My fingertips curled tight without my permission, nails biting into my palms.
She went on, her voice taking on a practiced softness.
"These past three years, thank you for taking care of Nico. I was conducting research in the European territories and couldn't always be with him. I only found out later that my sudden departure triggered his selective mutism."
She made a show of distress, pressing her fingertips to her forehead like a woman in a painting—beautiful, tragic, false.
Then she smiled again.
"But I've only been back a short while, and he's already improved so much. He speaks to me, you know. Actual words. Full sentences, sometimes."
The words landed like blows to my chest.
I lowered my gaze.
My hand stirred the coffee the nurse had brought me, the motion mechanical. The liquid was black as ink, bitter as the truth I was finally swallowing.
"Did you come here to brag about how much he loves you?"
I set down the spoon and tilted my head back, draining the bitter black coffee in one go. It burned going down, but I welcomed the pain. It reminded me I could still feel something.
"Don't bother."
"His past, his present, his future—I don't follow any of it anymore. I don't care."