The Day Silence Spoke novel Chapter 69

Latisha sat on the sofa while Clifford stood behind her, gently towel-drying her hair. Her face was so pale it was almost translucent under the bright overhead lights, like that of a ghost.

She stared blankly into the middle distance, completely still.

Clifford glanced down at her but said nothing, continuing to dry her hair.

He didn't ask what had happened at Lambert Manor. Maybe he had already guessed and didn't want to ask, or maybe he simply didn't care what might have happened to her there.

Just like last time. When he found out, he was silent then, too. He never once asked if it hurt.

But of course, why would he? A mute girl couldn't feel pain.

After toweling her hair, Clifford used a hairdryer to finish the job. She remained in the same position, motionless. Her long hair framed a face that seemed even paler now, as if she might fade away at any moment.

He stood behind her, the silence stretching between them.

The shrill ring of his phone shattered the quiet. It was Clifford’s. He put down the hairdryer, pulled the phone from his pocket, and walked away to take the call.

Latisha’s eyelashes fluttered. She turned her head and watched him, his expression serious as he spoke. She looked away, her gaze falling to her stomach, and raised a hand to touch it.

This child, just like her, was unwanted.

She closed her eyes. She didn't cry. Perhaps she had no tears left. Crying could express sorrow, but not despair. Despair was inexpressible.

When Clifford finished his call, he came back and ruffled her hair. “You should get some sleep. I have to go out.”

Latisha looked up at him, her eyes burning bright. A faint, obedient smile touched her pale lips as she nodded.

She dropped to her knees, picking them up one by one. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead, dripping onto her hands and soaking the pills. She shoved the handful of medicine into her mouth and swallowed them dry.

She didn’t know if it was the bitterness of the pills or the intensity of the pain, but a wave of nausea and sorrow rose in her chest. She curled into a ball on the floor and began to sob, her body shaking uncontrollably.

Lying on the cold floor, she wept, her cries raw and ragged. But in the vast, silent house, the only sound was the steady patter of rain against the glass.

She didn't know how much time had passed before she finally caught her breath. She pushed herself up from the floor, and her eyes landed on a fruit knife on the counter nearby.

She walked toward it and picked it up, her movements numb and mechanical.

The light glinted off the blade, reflecting in her empty eyes. She stared at it, and a flood of images flashed through her mind.