What the cameras never captured was how quickly that miracle moment faded back into the harsh rhythm of machines. When the headlines moved on, his parents stayed, counting breaths between beeps, memorizing the geography of his scars. The world had celebrated a thumbs-up; they were left to navigate the far quieter question of what, if anything, that movement really meant for his future.

In the weeks that followed, hope stopped feeling like a single explosive event and became something slower, heavier, almost work-like. They learned to hold two truths at once: that Andrew might never walk, speak, or laugh as he once did—and that his life still carried weight and worth beyond any prognosis. The thumb didn’t promise a happy ending. It simply cracked open the door between “never” and “maybe,” and in that narrow space, his family chose to live.