NovelFinishChapter 220
Jessica returned to her small apartment and, exhausted from staying up late the night before, went to bed early.
"No-ah-!"
No-please-
In her dream, her eyes reflected the searing glow of flames. The fire raged, painting everything red and orange.
Timothy was still inside.
She tried to call for help, using all her strength, but no sound would cout.
She struggled in the nightmare, frantic and powerless, watching Timothy run into the burning inferno.
It was so dangerous!
"No... no..."
Jessica jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat, her hair plastered to her forehead.
Even as she woke, the terror and worry from her dream clung to her.
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On instinct, she reached for her throat. Just now, she could've sworn she'd made a sound!
She'd tried so hard-her throat still tingled as if it had vibrated with effort.
Her eyes widened in shock.
She'd been mute for years, not a single sound able to escape her lips.
But just now, in the dream...
Releasing her grip on her neck, she clutched at the blanket. Could it be possible? Had she really made a sound?
After all these years of silence, she could hardly believe it.
Was she still dreaming?
But the sensation-the feeling of something rough and raw rising in her throat- was almost painfully real.
She tried again, forcing an "ah" out.
There it was: a faint vibration, the ghost of a voice, rasping from her throat.
She stared, stunned.
She'd actually made a sound.
For over a decade, after so many disappointments, she'd stopped allowing herself even the hope that one day
she could speak again.
Now, even giving it her all, she could only manage the tiniest, scratchiest whisper.
The slight tremor in her throat sent a sharp, burning pain through her neck, as if she'd swallowed glass.
She slid out of bed and poured herself a glass of warm water, drinking slowly. She tried again, "Bu..."
Her fingers clenched around the cup. Her voice was hoarse, barely audible-but it was real.
Her lips trembled, and for the first tin so long, she felt a surge of happiness so fierce it nearly drowned out
the pain in her throat.
She could still feel the raw sting in her voice box.
But the joy welling up inside her was enough to make her forget everything else.
She dared not try again—not yet. She'd only just managed a faint sound, and her throat already ached so much
she feared she'd damage her vocal cords and lose the chance to speak altogether.
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For years, she'd lived with disappointment, never daring to hope she'd ever speak again.
Especially after her cancer diagnosis two weeks ago-the doctor had given her maybe six months. The idea of
ever regaining her voice had seemed utterly impossible.
When Ines first contacted her, saying Mr. Smith was willing to recommend a specialist for her mutism, she'd felt
a brief flicker of hope.
For someone who once spoke easily, losing her voice had been a special kind of torment, a private agony she'd
had to bear alone.
She'd grown used to people's ridicule and coldness—endured it because she had no other choice.
Anyone who's lost their voice, even someone born mute, dreams of speaking again.
But treatment had always been hopeless. Her grandmother, desperate to help her, had been swindled by a con
man, falling ill and passing away not long after.
Life's constant blows had long since crushed her hopes.
The dream of speaking had been locked away in a box deep in her heart.
But tonight, that box had cracked open, just a little.
Suddenly, her phone rang, cutting through her thoughts.
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