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Lorenzo had just turned off his nightstand lamp, and we were lying in the dark. “Lorenzo, can we talk about Clara please?”
“What about Clara?”
“You know how she’s been speaking more lately?”
He paused. “Yes.”
I took a deep breath. “Well, a couple of months back, I read up about a speech therapy technique, and I‘ve been using it with Clara.”
He immediately sat up and snapped his lamp back on. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“I wanted to see if it would work first.” My words came out in a rush.
He looked hard at me. “What does this technique involve?”
I sat up as well. “The technique involves expanding the child’s existing words and phrases. When I speak to Clara, I’ve been modeling speech to her based on her current capabilities. I’ve been demonstrating to her how she can extend single words into two-word phrases, then three-word phrases, then longer phrases; and I wanted to continue this expansion until she started saying whole sentences.”
He nodded slowly. “And it appears to be working.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “It’s just that Clara has expanded now to four-word phrases. But that’s where I’ve gotten stuck. She hasn’t progressed at all in the last four weeks.”
I could see he was carefully considering what I’d just told him.
Before he could shoot me down, I carried on quickly. “I think now would be a good time to get her assessed by a professional speech therapist. I think she’s gone as far as she can with the technique I’ve been using, and now she needs some help from someone more qualified than me.”
His nostrils flared. “I’ve already told you, she doesn’t need to see anyone.”
“But what harm will it do? If she could speak more, then she could speak about her grief as well.”
“She doesn’t need to speak to you or anyone else about her speech or grief,” he snarled at me, making me retreat back against my pillow. “You need to stop fucking interfering all the time.”
“I just thought—”
“I didn’t marry you to hear your thoughts or opinions. You’re here to make my life easier and to warm my bed.” His words whipped through the room. “I don’t need anything else from you.”
His words stung, and I was too shocked to make any sort of further response.
“Go to sleep, Anni,” he hissed. “And don’t ever bring this up again. Not if you know what’s good for you.”
Lorenzo switched off the light, and lying down, he abruptly turned his back to me.
I slipped back down under the covers, unable to hold back my silent tears of frustration. All I wanted to do was help Clara. Both children were beautiful little people, and I knew I had fallen in love with them both. And that love meant that I only wanted the best for them, and it hurt when Lorenzo shut me down like this and dismissed my concerns.
LORENZO
The next morning, as I shaved, last night’s conversation with Anni kept running through my mind.
Anni kept insisting that Clara needed help with her speech and her grief.
I knew Rita’s death and Clara’s issues were all my fault, and I didn’t need Anni or anyone else giving me constant fucking reminders of that.
My chest was feeling tight, and I rubbed my hand across it.
I didn’t need all this extra stress in my life, and that was exactly what Anni was giving me each time she started harping on about speech therapists and talking about the children’s grief.
Another uncomfortable twinge flitted across my chest.
I’d been having these pains more frequently recently. Rita’s birthday was coming up soon, and that had been playing on my mind, making my guilt niggle away at me even more than usual.
