Field of dandelion

prologue

Shadows and Silence

Sia sat on the edge of her bed, the thin mattress sagging under her slight weight. The walls of her stepfather's house were a dingy yellow, stained with years of neglect and the harsh words that seemed to soak into the plaster. She traced a finger over a crack in the wall, trying to lose herself in the simple motion, anything to distract from the dread pooling in her stomach.

The house was quiet now. Too quiet. Her stepfather had gone out, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the ghosts of his cruelty. She glanced at the door, half-expecting it to burst open and his snarling face to appear, demanding to know what she was doing, why she wasn't doing more, why she existed at all.

School was no escape. It was merely another battlefield. The other kids seemed to sense her vulnerability like wolves on the scent of blood. They taunted her, called her names, pushed her into lockers. They laughed at her silence, at her inability to defend herself with words or fists. The teachers, overwhelmed and indifferent, offered little help. To them, she was just another problem they couldn't solve.

Her selective mutism had developed as a shield, an imperfect one that kept her words locked away, safe from being twisted and used against her. But it also isolated her, made her an easy target. She had tried to speak once, years ago, but the words had choked her, turned to ash in her mouth as her stepfather's hand had come down on her, hard and merciless.

The physical abuse had left its marks—bruises that faded, scars that lingered—but the mental wounds were deeper, more insidious. She had developed a constant state of anxiety, her body always tense, ready for the next blow, the next insult. Nights were the worst, the darkness closing in, amplifying her fears until sleep became a distant dream.

Her stomach churned with a familiar nausea, a sickness born from years of stress and poor nutrition. She curled up on the bed, drawing her knees to her chest, trying to make herself as small as possible. It was a habit formed from countless nights of trying to disappear, to become invisible.

The sound of the front door opening made her heart race. She listened, breath held, but the footsteps were not the heavy, threatening ones she dreaded. They were hesitant, unfamiliar. She crept to the door of her room, peeking out.

A man stood in the hallway, looking around as if he had stepped into a nightmare. He was tall, with dark hair and a stern face that softened when he saw her. She recognized him from the faded photograph her mother had kept hidden in a drawer—a photograph of happier times, before everything had fallen apart.

"Sia?" he said softly, his voice cracking with emotion. "It's me, your dad. I'm here to take you home."

Sia blinked, her mind struggling to process the words. Home? The concept seemed foreign, almost unreal. She wanted to believe him, to hope, but hope had been a dangerous thing, a fragile thing that had been shattered too many times.

"Let's get your things," he said gently, stepping closer. "We don't have to stay here any longer."

She nodded slowly, her movements stiff with disbelief. As she gathered her few possessions, she dared to glance at him again. There was a warmth in his eyes, a kindness she had almost forgotten existed. Maybe, just maybe, this time things could be different.