The Day Silence Spoke novel Chapter 2

Latisha flinched at the sound, thinking she’d angered him.

*Is the food not to your liking?* she signed quickly.

Clifford loosened his tie, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. “No, it’s fine. Just eat.”

But he didn’t take another bite, so Latisha stopped eating as well. She stood and began clearing the dishes.

Clifford watched her with cold eyes, saying nothing.

After she finished cleaning up and had gone upstairs to change, she found him already waiting in the car.

The car sped down the road, the scenery blurring past the window. Latisha turned her head, watching the world fly by.

She had come to the Lambert family as a small child, brought home by the family patriarch, Darby Lambert. He had doted on her, treating her as if she were his own granddaughter. In his final years, Darby was consumed with worry about what would become of her.

Three years ago, on his deathbed, he had forced Clifford to marry her, only closing his eyes for the last time after they had exchanged vows. Darby had said he couldn’t rest easy knowing she would be left to the care of a stranger; only with Clifford could he be at peace.

At the time, Clifford had a girlfriend—Yesenia Winslet.

Perhaps it was because they had grown up together, or perhaps it was the weight of the promise he’d made to his grandfather, but Clifford, despite being forced into the marriage, never treated her with outright cruelty. He didn’t go out of his way to make her life difficult.

But that was the extent of it. He did not love her. He never again called her by her name with the warmth he once had. They had become the most intimate of strangers.

Lambert Manor was bustling with activity. Clifford’s sister had recently given birth to a son, and today was the celebration for the new baby.

Latisha followed Clifford through the crowded courtyard and into the main hall. Inside, Clifford's mother, Polly, was cooing over her new grandson, her face wreathed in smiles. But the moment her eyes landed on Latisha, her expression hardened. Latisha offered a small greeting, but the older woman ignored her completely, turning back to her daughter.

“They say nephews take after their uncles,” Polly chirped. “And look at him, he’s the spitting image of Clifford as a baby.”

Renata Lambert, Clifford’s sister, gently stroked the infant’s cheek. “Everyone keeps saying he looks like Clifford, but I don’t see it at all.”

If that child had been born, he or she would have been almost six months old by now.

Other than the late Darby Lambert, no one in the family had ever liked her. Renata hated her with a passion that surpassed even her mother’s, a hatred that had taken root when they were children.

Latisha was five when she came to the Lamberts. Renata, knowing she couldn’t speak, would lock her in closets, burn strands of her hair with a lighter, and once, she pushed her down the stairs.

Clifford saw that time. He had scolded Renata, and for the young girl, it was the ultimate betrayal. Her beloved grandfather already favored the little mute, and now her own brother was defending her. How could she not hate Latisha?

Back then, Latisha didn’t know sign language. She couldn’t write, couldn’t tattle. So Renata’s bullying only grew bolder, using Latisha as an outlet for her every frustration.

Now that they were adults, Renata’s methods were no longer so crude. Her preferred weapon now was a kind of slow, emotional cruelty, designed to break the spirit.

“It’s a recessive trait,” Renata said, a false note of consideration in her voice. “As long as they do regular testing, the chances of passing it on aren’t that high.”

Polly pressed her fingers to her temples. “That’s enough. Why are we even talking about this? I was only thinking of Latisha’s well-being. If the child had problems, she would be the one to suffer. Isn’t that right, Clifford?”