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I run right into the foyer, where glass is still shattered on the floor. I don’t care if it hurts my feet. I just need to be free. The front door is so close. I can practically breathe it in.
As the glass crunches under my feet, I ignore the searing pain.
“Pia!” Dario grabs me and lifts me into his arms. “You’re hurting yourself. What are you doing?”
I push and shove at him, desperately needing to be free. I shout right into his face. It startles him so much that he lets me go. I run to the front door and rip it open, feeling the sunlight on my face. It’s so strange how darkness is running through me, yet it’s daylight. It doesn’t feel normal.
I run outside to the edge of the property, where a cliff drops off to the ocean below. I want to feel the water over me. Maybe then this pain will stop.
“Pia!” Dario grabs my arm before I can fall over the edge and pulls me into his arms. “Please, stop. You’re scaring me.”
I’m scaring him? The thought is laughable. I’m the one who’s scared right now. And despite that, a laugh bubbles up my throat and mixes in with my screams.
Dario looks at me like I’m insane, and maybe I am. Maybe I’ve finally lost it. All those years of trauma have finally caught up to me.
He grips my arms and shakes me. “Please. This is not you. You’re hurting. You’re in pain. Let me help you, Pia. But stop trying to hurt yourself.”
How do you know this isn’t me?I sign while my screams begin to die down.
“Because I know you, Pia. I knowyou.”
You don’t know everything.I fling the silent words at him, using my hands to express my anger.
“Then tell me. If I don’t know everything, then tell me. But, Pia, listen, we need to leave. Your father could show up at any moment. He knows where I live now. Where you live. It’s not safe here for either of us.”
I step away from him and bend over. I want to speak. I want to tell my story with my own voice, not just with my hands. I open my lips and force myself to speak. I can do this. I can speak. It’s only been my pain that has held me back. The trauma of seeing my dead mother on the floor and knowing my father was the one who did it has made me silent.
But I’m ready to speak now.
“My,” I whisper, the sound strained. “My.” I shut my mouth. This is hard. My vocal cords are not only tired from screaming but also from disuse over the years.
“Pia.” Dario takes a tentative step toward me. “You’re speaking.”
I stand up straight and nod.I’m trying to, I sign.
Now that my burst of fear is subsiding, I feel exhausted and drained. I can’t keep myself upright anymore. My feet are in so much pain from stepping on the glass in the foyer.
So I fall to my knees.
“Pia!” Dario crouches next to me, his hands already gripping my arms. “You’re safe. It’s me. Just let me get you to safety, ok? Let me get you and my sisters out of here. We need to leave.”
I shake my head. I have no intentions of leaving, not until I tell Dario my story. If I don’t do it now, I never will. He has a right to know about the incident—the event that made me mute in the first place.
“What do you mean?” he asks. “You want to stay here and let your father find you?”
I shake my head again.
“Then, what? Pia, tell me.” His fingers are gripping my arms so tight that they almost hurt. The pain of it helps snap me back into focus.
“My mother,” I force out of my mouth. I sound like I’m a hundred years old by how strained my voice is. It’s nothing like the voice I have inside my head or the voice I used to have when I spoke. “My mother.”
“What about your mother?”
This is it. I need to say it. If I don’t say it, I’ll never be fully healed, and I’ll never be able to give all of myself to Dario. No more secrets.
“Murdered. By my father.” Even keeping my sentences short is painful. It’s all so much, so soon.
Dario’s eyes narrow. “Your mother was murdered by your father?”
