Chapter 2

My adoptive parents came that afternoon.

Marta rushed to me the second she walked in and grabbed my shoulders.

"Sophia, why are you still pretending to be mute?"

"You're back with your real parents now. Why bring that act here?"

My mother froze. "Pretending?"

"She's been like this since she was little. If she's unhappy, she stops talking and makes everyone guess."

Marta wiped her tears, speaking fast and urgent.

"When she was five, she stole money from home. We scolded her a little, and she sulked and refused to speak."

"Later, whenever outsiders were around, she'd act pitiful. But once we got home and scolded her, she could talk again."

My whole body went stiff.

That wasn't true.

When I was five, I didn't steal money.

That day, my adoptive father got drunk and knocked over the rice barrel. The last of the rice spilled on the floor.

I was so hungry I went to the kitchen and asked Marta when we could eat.

She said my crying was bad luck. She dragged me into the abandoned wine cellar and locked me in for two whole days.

I signed frantically.

【She's lying! She locked me in for two days. It was dark. No water. No food.】

Marta couldn't understand. But as if prepared, she spread her hands and cried to everyone.

"See? This is what she does."

"Whenever she won't admit she's wrong, she makes signs no one can understand and acts like a poor little victim."

Isabella asked softly, "Auntie, did sister really speak in front of you?"

"Of course!"

"Then besides you two, did anyone else ever hear her?"

Marta paused. Then she slapped her thigh.

"A family living together every day—what witness do we need?"

"Are you saying we raised her for eighteen years just to hurt her?"

The pain on my mother's face slowly turned to hesitation.

My father, Antonio, was silent for a long time. Then he asked quietly, "Sophia, will you try to call me Dad?"

I opened my mouth.

My throat felt stuffed with dusty cotton. I couldn't make even a breath of sound.

Marco watched me for a long time. "You can't, or you won't?"

I took out my phone. "I really can't."

Marta sighed. "You'll have to indulge her from now on."

"She's best at wearing people down. The more you care, the worse she gets."

My mother suddenly asked, "Then what about the wounds on her wrist?"

Marta's face changed. "Country kids get banged up. Isn't that normal?"

I quickly rolled up my sleeve.

Besides my wrist, there were round burn scars on my inner arm from cigarettes, and white marks from rope rubbing again and again.

Marta grabbed my sleeve. "What are you doing, undressing in front of everyone!"

My mother's eyes landed on those scars. They went red instantly.

Just as the air froze, Isabella suddenly clutched her chest and collapsed onto the sofa, breathing hard.

"Isabella!"

Everyone rushed to her.

The family doctor said it was just extreme emotional stress. Nothing serious.

Isabella leaned in my mother's arms and still tried to explain for me. "It's my fault for not being considerate."

"Sister must have suffered so much that she mistakes discipline for abuse."

One sentence explained away the scars and turned my memory into exaggeration and revenge.

Before leaving, Marta came to me and lowered her voice.

"Don't think joining the Moretti family means you can dig up the past. If you dare talk, I can make them bring you back, and I can make them send you back."

That night, my mother told me she'd hired a professional sign language teacher.

"You don't have to speak if you don't want to. You don't have to change. We'll learn to understand you."

In that moment, for the first time, I thought maybe coming back wasn't a bad thing.

But outside the door, Isabella watched me quietly for a long time.