They Said I Was Lying, They Forgot I Couldn’t Speak Chapter 06

They Said I Was Lying, They Forgot I Couldn’t Speak Chapter 06

He’d been too angry at the time to even open them and look closely.

But standing in the Monroes’ elegantly furnished living room now, Derek suddenly remembered something.

Tessa and Sienna were identical twins. Yet in all the time he’d known Tessa, he’d never once seen her wear a

decent piece of jewelry or any designer clothes.

Sienna, meanwhile, was dressed in designer labels from head to toe. The bracelet on her wrist alone cost

more than most people made in months.

Derek hesitated.

“Mrs. Monroe… did Tessa really see a doctor when she was little?”

Tessa’s mother paused halfway through peeling her orange.

“Of course she did. She was always withdrawn around people as a kid. We took her to several doctors.”

“What did they say?”

She thought for a moment.

“They said she was introverted and had a minor problem with her vocal cords, but nothing that should keep

her from talking. We got busy with work after that and figured she’d grow out of it.”

It was only a minor problem with her vocal cords, nothing that should keep her from talking.

For a moment, Derek couldn’t process what he’d just heard.

He turned toward Sienna. She was looking down at her phone, the newest hearing aids tucked behind her

ears. He’d seen ads for that model before and knew how expensive they were.

Then he remembered Tessa’s battered old phone with a crack in one corner of the screen. He’d offered to

replace it more than once, but she always refused.

“No, it’s fine. It still works.”

Derek drew a slow breath.

He didn’t ask anything else. He turned and left the Monroe house.

Once he was sitting in his car, he finally opened the medical records Tessa had posted in the company Slack channel.

The first page was an official diagnostic report.

[Congenital underdevelopment of the vocal folds. Bilateral vocal-fold paralysis. Severe speech impairment. Patient has been unable to produce functional speech since birth.]

The second page contained a record of her previous medical visits. The earliest entry was from when she was three.

[Early surgical intervention recommended. Significant surgical risk. Estimated cost: tens of thousands of dollars.]

Two years later, there was another entry.

[Follow-up: no improvement. Family declined surgery.]

After that, the record went blank.

There were no further medical visits documented.

Derek turned off the screen and rested his forehead against the steering wheel.

The cost was tens of thousands of dollars-tens of thousands.

He remembered how, whenever they went out, Tessa wouldn’t even buy herself a coffee.

He remembered laughing when she’d told him she wanted to save for treatment.

“Your voice has been like this for years. You really think anyone can fix it now?”

He remembered when she’d told him she wanted to save enough money to see a doctor. He’d taken control

of the account her paycheck went into.

“Let me handle the money. We need to budget.”

Then he remembered her birthday gift.

Derek started the car, floored it, and raced home.

He tore the place apart looking for the gift until he finally found the box at the bottom of the hall closet,

buried beneath a pile of delivery boxes.

The corners had already been crushed.

He ripped off the wrapping paper.

Inside was a small digital voice recorder and a letter.

He opened the letter first.

The handwriting was Tessa’s-neat and precise, as careful and restrained as she was.

[Derek, happy birthday. I know you’ve always wanted to hear me speak. I’ve been secretly practicing a vocal technique for six months. I’m still not very good at it, but I recorded something for you.]

[No matter what it sounds like, these are words I wanted to say to you. Thank you for always being there for

me.]

Derek picked up the recorder and pressed Play.

A few seconds of faint static came first.

Then a tiny, breathy voice came through, halting and awkward, each word carefully worked out like a child

learning to speak.

“Derek… happy… birthday. I… love… you.”