Chapter 2 - The Silent Language
I didn't think about the cameras. I didn't think about the terrifying man who owned this house. I only thought of Lily, and the absolute terror of a child who feels entirely alone.
I dropped to my knees on the rug, sliding slowly across the floor so I wouldn't startle him. I stopped a few feet away, making sure I was at his eye level.
"Hey," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
Noah’s eyes snapped open. They were a striking, stormy gray—his father's eyes. He flinched, pulling the bear tighter against his chest, preparing for me to drag him away or scold him.
Instead, I raised my hands.
I didn't speak. I formed my fingers into the American Sign Language gesture for safe. I crossed my arms over my chest, fists closed, and pulled them apart. Safe.
Noah stopped hyperventilating. He stared at my hands.
I pointed to the window where the storm was raging, then brought my hands to my chest, mimicking the pounding of a heart. Then, I signed breathe and took a slow, exaggerated breath in, holding it, and letting it out.
I repeated it. Safe. Breathe.
Slowly, miraculously, the little boy’s chest stopped heaving. He watched my fingers with absolute fascination. For eight months, adults had been talking at him, demanding words he couldn't find, pushing him into a corner. I was offering him a bridge that didn't require a single sound.
May you like
He tentatively lifted one small hand, his fingers clumsy but deliberate, and mirrored the gesture.
Safe.
