Chapter 2

The doctor asks everyone else to leave before she examines me.

Luca starts to object.

My father looks at him, and he stops.

For the first time since I arrived, someone asks me questions and waits while I type the answers.

Can you hear clearly?

Yes.

Does speaking hurt?

I don't know. I try, but nothing comes out.

When did this start?

I stare at the screen.

The doctor doesn't reach for it.

Eventually, I write about the storage room.

When she asks about the marks on my wrist, I push up my sleeve.

She takes photographs with my permission.

Afterward, I agree to let her explain her concerns to my parents.

"Her initial examination doesn't show an obvious physical cause," she tells them.

"That doesn't mean she's choosing not to speak. She needs further assessment and support. Pressuring her won't help."

My father looks at the photographs.

"Bring the Millers here," he tells Luca.

They arrive that afternoon.

Ruth takes one look at the room and begins to cry.

"Oh, Nora. Are you still doing this?"

My mother turns.

"Doing what?"

"Refusing to talk. She does it when she's upset with us."

I grip my phone.

Frank sits without being invited.

"We should've warned you. We just hoped she'd make a fresh start."

"The doctor believes she's been through something traumatic," Elena says.

Ruth presses a tissue to her eyes.

"When she was five, we caught her stealing grocery money. Frank raised his voice. After that, she wouldn't speak in front of other people."

That isn't what happened.

I'd come home without money two days in a row. Ruth wouldn't let me eat.

I was so hungry I stole a piece of expired bread.

She caught me before I'd finished swallowing.

I remember her hand clamped around my face. The glue on my lips. The storage-room door closing behind me.

I type until my fingers slip.

She glued my lips shut and locked me in a storage room. A neighbor found me three days later.

Ruth barely glances at the screen.

"That's what she calls being sent to her room."

I push back my sleeve.

My mother's eyes move over the round scars on my arm.

"What are those?"

Ruth reaches for the fabric.

I jerk away.

"She picked at everything when she was little."

"And these?" Elena points to the pale marks around my wrist.

Frank leans forward.

"With respect, you weren't there. Raising her wasn't easy."

I lift my hands before I remember nobody here understands.

You tied them.

Ruth's eyes follow the movement.

Then she turns to my father.

"See? We never know what any of that means."

Celia makes a small, shaky sound.

Everyone looks at her.

"I'm sorry." She sits down, one hand against her chest. "I just need a second."

Luca is beside her immediately.

He brings her water. My mother asks whether she feels faint.

I lower my arm.

Celia watches me over the rim of her glass.

Then she's looking down again.

"I believe she was unhappy," she says softly. "Maybe they didn't realize how badly the punishment affected her."

Punishment.

Not the ropes. Not the burns.

Something I must have done to deserve them.

My father turns back to me.

"Nora. Can you try saying Dad?"

My mouth opens.

For a second, I'm five again, listening for Ruth's footsteps outside the door.

Nothing comes out.

Luca watches over Celia's shoulder.

"Can you not do it, or do you not want to?"

"The doctor said not to push her," Elena says.

But she looks at my mouth, too.

Before the Millers leave, Ruth stops beside me while Frank shakes my father's hand.

She adjusts my sleeve as if she's taking care of me.

"Keep this up," she whispers, "and they'll send you right back."

That evening, Elena knocks.

She waits for my text before entering.

"I've arranged for an American Sign Language interpreter to meet us next week," she says. "Grace Wilson. She can help us get started with lessons, too."

I look up.

My mother sits near the door.

"You already have a way to talk to us. We need to learn it."

I read her face for a long time.

Then I type one word.

Thank you.

As she leaves, I see Celia across the hall.

She's looking at my phone.

This time, she doesn't smile.