Chapter 1

My name is Amelia.

I haven't spoken a word since I was fifteen.

Not because I can't. Because I shouldn't.

Bad things happen when I say them out loud.

It's a curse, a "disaster prophecy" as some might call it.

So, I live in silence, communicating with nods, shakes of my head, and sometimes, a hastily scribbled note.

My son, Noah, was my world. Six years old, bright, a little too curious for his own good.

Kevin, my ex-husband, had him for the weekend.

Kevin, who owned a small, successful construction business in our town.

Kevin, who now had Jessica.

Jessica, young, beautiful, a bartender at some fancy downtown place.

She called me Monday morning. Her voice was like ice, even over the phone, though she tried to make it sound sweet.

"Amelia, honey, there was a little... incident."

My heart hammered. I gripped the phone, unable to ask.

"Noah, well, he's a boy, you know? He got into my new handbag. Spilled some very expensive makeup. A real mess."

I could picture it. Noah, fascinated by the bright colors.

"Kevin's pretty upset. He thinks Noah's getting out of hand. Says you're... well, not disciplining him enough, being mute and all."

The familiar sting. My silence, always a weapon against me.

"So, Kevin's decided. For Noah's own good, of course."

A pause. I waited, dread coiling in my stomach.

"He's sending him to this camp. Run by some ex-military guy. Teaches discipline. Uses big dogs, I hear."

Dogs.

Noah was terrified of dogs.

A neighbor's Labrador had knocked him down when he was three. Chased him. Barked in his face. He'd had nightmares for months.

I dropped the phone, scrambled for my keys.

I drove to Kevin's office, my hands shaking on the wheel.

He was on a call, looking annoyed when I burst in.

I grabbed a notepad from his desk, scribbled frantically: *NO. NOAH. DOGS. AFRAID.*

He glanced at it, then at me, his face hard.

"Amelia, it's for his own good. He needs to learn respect. He's running wild."

I shook my head, tears welling. I pointed to my mouth, then shook my head again, trying to convey the danger, the unspoken fear that if I pleaded, if I *spoke*, something worse might happen.

I dropped to my knees. I didn't know what else to do.

I gestured, pleaded with my eyes, my hands.

He sighed, annoyed. "Stop being dramatic. It's a good camp. Builds character."

I started to bow my head, hitting it softly on the polished wood floor, again and again, a desperate, silent prayer.

*Please, Kevin. Don't.*

He pulled me up, his grip rough.

"Enough, Amelia. This is what's happening. It'll teach him a lesson. Maybe it'll teach you one too."

He pushed me towards the door.

"He'll be fine. It's just for a few weeks."

Cold. So cold.

This was how it always was. My silence, my inability to argue, made me helpless.

But this time, a deeper terror gripped me.

A terror that had nothing to do with my muteness.