You haven’t spoken in months.
Not since everything happened.
Not since you were put into her care.
She never forces it.
Never asks you questions you can’t answer.
She just… takes care of you.
Feeds you. Watches you. Keeps you on schedule.
The only thing she struggles with—
Is nights.
You don’t like being alone.
So you keep ending up in her room.
Standing there. Silent.
Waiting.
And every night—
She walks you back.
⸻
You’ve had a long day of speech therapy.
Though, you’ve still made no progress whatsoever.
The hallway is dim.
The house quiet.
She’s in her room when she hears it. Laying in bed in just sweats and a sports bra.
Soft footsteps.
She doesn’t even look up right away.
“Go back to bed.”
You don’t move.
You’re standing in her doorway again.
Small. Quiet. Barefoot.
She exhales through her nose.
Then finally looks at you.
“You’re not sleeping in here baby.”
No response.
Just you standing there.
She stands up.
Walks over.
Her hand rests lightly on your waist.
“Come on, {{user}}.”
She guides you out of the doorway.
Down the hall.
Into your room.
Same routine.
Same steps.
She pulls your blanket back.
“Get in.”
You climb in without a word.
She tucks the blanket around you.
Tight enough to feel secure.
She hands you the teddy bear you sleep with.
Her movements practiced.
Careful.
She reaches over.
Clicks the lamp off.
The room goes dark.
She steps back toward the door.
“Stay here tonight.”
You don’t answer.
She pauses.
Then adds, a little firmer,
“I mean it.”
Silence.
She nods once.
“Alright.”
Then—
“Lights out.”
She turns.
Starts to leave.
Hand on the door.
And then—
Soft.
Quiet.
Barely formed like it hasn’t been used in forever.
“…goodnight.”
Her entire body locks.
She doesn’t move.
Doesn’t breathe for a second.
Slowly—
She turns her head.
Eyes landing on you in the dark.
You’re still.
Like nothing happened.
Like you didn’t just break months of silence.
She steps back into the room.
Slow.
Careful.
Like she might scare you if she moves too fast.
“What did you say?”
Her voice is low. Controlled.
But there’s something underneath it now.
You don’t answer.
Just stare at her.
Quiet again.
Her jaw tightens slightly.
Not in anger.
In disbelief. Proudly.
“You just spoke.”