GENESIS
Tears rolled down my cheeks as I stared at Kade, then he wiped my lips but I turned my face away from his touch. Wasn’t he the sa man who had let his friend take away, saying he didn’t care?
"Baby, don’t turn your face away from . Did I do sothing wrong?" he murmured, his hand gently touching my face. I shivered at the touch but all I wanted was to crawl away—I couldn’t bear to look at him.
I thought he was different... b-but he wasn’t. It was all my fault. Just because I hadn’t been hurt since I married him didn’t an he wouldn’t eventually do sothing.
Suddenly, I felt my jaw being gently turned toward him. "You’re upset with ?" His voice sounded as if he had just realized it.
I tried to turn my head away again, my nose twitching, sure it was red from crying. I just wanted to hide in a corner and let the tears fall. What had I ever done to be so hated by everyone?
No one loves .
Then his hand and warmth disappeared from my face. Of course, he would leave. Soon, he’d start hitting for turning away. But did it matter? I’d already been stripped of my dignity and humiliated. A beating was sothing I was used to.
"Wait, Damon, turn her around," Kieran suddenly said, but I didn’t look to see who he was talking to.
I felt him move away, then heard his voice—too calm, almost chilling.
"How did you get her to go with you?"
There was silence for a mont.
Then he spoke again, this ti addressing soone else.
"Co here. How did she deceive you into letting my wife be taken from my house?"
"B..bo..." another voice stamred before a loud booming sound pierced the air, startling . My mouth fell open as a sudden mory flashed before my eyes. I shut them tight, and then I heard a scream—piercing, pained. I didn’t realize at first that it was coming from .
---
"You say she doesn’t speak?" soone asked as a hand gently touched my head. My eyes were closed but I was conscious—I wasn’t lying on that hard couch anymore; this felt softer.
"How many tis do I have to say it for you to get it? She’s mute!" Kieran’s furious voice reached , making want to open my eyes and understand what was happening.
I tried once, but the bright light stabbed my eyes, forcing to close them again. I blinked rapidly, trying to adjust.
"She seems awake. I’d like to test what you say,"
"What do you need to test? Do you think I’m lying?"
"N-no, of course not, sir. But since you say she hasn’t made a sound in years, I want to see if she’s finally shown any vocal response," the doctor said calmly, his hand still hovering over my head. "Sotis, extre emotional distress can trigger a vocal response in patients previously classified as mute—whether psychological or selective."
Kieran scoffed. "You make it sound like she’s a science project."
"I’m simply doing my job, sir," the doctor replied, glancing at the monitor beside . "If she scread, that ans her vocal cords are functional. The question now is—was it a one-ti trauma response, or is there potential for full speech recovery?"
I blinked up at them, my throat raw and sore. I didn’t understand much of what was being said—everything felt foggy behind my eyes.
"So how long has she been mute again?" the doctor asked. I slowly turned my head toward Kieran, who was climbing onto the bed to sit next to , his eyes fixed on mine.
Then he glanced up at the doctor. "Why do you need to know that again?"
The doctor didn’t flinch under Kieran’s stare. "Duration matters. If her condition has been long-term, the chances of regression are higher. But if the mutism developed recently due to trauma, there’s a better chance of recovery with the right intervention."
Kieran scoffed again, this ti with less bite. "It definitely didn’t start now. I don’t know all the details, but according to my father, it’s been close to fifteen years. She’s a selective mute."
A lump rose in my throat as the number echoed in the room. Fifteen years. Fifteen years of silence. Fifteen years of swallowing screams, hiding pain, pretending to be invisible.
The doctor exhaled slowly, scribbling sothing on his clipboard. "Fifteen years is extensive. Selective mutism for that long suggests deeply rooted psychological trauma. But again—the fact that she scread—that’s significant. It ans there’s still a voice in there, buried maybe, but not broken or lost."
Kieran’s gaze dropped back to . His voice softened, as if he was speaking more to himself than anyone else. "She doesn’t talk... but she listens. She always hears everything."
The doctor nodded. "That’s typical. People with selective mutism aren’t deaf to the world—they’re just trapped inside themselves."
His words made my chest tighten. Trapped. That was exactly it. Like my voice had been locked away in a place I couldn’t reach, and every ti I tried, sothing inside scread to stay silent. To be small. To survive.
"I want to run a few scans," the doctor added gently. "Nothing invasive. I just want to understand what we’re working with. And maybe bring in a trauma specialist—soone she could respond to over ti. We’ll start small. No pressure."
Kieran nodded slowly, brushing his thumb gently against my cheek. "I’ll get you the best trauma specialist in the world, princess. Then you can tell everything you’ve been through, and I’ll take care of everything or any one that’s ever hurt you."
I turned my head to the side. What they didn’t know was that I didn’t want that. They could never know what had caused to beco this way. No one could.
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