Chapter 105
Evelyn POV
The memory from yesterday afternoon washes over me as I sip my morning tea. Cassidy's face—flushed from her recent cold but glowing with shock—is still vivid in my mind. I had gone to check on her, bringing homemade chicken soup and herbal tea, finding her wrapped in blankets on her couch despite the spring warmth.
"You didn't have to come," she'd said, voice still raspy. "I'm much better now."
I set the soup down and pulled out my mother's letter with trembling hands. This wasn't something I could wait to share or simply text about. Cassidy watched me curiously as I signed slowly, deliberately.
[I found out who my real father is.]
Her eyebrows raised, soup forgotten as she leaned forward.
[It's Magnus,] I signed. [My mother's letter explained everything. He never knew about me.]
Cassidy's hand flew to her mouth, eyes widening as the implications dawned on her.
"Magnus is... but that means..." Her voice cracked, not from her cold but from emotion. "We're sisters. Half-sisters."
I nodded, tears already forming. We'd been best friends for years, our bond always feeling deeper than friendship. Now we understood why.
She threw off her blankets and wrapped me in an embrace so tight I could barely breathe. We both cried—tears of joy, confusion, validation. All those years I'd felt drawn to her, all the times she'd protected me fiercely like family—we finally had our answer.
"I always wanted a sister," she whispered against my hair, her voice thick with emotion.
[Me too,] I signed when we finally pulled apart, both laughing through our tears.
The revelation explained so much about our connection, yet changed nothing about our love for each other—it had always been there, unnamed but real.
Thinking of that still makes me smile as I settle into the comfortable armchair by the living room window, afternoon sunlight streaming through the curtains onto my lap. This is my favorite time for voice therapy—when the neighborhood is quiet and I can focus without distraction. The speech therapist's words echo in my mind: "Consistency is key, Evelyn. Even small progress is still progress."
Taking a deep breath, I open the voice training app on my tablet and begin with the simplest exercise: vowel sounds. I concentrate, forming my mouth into the proper shape for "a" as I've been taught. The first attempt produces only a soft exhale, but I try again. This time, a sound emerges—quiet but clear. A small victory.
The "e" sound proves more challenging. My throat tightens slightly, the muscles still unfamiliar with the movement. After several attempts, frustration threatens to set in, but I remind myself how far I've come.
A flutter in my belly distracts me—a gentle kick from within. I place my hand over the small bump, feeling the movement beneath my palm. Hello there, little one. Though I can't speak to my baby yet, I caress my stomach in silent encouragement for us both. Maybe one day, I'll read bedtime stories aloud.
For an hour, I persist with the exercises, recording each attempt in the app. By the end of the session, I've successfully produced three distinct vowel sounds: a, e, and o. When I play back the recording, hearing my own voice—still unfamiliar after years of silence—brings tears to my eyes. Each sound represents months of therapy, countless hours of practice, and a determination that sometimes surprises even me.
I notice the clock shows nearly noon. Time to prepare lunch. Setting aside the tablet, I head to the kitchen where the aroma of organic whole wheat cookies fills the air. Five more minutes according to the timer. I open the refrigerator and check the fresh ingredients I've prepared for a salad—kale, avocado, walnuts, and purple cabbage—all chosen for their nutritional benefits for the baby.
When the oven timer chimes, I glance through the kitchen window and notice a familiar car pulling up outside. Smiling, I remove my baking mitts and go to answer the door.
Ethan stands there, shopping bags in hand, his face lighting up when he sees me. He immediately wraps me in an enthusiastic hug.
"Hey, Evelyn!" He steps back, his eyes dropping to my belly. "Looks like my niece or nephew is growing quite a bit!"
I laugh silently and sign: [Are you suggesting I'm getting fat?]
"What? No, no!" He grins. "I'm just excited about this little one. The best hope for the Finch family, honestly."
I step aside to let him enter, noticing the Finch logo on his shopping bags. He catches my curious glance and grins mysteriously.
"I brought you something," he says, pulling out a light blue fabric box from the elegantly designed shopping bag. "These are samples from my sustainable maternity wear collection I designed specifically for you."
Opening the box reveals several beautifully crafted maternity outfits: an elegant day dress perfect for outings, comfortable tops, and matching accessories. The fabric feels incredibly soft against my fingers.
"I designed everything myself using organic cotton and recycled materials," Ethan explains proudly. "I considered your coloring, style, and the season."
I hold a dress against myself, touched by his thoughtfulness, and sign, [They're beautiful, thank you so much.]
While helping me arrange the clothes back in the box, Ethan says, "How have you been? Is the pregnancy going well?"
I nod, patting my belly gently.
"How's your online writing work going?" he continues, genuine interest in his eyes.
[Good,] I sign, [blog readers are increasing.]
He smiles. "Yes, Cassidy mentioned that. She says your book reviews are getting quite popular."
We move to the dining room where I serve the freshly baked cookies and prepared salad. Sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow over the space.
Ethan takes a bite of a cookie and closes his eyes in appreciation. "God, these are amazing. You really have a talent for baking."
I smile at his compliment, but his expression suddenly turns serious.
"Has Bryce... tried to contact you again recently?" he asks, brow furrowing with concern.
I sign, [I don't want to see him again. Last time we ran into each other, he tried ordering me to come home, like I was still his property.]
Ethan's hand clenches into a fist. "That bastard."
[Don't worry, Ryan installed a new security system for me. I'm safe here.]
He nods, but his expression suddenly darkens. He stares down at his plate, silent for a moment.
"A few months ago," he finally says, his voice low, "I was working late at the company. I overheard a conversation." He looks up, eyes glistening. "Mother was telling Father that she had considered terminating her pregnancy with me because she only wanted one child—Bryce."
My heart aches for him as his eyes darkened.
"She said I was a mistake. A burden."
I immediately move to sit beside him, covering his hands gently with mine.
[You are not a burden,] I sign firmly. [You're a designer with extraordinary creative talent, more important than anyone.]
Ethan's eyes moisten, and he attempts a smile that doesn't quite hide his pain.
I continue signing, [Begging for love and recognition from those who don't deserve it only brings more pain.] I pause, making sure he understands what I'm about to express. [Focus on those who truly appreciate your design talent. Distance yourself from family members who don't value you.]
I express honestly, [For me, the most important people now are myself and my baby. If you don't love yourself first, you'll never receive true respect.]
My words seem to touch something in him. Ethan wipes away a tear and nods gently.
"You're right. I can't keep seeking their approval." He takes a deep breath, straightening his shoulders. "In the upcoming Finch annual design competition, I'll prove my worth through my work."
As evening approaches, Ethan checks his watch and mentions needing to return to his studio to complete final preparations for the design competition. I walk him to the door and embrace him goodbye.
After closing the door, I lean against it, feeling a touch of fatigue. My conversation with Ethan reminds me of my own past—those days when I too sought approval from those who didn't deserve it.
Just as I'm about to clear the dining table, the doorbell rings again. I walk to the monitoring screen to see who's visiting.
When I recognize the visitor on the screen, my face breaks into a happy smile.