Chapter 10 - LEARNING TO SPEAK AGAIN
Lily’s recovery was slow.
Not inspirationally slow.
Just slow.
Surgery.
Liquid food.
Swelling.
Pain.
Follow-ups.
For a while she communicated through notes and her phone.
Daniel became annoyingly good at predicting what she wanted.
Water.
Blanket.
Different pillow.
Turn off TV.
Stop hovering.
Especially stop hovering.
One night, about two weeks after she came home, Lily typed:
You know I’m not eight anymore.
Daniel read it.
“Debatable.”
She glared.
He smiled.
Then she typed:
I need you to stop looking at me like I almost died every time I walk into a room.
That hit.
He sat beside her.
“I don’t know how.”
She typed:
Learn.
Fair.
So Daniel tried.
He stopped sleeping on the couch outside her bedroom.
Stopped checking the front lock three times.
Stopped asking every hour whether she was okay.
Sometimes protection becomes another way of telling survivors the world is permanently unsafe.
Daniel did not want to do that.
Lily eventually returned to campus only for meetings.
Not classes.
Halston offered remote completion and tuition coverage.
She considered transferring.
Then decided not yet.
“No big decisions while angry,” she typed.
Daniel almost laughed.
“That sounds mature.”
May you like
She typed:
Don’t ruin it.
