.
Then life shifted.
Polio โ€” the same thief that once haunted my childhood โ€” stole her strength instead.
The woman who pushed me outside into the sunโ€ฆ now waits for me to push her.
The hands that fed meโ€ฆ now tremble as I lift the spoon to her lips.
The voice that once told me โ€œYou can do itโ€โ€ฆ now whispers, โ€œThank you, baby.โ€
I cook.
I clean.
I lift.
I carry.
I stay.
And every night, before turning off her light, I kiss her forehead and remind her:
โ€œMomโ€ฆ you never let go of me.
And Iโ€™m not letting go of you now.โ€
This is not a story of disability.
Not a story of illness.
Not a story of pity.
This is a love story.
A circle โ€” not a line.
A life lived handโ€‘inโ€‘hand.
Because sometimes, the strongest heroes wear aprons instead of capesโ€ฆ
and sometimes, the greatest repayment of love
is simply staying. ๐ŸŒŸ๐Ÿ’›๐Ÿ‘ฉโ€๐Ÿฆฝ