Chapter 2

The wedding date was set for the fifteenth of next month.

My dad flew in from out of town. The very first sentence out of his mouth when he walked through the door was:

"Is Serena here? Get her to proofread the invitations and make sure the wording sounds proper."

I stood in the living room holding a tray of freshly brewed tea.

"Dad, I wrote the invitations myself. Take a look."

He took the card, gave it a dismissive glance, and his brow instantly furrowed into deep lines.

"This sentence is clunky. Did you spend three hours staring blankly at the screen again? Hand it over to Serena. Let her polish it."

"Which sentence is clunky?"

He didn't answer. He just dropped the card flat onto the coffee table.

"Stop being stubborn. A wedding is a serious event. The moment you get nervous, you start stuttering like crazy. If you embarrass yourself in front of hundreds of guests, you're embarrassing this entire family."

My knuckles turned white against the porcelain teacup.

"I've been practicing. I can finish it."

My dad let out a sigh—the same exhausted, disappointed sigh I had endured for over twenty years.

"You've been like this since you were a kid. The more you talk, the worse it gets. When your mother walked out on us, you couldn't even squeeze out a full sentence. Even the judge looked uncomfortable."

I was nine years old that year. My parents were getting divorced, and the family court judge asked me who I wanted to live with.

I wanted to say *Mom*.

But that single syllable got lodged in my throat. I choked on it four times, suffocating in front of everyone.

The judge waited thirty seconds. Then my dad cut in: "She's staying with me."

My mother gave me one cold look and walked straight out of the courtroom.

She thought I didn't care enough to even ask her to stay.

But I said it.

I said it in my head. Nobody waited to hear it.

From that day on, my dad took over speaking for me in every single milestone of my life.

He read my essays at parent-teacher conferences. He chose my college major when talking to my guidance counselor. Even my confession of love to Julian had been delivered through Serena.

He swore he was just protecting me.

Yet the more they protected me, the less I knew how to use my own voice.

Serena arrived for dinner that night, carrying the wedding planner's detailed itinerary.

She sat right beside Julian, casually flipping through the binder.

"Right here. The bride's personal vows. Three minutes. Chloe, are you really sure you want to do this yourself?"

"Yes."

She set her pen down and stared at me. There was something dark and unreadable lurking in her eyes.

"Why don't you practice it for us right now?"

I cleared my throat, looking down at the crumpled index card in my palm.

"Julian... ever s-since the day I m-m-met you—"

The seventh word jammed.

I repeated the sound three times, my chest seizing up.

The dining room fell dead silent for two excruciating seconds.

My dad threw his fork onto the table with a sharp clatter.

"Hear that? I'm not trying to be cruel, but that's exactly what will happen up on that stage."

Serena patted my hand with a pitying smile.

"It's okay, Chloe, don't worry. I'll read it for you. I swear I'll make it sound even more touching than you could."

Julian nodded right along with her.

"Don't put so much pressure on yourself, babe. Serena is just trying to help."

I stared at the bowl of food in front of me for a long, quiet minute.

"Did it ever occur to any of you... that maybe I stutter because the second I open my mouth, you rip the words right out of it?"

The room went dead still.

My dad slammed his palm down on the dining table.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? We're hurting you? You can't even speak properly and now you're blaming us?"

Serena's warm smile vanished instantly.

"Chloe, that really hurts. I've been covering for you since elementary school. Fifteen years! And now you're treating me like a villain?"

Julian frowned, his tone exasperated.

"Drop it, Chloe. Just eat."

I shoveled the rest of my dinner into my mouth and didn't utter another syllable.

It wasn't that I didn't want to speak.

It was that they never, ever let me finish.