My lips trembled. I didn’t try to stop it. There was no point pretending this didn’t matter more than anything else ever had.
Alan looked down again. His fingers twisted the hem of his shirt, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t speak,” he said slowly, “because…
I thought if I messed up — if I said the wrong thing, then Sylvie would change her mind.
And someone would come and take me away again.”
I swallowed hard, tears pooling faster than I could blink them back. He hesitated, then lifted his head. Estella let out a breath that sounded like a sob.
I heard her reach for a tissue. Judge Brenner’s eyes crinkled into a smile, gentle and full of approval. “Well then,” he said quietly, “I think we have our answer.”
Outside in the parking lot, the air felt warmer than it had that morning.
I leaned against the car to adjust the strap of my shoe, but my hands shook so much I gave up halfway. My son came around the other side, reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a folded tissue. He held it out without saying a word.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” I said. “You’re welcome, Mom.”
It was only the second time I’d ever heard him speak. But the way he said it — calm, certain — told me he was done hiding.
That night, I made his favorite dinner. He didn’t say much at the table, but he sat close and cleared his plate. At bedtime, I reached for the old book I’d been reading to him for years, the one still unfinished.
Alan was 14, and he’d still let me read to him… that was something I’d treasured more than I could explain. But before I could open it, he touched my hand. “Can I read it tonight?” he asked.
I handed it over slowly, careful not to cry again. He opened it with both hands, turned the page like it was sacred, and began to read, taking us into the world of fantasy. At the end of the day, I didn’t need to hear the words “I love you.” I just needed to know I’d built a home someone wanted to keep returning to.
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