Today would be Sammy’s first day of physical therapy, his cast having been removed the week before, and to say that he wasn’t happy about going would be quite an understatement. From the moment he woke up, his mood was sour. Over breakfast, Sammy pushed around his food more than he ate it before looking at Sam. “Daddy, do I have to go?”

Sam glanced at Sy before looking over to Sammy. “I’m afraid so, Sammy. It’ll help make your leg better again.”

Sammy’s chin quivered as his eyes watered and spilled. “But I don’t want to!” he proclaimed, slamming his little fists onto the table. “Don’t make me go, Daddy, please!” he cried, looking at Sy, hoping that he’d fare better with him. 

Sy sighed lightly. “I’m sorry, Sammy. But it’s something that needs to be done.”

“But I already do things here!” he argued, referring to the exercises the doctor had suggested at home that they had been doing a couple times a day.

“I know, baby,” Sy answered gently, “but they have things there to use that we don’t have here that will help you heal faster and get your leg back to how it was before the accident. You want that, don’t you?” 

Sammy glared, his tears not slowing, not caring about reason. “I don’t want to go! You can’t make me!” Sammy screamed, his face scrunching in anger and his voice breaking with the strain of yelling.

Sy stopped, having stood to gather his plate to deposit in the sink. “Sammy Nicolas Benson, you will not speak to me that way. Do you understand me?” Sy leaned on the table, getting closer to his son, his eyes full of stress and ire. “Secondly, physical therapy is not an option. You will be going. You have no choice in the matter, and I suggest you get used to it fast.” While Sy did not raise his voice at his son, his tone indicated that he was not only serious, but there was not going to be any further discussion in this matter. Standing to his full height, Sy left his plate where it lay and stalked into his bedroom.

Sam watched Sy go, knowing that he needed a moment to gather himself. Looking over to Sammy, who was now quietly sobbing into his tiny hands, Sam stood and pulled the boy’s chair out. “Come here, Sammy,” he told him, lifting him into his arms. The boy wrapped his arms tight around Sam’s neck as one arm supported Sammy’s weight under his bottom while the other curled around Sammy’s back. “Baby boy, sh, sh,” he comforted, unhurriedly rocking him back and forth.

By the time they reached the facility, Sammy was still quietly crying. As Sam lifted Sammy into his arms, Sy grabbed the wheelchair from the trunk and pushed it as they walked inside. Sammy had not said a word since Sam had picked him up from the dining table, and clung to Sam as if his life depended on it. When the therapist came to get Sammy, he clamped his arms around Sam’s neck and buried his face into his shoulder. 

With a look of sympathy, she said, “If you want to come with and stay with him through it so he isn’t as scared, that’s fine.”

With a quick glance at Sy to make sure he’d be okay, Sam stood and followed the young woman into the therapy room. Sam followed her to a table. “Come on, Sammy boy, you’ve got to let me set you down. I’ll be right here, okay.” Sammy nodded and reluctantly let go, allowing Sam to set him on the blue pleather table.

“Alright, Sammy. My name is Milly, and I’m going to be working with you today. We’re going to start easy, okay? I need you to lie flat for me.” Sammy wiped his eyes and did as he was instructed. “Good boy. Now, what we’re going to do is, I want you to lift your leg straight up as high as you can and lower it slowly back down again. We’re going to try that five times. I’ll have my hands right here in case you need help, alright?”

Sammy nodded, his eyes still slowly leaking as the pain erupted from his hip to his toes, but to his credit he got his leg up and back down again. He looked at Sam, his eyes full of pain and tears. “It hurts, Daddy. It hurts.”

Sam took hold of Sammy’s hand, his other smoothing the boy's silky strands away from his wet face. “I know, baby.” He kissed Sammy’s wet temple, soothing the boy the best he could. “Take some deep breaths and try again.” Sammy lifted his leg the required amount of times, his sobbing not slowing.

“I know it hurts, but you’re doing great,” Milly told him, allowing him a moment to rest before they moved on to the next exercise. “Now, the doctor wrote that he could begin putting weight on his leg,” she told Sam. “So we’re going to go over there and try putting some weight on it. We’re not going to try walking yet, but there are some hip exercises that we’re going to try this time.” 

Nodding, Sam picked up the crying child and carried him over to where there were two sets of bars an arm’s length apart. Sam set Sammy down on his feet, making sure to keep his hands under his armpits, ensuring that he won’t fall. “Don’t let go, Daddy,” Sammy pleaded, his little voice hitching with a hint of fear behind his words. 

“I’ve gotcha, Sammy. Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.”

Smiling at them both, Milly said, “Alright, you’re doing great, Sammy. Now, don’t take any steps, but I want you to slowly try and put weight on your leg. Sammy gripped the bars so hard his little knuckles turned white, his face scrunched in pain and concentration. 

As he put more weight on his leg, Sammy screamed, his elbows giving way. Sam caught him before he fell, his hands just under his armpits. Sam picked the boy up and hugged him close as Sy suddenly appeared at their side, having heard the pain his son was in. Sy couldn’t blame the boy for not reaching out for him when he laid his hand on his back.

“Why don’t we call it for today. We don’t want to push him too far too fast and aggravate the injuries. We’ll save the other hip exercises for next week.” Patting the boy’s back, she said, “Sammy, you did really well today. I know it hurts, but you did great.” Looking at Sam and Sy, she said, “Keep up with his home exercises throughout the week. If he starts to hurt too bad, stop. And I’ll see you next Friday, Sammy.”

When they got home and inside the house, Sammy’s tears had for the most part slowed and it wasn’t until then that Sammy reached his arms out to his father. “Are you still mad at me, Daddy?” Sammy asked as his voice broke.

Sy kissed Sammy’s temple and sighed, hugging his son close to him. “I wasn’t ever mad at you, baby boy. Daddy is very stressed and very overwhelmed and I’m sorry that I snapped at you earlier.” Sy rocked him gently, calming them both.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, my sweet.”

“I’m sleepy, Daddy.”

“I’m sure you are. I bet today took a lot out of you, huh?”

Sammy nodded, his eyes already falling closed. “Will you and Daddy lay down with me?”

Sam pushed a lock of fallen hair out of the boy’s face and smiled. “Of course we will, little one.” What neither of the men actually knew until they laid down next to Sammy, was that they were just as ready to take a nap as the boy, and all three promptly fell asleep.