Chapter 7 - The Breakthrough
The weeks turned into two months. Leo was thriving with the ASL. His tantrums had stopped, and the hollow look in his eyes was slowly being replaced by a cautious curiosity. We spent hours reading books, signing stories, and building forts in the library.
But he still hadn't made a sound.
The pressure was mounting. Julian’s syndicate was growing restless. They knew about the vow, and rumors were swirling that their ruthless leader was growing soft, distracted by a traumatized child and a civilian therapist.
One evening, a severe thunderstorm rolled into Boston. The thunder cracked like cannon fire.
I ran to Leo’s room, knowing how much loud noises frightened him. I found him huddled in the corner of his closet, his hands clamped over his ears, shaking violently.
“Leo,” I whispered, crawling into the dark space and pulling him into my lap. I didn't sign. It was too dark. I just held him, rocking him back and forth.
I started humming a lullaby. The same lullaby I used to sing to Mia.
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine...”
Tears pricked my eyes as the grief of my own loss crashed into me. I squeezed my eyes shut, letting a few tears escape, wetting Leo’s hair. I missed my daughter so much it physically ached.
Leo felt my tears. He pulled his hands away from his ears. He looked up at me in the dim light, his small face contorted with empathy. He reached up with his tiny thumb and wiped the tear from my cheek.
Then, he opened his mouth.
His voice was raspy from misuse, tiny and fragile, but it echoed in the closet like a gunshot.
“Don’t cry, Maya.”
I stopped breathing. The world stopped spinning. I stared at him, my heart threatening to burst out of my chest.
“Leo?” I choked out.
“I’m here,” he whispered, burying his face in my neck.
From the doorway of the closet, I heard a sharp gasp. Julian had rushed in, soaking wet from the storm, dropping to his knees on the hardwood floor. He stared at his son, tears streaming down his ruthless, stoic face.
He had heard it.
May you like
Julian crawled into the closet with us, wrapping his massive arms around both of us, pulling us into a fierce, desperate embrace. “My boy,” he sobbed into Leo’s hair. “My beautiful boy.”
In that dark, cramped closet, the three of us held each other, the broken pieces of our souls finally beginning to mend.
