If I can't speak?
She read it, then looked at me. "Then you write, just like now."
I hesitated, then added another line beneath it, my handwriting smaller this time, like I was ashamed of the words:
Do you think they're laughing at me?
July frowned. "Who?"
I stared at the page.
Everyone. After what he said.
For a moment, the room went still except for the faint hum of the fridge. July's jaw tightened.
"April," she said slowly, "look at me."
I did.
"No one with a shred of decency is laughing," she said, her voice trembling with both fury and care. "And if they are, if they actually find joy in your pain, then that sayseverythingabout who they are, andnothingabout who you are." Her hand tightened on mine, her thumb drawing small, steady circles as if she could calm the storm inside me. "What Ellis said wasn't the truth, April. It wascruelty,plain and sharp. Everyone saw it. They heard him and they saw him for what he was in that moment."
I bit my lip so hard I tasted iron. My head moved in tiny shakes, the tears threatening again.
She leaned closer, her voice low but burning with conviction. "He humiliatedhimselfthat night," she said, each word deliberate, steady as a heartbeat. "Not you. Never you. He got drunk and let every bitter thought, every small and shameful insecurity, crawl out of him." Her hand found mine again, grounding me. "And you... you carried your pain with more grace than he ever managed to show love. That's what people saw, April. That's what they'll remember, not his words, but your strength."
Tears welled in my eyes before I could stop them. I turned away, swallowing hard, my chest tightening until it hurt.Strength?What strength? I hadn't been able to utter a single word since it happened. I could barely breathe without feeling like I was drowning in my own thoughts. Every sound, every memory, every whisper of his name still scraped against the inside of my skull. I didn't feel strong. I felt hollow, heavy, like I was pretending to exist just so no one would worry.
I shook my head slowly, meeting July's gaze with trembling lips.
"Yes, you are," she said immediately, her hand warm against my knee. "You are not a joke, April, and you are not some story people whisper about. You're a woman who is strong and resilient and beautiful. He's sorry? Fine. Right now I don't care about his apology. I care about you, and I want you to care about you too."
A tremor ran through me, sharp and sudden. The pen slipped in my grip, leaving a jagged line across the page. I forced the words out anyway, my handwriting unsteady, breaking apart like my breath.
He said I was the worst...
July's voice cut through the shaking in my hands, steady and warm, a spark in the cold. "He said something ugly because he was lacking," she said quietly. "People lash out when they can't face the truth about themselves. He was drunk, drowning in his own guilt, so he tried to throw some of it onto you."
Her gaze softened, though her tone stayed anchored and unyielding. "But his words don't define you, April. They never did. They only reveal who he really is, a man so terrified of his own reflection that he had to shatter yours."
I stared at the page until the words blurred into a gray mess. My throat ached. July's hand moved from my knee to my shoulder, grounding me.
"I love you and I will stand by you until the end. Do you hear me?"
I nodded, tears spilling silently. She squeezed my hand. "Good. Because I'll tell you this: anyone who laughs at you answers to me."
That made me laugh through the tears, a small, broken sound.
"There it is," she said, smiling. "That's my girl."
******
Few days later, Dr. Leland's voice came through my laptop speaker.
"Hi, April. You can type, write, or speak, whatever feels safest today. There's no wrong way to be here."
My throat burned. The silence between us felt dense, tactile, like air I couldn't quite breathe. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, then slowly, I typed:
Typing. Talking is impossible right now.
