Chapter 9 - The Sound of Crying
That night, a thunderstorm rolled over the harbor.
Rain drummed against the windowpanes of the new house, and lightning flashed across the dark water.
I woke up at two in the morning to a faint sound coming from down the hall.
My heart instantly tightened. I sprang out of bed, pulling on my robe, and hurried to Emma’s room.
She was sitting up in her small bed, wrapped in a yellow blanket with little duck prints—a blanket Clara had knitted for her before she was born. Her small shoulders were shaking.
She was crying.
But she wasn't crying quietly into an apron anymore.
She was crying out loud, tears streaming down her round cheeks, calling out with the full force of her three-year-old lungs: "Daddy! Daddy!"
I rushed to her side, gathering her up in my arms and pulling her tight against my chest.
"I'm here, sweetheart," I whispered, rocking her back and forth. "Daddy’s here. You don't have to be quiet anymore. Cry as loud as you want. Daddy’s listening."
She buried her face in my shoulder, her tiny hands clutching my shirt. "The thunder was loud!"
"I know, baby. I know," I said, smiling through the sting in my eyes. "The thunder is just noise. It can't hurt you here."
Lucy appeared in the doorway, holding a warm glass of milk, a soft blanket draped over her arm. She looked at us and smiled gently, wiping a tear from her own eye.
"She's healing, Mr. Vittorio," Lucy said softly.
May you like
"We both are, Lucy," I replied, kissing Emma's hair. "We both are."
I stayed in Emma's room until the storm passed, holding her until her breathing slowed into the deep, easy rhythm of peaceful sleep. The bruises on her tiny arms had faded completely, leaving behind smooth, soft skin.
