The Daughter Allowed Only 10 Seconds of Voice Chapter 09

The Daughter Allowed Only 10 Seconds of Voice Chapter 09

Mom saw the group message before dinner.

She opened the chat, read it over and over, then handed the phone to Dad.

Dad read it and stayed silent for a long time.

Mom said, “Is she really never coming back?”

Dad’s knife paused mid–cut. “Let’s eat first.”

The meal passed in silence.

Halfway through, Mom set down her fork. “I wonder what Tessa is eating today.”

No one answered.

A moment later, she said it again.

“It’s so cold there. Did she bring enough clothes?”

Her voice was soft, almost to herself.

Mira quietly broke through Mom’s murmuring.

“I spoke up in class today.”

Her speech anxiety had eased dramatically by now.

Mom said “oh,” then turned to Dad. “When are we playing Tessa’s recording tonight?”

Mira lowered her head and said nothing more.

Before, everyone had responded when she spoke. Now her parents answered half–heartedly and went back to their own business.

At dinner, Mom would suddenly say, “I wonder what Tessa’s eating today.”

While tidying the living room, she’d mutter, “It’s such a mess. She’d definitely be scolding me about this.”

Dad and Corin grew quieter too.

The house that had once wished I’d shut up… had finally gone quiet.

Some nights, Dad would open the Vale Family Archive.

And let my voice play through the living room, over and over.

As if every unfinished sentence in this house was trapped inside that website.

Six months into Northreach, the first research paper my team and I completed passed final review and was accepted by Northern Systems Review.

When the printed journal arrived, it came with a note from Corinne tucked inside.

“At the next academic conference, you‘ give the keynote.”

I tucked the note into the notebook I carried everywhere.

That night, everyone threw me a small celebration in the student lounge.

We projected a movie on the wall and drank the alcohol someone had smuggled in.

Someone suddenly asked, “Tessa, with everything you’ve done, does your family even know?”

I thought about it. “They probably don’t know I study this.”

The room went quiet for a beat.

Soon, Dean raised his glass.

“To Tessa’s hard work. May your future be bright!”

Everyone raised their glasses.

I didn’t drink, but I talked a lot.

From my research focus to where the field was heading.

Dean was the first to follow up, saying the data he’d recorded might solve my problem.

He pulled an old notebook from a drawer, its pages dense with field–test records from years ago.

I flipped through it. Those data sets filled exactly the comparison gap in my paper.

I opened my laptop on the spot.

Dean said from beside me, “See? I told you talking helps.”

And so we spent over two hours at the celebration talking shop.

The movie ended without anyone noticing.

As we left, Dean gave me the old notebook.

“It’s useless to me, but it’ll be useful to you.”

I took it.

I suddenly realized I hadn’t thought about that house in a long time.