The mansion was silent except for the soft hum of a clock on the wall. It was the kind of silence that felt heavy not peaceful, but suffocating.
Amelia sat cross-legged on the plush, cream-colored rug, her pink dress pooling around her knees. In her arms rested a little boy with golden curls and pale blue eyes that seemed to look through the world rather than at it. His tiny fingers clutched the hem of her dress tightly.
“Good morning, sweet boy,” she whispered softly, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “Did you sleep well?” As expected, there was no reply. Amelia’s heart ached as she gazed at the child. Noah was only three, but he hadn’t spoken a single word since birth. Doctors had labeled him with selective mutism and hinted that his silence might…..Read Full Story Here………………………
