Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Over the next week, we build on everything she’s learned. I bring out books with repetitive phrases and songs that repeat lines three times. I establish a routine with her that’s the same every single day to help build her confidence and trust.
She eventually begins humming by herself. She hands me crayons now instead of waiting for me to choose. She smiles at least twice every day. She’s much more physically open, often leaning on me or pushing herself into my lap. She doesn’t hug me or even give me high-fives, but I give her the space to lead with whatever makes her most comfortable.
Then, on a Wednesday afternoon about three weeks after I start watching her, we’re singing “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” together. Well, I’m singing and she’s humming, watching my hands as I do little motions to the song. And, as usual, I purposely drop a word.
“Up came the,” I sing, waiting for her to hum the note.
She hesitates, her little mouth moving soundlessly. And then, quietly, she whispers, “Sun.”
My heart stops. My hands fly to my mouth. Tears immediately spring to my eyes. I try so hard not to startle her with how emotional I feel.
“That was amazing,” I say softly. “Anya, that was incredible.”
She blinks at me, confused by the shine in my eyes, but she doesn’t pull away. When I get her settled with a coloring sheet, I pull out my phone and type to Samuil with shaking fingers.
She said a word.
He responds almost immediately.
That’s incredible. I knew this was a good idea.
By the time Davýd comes to get her, she’s humming full verses of the songs. When I stop singing, she fills in the word “sun” each time. Her father steps into the living room and freezes.
She doesn’t notice him at first. She’s too busy scooting closer to me so she can see the pictures in the book we’re reading.
When she does notice him, she doesn’t retreat. She doesn’t hide. She doesn’t run behind anything. She simply looks up and says, quiet but clear, “Sun.”
Davýd collapses into a chair like someone pulled the bones out of him. His hands cover his face. I don’t say anything. I don’t move. I just sit with Anya leaning against my side while her father tries to get his breathing under control. When he finally looks at me, tears run down both cheeks.
“Thank you,” he whispers. “You don’t know what you’ve done.”
I swallow hard, my own tears threatening again. “It wasn’t me,” I say. “She was just ready.”
He shakes his head, overcome. “No one has reached her since my wife died. No one.”
He hugs his daughter, crying openly into her hair while she hums the song we practiced. I look away so I don’t intrude on the moment, but it’s impossible not to absorb what it feels like. What healing looks like. What love sounds like.
What a family can be, even when it’s hurting.
19
SAMUIL
The moment I open the door, I hear her voice drifting from the living room. It sounds like she’s talking to herself, reading something aloud in a light, elated rush. I follow the sound before I can think better of it.
She’s sitting on the rug beside the coffee table, flipping through a stack of materials she probably used with Anya today. Her hair is pulled back in a loose braid, and there’s a faint smudge of green marker on the side of her hand. She doesn’t notice me at first, too busy rereading notes she made, probably planning for tomorrow in that careful way of hers.
She looks steady and happy. It’s the least guarded she’s been since she came here. This work means so much to her, and I hate that I had to pull her away from what she was doing in the classroom. Even so, I can’t regret it. She’s making huge strides in Anya’s life. That matters.
When she finally lifts her head and sees me standing there, she smiles at me. It’s the first genuine smile she’s given me in weeks. Maybe she’s too happy to remember that she’s angry with me.
“Hey,” she says gently. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“You looked really focused,” I say in a low voice. It sounds rougher than I mean for it to, and I instantly regret it. “What happened with Anya today was incredible.”
She smiles even wider. Either she didn’t notice my tone or she wasn’t offended by it. Either way, I’m grateful. She’s looking at me with so much warmth and excitement that it nearly knocks me off my feet. I was starting to think she’d never look at me like that again.
“I know,” she says in awe, tears springing to her eyes. “It was just one word, but it meant everything.”
I sit down on the edge of the coffee table, close enough to feel her warmth, but not close enough to scare her off. She holds herself very still, like she doesn’t trust her own reaction to me.