Amalia Romano is a selective mute. After years of enduring abuse from her step father, who has ridiculed and hurt her mercilessly, she doesn't want to talk, for fear of what might happen if someone doesn't like what she says.
But then her step...
I lurch awake, my breaths coming short and quick. I turn to my dad—who's bed I fell asleep in when we were watching a movie—and hold onto his hand. Even if he's not awake, it calms me down to know that he's here.
I inhale a startled breath when he squeezes my hand. I turn back around to see my father sitting up, concern and tiredness plastered onto his face.
"What's the matter, baby?"
"I had a bad dream." I say quietly, voice shaking.
Even in the dark, I notice his eyes soften. "Are you okay?"
I bite my nails with my free hand, nodding. He tilts his head. "Do you wanna see something?"
"S-see what?"
"It's downstairs in my study. Why don't we go down and I can make you some hot chocolate?" He suggests softly.
"C-can it have marshmallows?" I ask.
He smiles. "Of course it can, sweetheart." Not letting go of my hand, he climbs out of the bed. I follow him, staying one step behind as he leads me out of the room.
When we get downstairs, my dad leaves me in his study, returning two minutes later with a mug of hot chocolate. He sits down on his chair, setting me on his lap before pulling a thick book out of his desk drawer.
"What's that?" I ask.
"It's a photo book from when you were little." He tells me. "I've been putting every picture I was able to find of you from when you were little in it. And I told myself that when you came back to us, when you were safe at home, I'd show it to you. And now I can." He says softly.
I smile. "Can I open it."
He passes it to me. Nervously, I turn the top, worn down by touch, revealing a yellowed page with pictures stuck on it. I bring it closer to my face so I can see them better as my dad rests his chin on the top of my head.
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I feel my father smile when I laugh.
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