Fernando Vargas had it all. Or at least, that’s what the business magazines said.

At 32, he owned a real estate empire in Mexico City. He had buildings on Reforma Avenue, shopping centers in Guadalajara, and bank accounts in Switzerland. But Fernando would give up every penny, every building, and every luxury car for one thing only:

To be able to feel their feet on the grass.

Two years earlier, an accident in his sports car had left him paralyzed from the waist down. “Complete spinal cord injury,” said the top neurosurgeons in Houston. “Irreversible,” confirmed specialists in Germany.

Fernando became a bitter man. He shut himself away in his mansion in Lomas de Chapultepec, a cage of gold and marble. He dismissed his friends, distanced himself from his family, and sank into darkness. His money could buy hospitals, but it couldn’t buy a miracle.

That Thursday afternoon, the pain in my soul was unbearable.

Fernando rolled his electric wheelchair to the farthest corner of the garden, under the shade of an old ahuehuete tree.

There, where no one could see it, the “Great Shark of Business” broke.

She began to cry. A hoarse, ugly cry, the kind that hurts in your chest. She pounded her useless legs with her fists, cursing God, life, and her fate.

“Take all my money!” he shouted at the empty sky. “Take it all, but let me walk!”

Suddenly, a small voice interrupted his agony.

—Uncle… why are you crying?

Fernando jumped. He quickly wiped away his tears and spun his chair around angrily.

Behind a rosebush, there was a boy. He couldn’t have been more than six years old. He was wearing old, worn-out sneakers and a soccer jersey that was too big for him.

It was Sergio. Rosa’s son, the woman who cleaned the floors and washed the bathrooms. They lived in the maid’s quarters at the back of the property.

“What are you doing here?” Fernando growled. “You’re not allowed in this part of the garden. Go away!”

But the boy didn’t move. He approached slowly, with that innocent curiosity that knows neither fear nor social hierarchies.

“I heard you scream,” Sergio said, standing in front of the chair. “Do your legs hurt?”

Fernando let out a bitter laugh.

—No, kid. They don’t hurt. I don’t feel anything. That’s the problem. I’ll never walk again. I’m broken.

The boy tilted his head.

—My mom says that for God there is nothing broken that cannot be fixed.

Fernando felt a pang of anger. He hated that false religious hope.

“Well, your God forgot about me, kid. I’ve spent millions. I’ve seen the best scientists in the world. Nobody can do anything.”

Fernando looked the boy in the eyes, defiant.

“I’ll make you a deal, shorty. If you can do what they couldn’t… if you cure me… I’ll give you my fortune. I’ll give you this house, my cars, everything. I’ll sign it right now. But if not, just leave me with my misery.”

It was a phrase spoken sarcastically, out of pain. But Sergio took it seriously.

The boy knelt on the grass. Without asking permission, he placed his small, dirt-covered hand on Fernando’s motionless knee, on top of his Italian-fabric trousers.

“Can I pray for you, boss?” he asked.

Fernando was about to swat the boy’s hand away. He was going to yell at him. But something in the boy’s deep, brown eyes stopped him. He was so tired of fighting…

“Do whatever you want,” Fernando whispered, closing his eyes.

Sergio closed his eyes tightly. He didn’t recite a memorized prayer. He spoke like someone talking to a friend.

—Dear God… here is Mr. Fernando. He is very sad. He has a lot of money, but he is missing his legs. The doctors say it can’t be done, but you made the doctors. Please, give him a little of your strength. Let him walk, Dear God, so he can play soccer with me. Amen.

It was a ten-second sentence.

Fernando expected to feel the usual disappointment. He expected to open his eyes and still be sitting in the chair.

But then… it happened.

First there was heat. Intense heat right where the child’s hand was. As if someone had put a hot iron on his knee.

Then, a tingling sensation. Like when your foot falls asleep and starts to wake up, but a thousand times stronger. An electric shock ran down his spine, so strong that Fernando arched his back and let out a scream.

—¡¡AHHH!!

At that moment, Rosa, Sergio’s mother, appeared running from the kitchen, with the rag in her hand and her face pale with terror.

“Sergio! You spoiled brat!” she shouted, thinking the boy had hurt the boss. “Forgive me, Mr. Fernando! Forgive him! We’re leaving right now, don’t fire him!”

Rosa ran to pull her son, but Fernando raised a hand to stop her.

“Don’t touch it!” Fernando ordered, his voice trembling.

Fernando was looking at his feet.

The big toe on his right foot twitched.

Just one millimeter. But it moved.

Fernando held his breath. He concentrated with all his might.

His left leg jerked violently, in a muscle spasm he hadn’t had in two years.

“My God…” Fernando whispered.

He gripped the armrests of the chair. His knuckles turned white.

“Sir, don’t move, you’re going to fall!” Rosa shouted, frightened.

“Shut up, Rosa!” he said, crying and laughing at the same time. “Help me!”

Fernando pushed with his arms. And for the first time, he felt his legs respond. Weak, trembling like jelly, but they responded. They supported weight.

With a superhuman effort, and with Rosa holding him on one side and little Sergio on the other… Fernando stood up.

It lasted three seconds before he fell to his knees on the grass, hugging the child.

But those three seconds were worth more than his entire bank account.

Fernando was crying loudly, hugging Sergio, kissing his dirty little head.

“I can feel the grass!” he shouted. “Rosa, I can feel the cold grass on my knees!”

Rosa fell to her knees too, praying Hail Marys, weeping at the miracle that her eyes saw but her mind did not understand.

The next day, the doctors at Hospital Ángeles couldn’t explain it. The MRIs showed that the injury was still there, but the nerves had created inexplicable new “bridges.” “Medical miracle,” they wrote in the medical record.

Fernando kept his word.

Well, almost.

He didn’t give them his entire fortune just to leave them alone. He did something better.

He bought a beautiful house for Rosa and Sergio, in her name. He paid for Sergio’s best private education for life. And he created the “Sergio Foundation,” dedicated to paying for treatments for children with disabilities in Mexico.

Fernando was able to walk again six months later, after much therapy. But he was never the same arrogant man again.

Now, every Sunday, he can be seen in the park. He no longer uses a wheelchair. He walks, although he limps a little, kicking a soccer ball with a boy who is now his godson, his savior, and his best friend.

He learned that money is paper, but faith… the faith of an innocent child, is the most valuable currency in the universe.

Sometimes, when science says “never,” faith whispers “now.”