I’ve Survived Wars and Buried Brothers Without a Tear — But When a Barefoot Stranger Touched My Blind Daughter’s Eye in a Broken Park, and She Looked at Me for the First Time, I Fell to My Knees

But before I could speak, the boy stood up and walked toward Clara, fast.

I moved without thinking, planting myself between them like a wall.

“Back up,” I snapped.

He stopped immediately. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t run.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice thin but steady. “I need to see her.”

My jaw tightened. “You need to go.”

He shook his head, eyes darting to Clara’s hand as it rubbed her right eye again. “She keeps touching there. I know why.”

My heart skipped in a way I didn’t like.

“What did you say?”

“There’s something stuck,” he whispered. “Not inside the eye. On it. Like a skin. It bends the light.”

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