At my baby shower, my sister handed me a broken stroller. “It suits her life,”

The soft click echoed in the room, a sound so subtle yet powerful enough to slice through the tension. Ezra straightened up, a quiet confidence in his posture that made me sit a little taller. The once rickety stroller, that emblem of a taunt, shuddered gently. And then, to everyone’s astonishment, it began to transform.

The crooked wheels realigned themselves with a mechanical grace, the rusted frame smoothed over as if buffed by invisible hands. A soft hum resonated as the fabric, once faded and worn, unfurled into a vibrant, pristine pattern. Gasps rippled through the guests, shock replacing the earlier jeers.“What—how?” Veronica stammered, her bravado faltering.