Eighteen months after the phone call that changed our lives, Camila walked beside me down a gravel path — slowly, carefully, but on her own two legs, without a crutch or a cane.

Her physical therapy had been long and brutal, month after month of grueling, painful work, and I had been there for every session, because I had made a promise beside a hospital bed that I would never again be five thousand miles away, and I intended to keep it for the rest of my life.

Her body had needed a very long time to heal.

Her spirit had never broken at all.