Page 2 of Unspoken Love

The waves.

In. Out. In. Out.

She let her breath follow the motion. Let her body go still in the sand. This was what she needed. To quiet the sharper edges.

That and to figure out who she was now—after the surgery, after getting back something that she’d gone without for a very long time. And after knowing what she knew now.

She needed to say goodbye to the life she’d had and start over.

The antiseptic smell of the clinic clung to Faye’s memory like a stubborn shadow.

She sat on the edge of the exam table, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. Her mother sat across from her, looking worried as usual.

The skin behind her ear still ached with phantom pressure, a dull throb that pulsed in sync with her heartbeat.

Dr. Rowen tapped on her tablet, then turned to face her with that same careful, measured calm that she always had. A look that said she was afraid one wrong word might shatter Faye.

“Well,” she began, folding her hands, “your recovery looks good so far. The incisions are healing nicely.”

“But…” Faye said quietly. She could already hear it in her voice. She hated how she could read people better than she could hear them.

She nodded, the lines around her eyes tightening. “But your test responses today were slower than expected. And the mapping from last week didn’t show the level of response we’d hoped for in the left ear.”

The sterile room seemed to shrink, the buzzing fluorescent light a cruel reminder of how loud the world had become—and how far away it still felt.

“What does that mean?” her mother asked.

Dr. Rowen took a breath. “Faye, cochlear implants aren’t a perfect fix or a permanent one for some patients. They’re a tool. Sometimes they work beautifully. Sometimes the auditory nerve doesn’t respond the way we want it to. There’s still a chance things will improve with more adjustment, and with time. But I need you to understand…” She hesitated, choosing her words with maddening precision. “There’s also a possibility that your hearing won’t get better than it is right now. And, eventually, it may even decline further.”

She stared at the floor, the words landing one by one like cold stones in her chest.

Eventually.

May.

Decline.

“But I can still hear some things,” she whispered, unsure if she was trying to convince her or herself.

“Yes,” she said gently. “And that’s something. But you need to prepare for every possibility. Unless things improve…” She had dropped off and avoided eye contact at this point.

Faye knew. Had known for years. Nothing could save her hearing now. This implant was a Band-Aid. The last part of her hearing was slipping away from her like the sand between her fingertips, impossible to hold onto. Eventually, all that would be left was emptiness and silence.

In the distance, a gull swooped low over the water, its cry cutting sharp across the space, hitting her like a wave. She winced, then softened, letting the slight pain settle in her.

She could do this.

She just needed more time.

And fewer seagulls.

She closed her eyes briefly again, took a deep breath, and straightened her shoulders.

It was time to get on with life and enjoy what she could while she could. She stood up quickly, determined to head up the beach stairs and unpack her things in her new room. She must have gotten up too quickly and would have face-planted in the sand had it not been for two strong arms that wrapped around her.

“Hey, are you okay?” A smooth, warm, rich voice caused her entire body to vibrate.

She opened her mouth to respond, but then her eyes moved up and landed on the most beautiful blue eyes she’d ever seen. Blue eyes she knew.