His wife led her blind husband into the forest and walked away while he was still smiling

By smell.
By wind.
By memory that no longer frightened him.
He stopped near the place where the log had been.
The pit had been filled years ago. Grass grew over it. The forest had swallowed the scar, but Raghav remembered.
He placed a wooden wolf on the ground.
“For you,” he whispered.
A breeze moved through the trees.
Dry leaves shifted.
For a moment, far away, something howled.
Not lonely.
Not hungry.
Not afraid.
Raghav lifted his face toward the sound.
Once, darkness had been the place where his life ended.
Now it was simply where other senses began.
He turned back toward the village, his stick steady in his hand, the path clear beneath his feet.
Behind him, the forest breathed.
Ahead of him, in the workshop, people were waiting.
People who had been told they were useless.
People who had been left behind.
People learning, as he had, that worth does not disappear because someone stops seeing it.
Raghav walked home smiling.
This time, no one led him.
He knew the way.