Chapter 308: First Words
The morning had started with a phone call.
Aunt Estella’s voice was hoarse, apologetic. A fever. "I can still come," she’d said, and Arianne could hear the rustle of blankets, the effort of sitting up. "The twins need someone."
"You need rest."
"I’ve managed worse." The elder woman insisted.
"I know. Rest anyway."
There was a pause on the line. Aunt Estella had been with her for decades. She never took sick days. But her voice was rough, and Arianne could hear the exhaustion in it.
"I’ll handle the twins," Arianne said. "I’ll bring them to the office."
Mira was off. Gio was handling a task Arianne had assigned him — something that couldn’t be rescheduled. There was no one else.
She picked the twins up from school at mid-morning and brought them to work.
Lily walked through the hallways of Rochefort Group looking around with interest but not surprise. She’d been here before. She remembered the way to the elevators. Leo followed a few steps behind, the Lion under one arm, his tablet in the other. He’d brought the Lion today instead of the whale. The whale was still on Arianne’s nightstand, where he’d placed it the morning Franz left. She hadn’t moved it.
The office was unchanged. Alex’s desk, now Arianne’s. The window that looked out over the city. The couch against the wall where Leo had napped during his first visit, after the fight with Lily, after the therapy appointment.
Lily went to the corner of Arianne’s desk and pulled paper and markers from her backpack. She’d packed them herself that morning. "In case there’s nothing to do," she’d explained. Within minutes she was drawing something — boxes with names inside them, connected by wobbly lines. Arianne’s name in one box. Gio’s in another. A few empty ones waiting to be filled.
Leo settled on the couch. The Lion sat beside him, its mended arm visible, the new button eye catching the office light. He opened his tablet, typed something, then closed it. He didn’t seem restless. He was content to be here, watching the office move around him.
Finn arrived with snacks ten minutes later. He was Alex’s old assistant — now Franz’s — and he’d met the twins before. He carried a tray with juice boxes and a plate of cookies.
"Snacks," he announced. "For the most important visitors."
Lily looked up from her drawing. "What’s your job?"
"I help people stay organized. I manage schedules. I bring snacks."
"Oh." She thought about this. "I help Leo remember things. Like his backpack. And when it’s lunchtime."
"Then we have the same job."
Lily looked pleased. She added Finn’s name to one of the empty boxes on her drawing and connected it to Arianne’s with a wobbly line. Finn retreated to his desk outside the door.
The morning passed quietly.
Lily finished her drawing and started another — this one was a map of the floor they were on, as far as she’d seen it. She’d drawn the elevator, the hallway, the door to Arianne’s office. The rest was blank. "I’ll fill it in later," she said. "After I look around."
Leo typed occasionally. WHERE IS THE CAFETERIA. WHAT FLOOR IS FINN ON. Short questions. He didn’t seem unhappy. He sat on the couch with the Lion beside him and watched Arianne work, the way he’d done during his first visit, when he’d thought she reminded him of his father.
Arianne worked through the Rochefort documents and the subsidiaries’ quarterly reports.
"Mmm."
The sound was soft. Almost lost under the hum of the building’s ventilation. She didn’t look up immediately. Then it came again.
"Mmm-ma."
She looked up.
Leo was on the couch. His tablet was in his lap, but he wasn’t looking at it. His mouth was moving — lips pressing together, releasing. He didn’t seem to know she was watching. His brow was furrowed. His hands were still.
"Mmm-ma. Ma — "
His voice caught. The sound was small and rusty. He frowned. Tried again. "Ma." The syllable came out clearer, but it cost him. She could see it in the way his shoulders tightened, the way his jaw set with frustration. He looked down at his tablet. Stopped.
Arianne didn’t move. She didn’t know if she should say something or wait. She didn’t want to startle him. She didn’t want him to stop.
He looked up. Met her eyes.
He was checking. Had she heard?
"I heard you," she said. Her voice came out quieter than she meant it to.
He stared at her. His lips moved again. "Ah." A pause, a breath. "Ah-ree."
It wasn’t clear. It was barely a word. But he was looking directly at her, and he was trying to say her name.
Arianne set her pen down. "Leo."
He didn’t try again. The effort had spent him. His shoulders dropped. But he was still looking at her, waiting.
She stood. Crossed to the couch. Sat beside him, leaving space. He leaned into her shoulder. His body was warm and small and still trembling slightly.
She didn’t give a speech. The moment didn’t need one.
"Okay," she said.
Just that. Okay. I heard you. I’m here. Okay.
He closed his eyes.
Lily looked up from her map.
"Is Leo okay?"
"He’s tired."
Lily studied them for a moment — Leo against Arianne’s shoulder, Arianne’s arm around him, the Lion still upright on the couch cushion. Then Lily set her marker down. She walked around the desk and stood near the couch, her voice dropping.
"I saw him," she said. "In the bathroom at home."
Arianne looked at her.
"He was standing in front of the mirror. Making faces with his mouth. But no sound." She paused. "Like he was trying to talk without talking."
"How long has he been doing that?"
Lily shrugged. "A while. I didn’t tell anyone. I thought it was a secret."
Arianne absorbed this. Leo, alone in the bathroom, facing his own reflection. Mouthing words with no sound. Teaching himself to speak again where no one could see him fail. Lily had known, and she’d kept it to herself, because at five years old she already understood something about her brother that most adults wouldn’t have.
"Thank you," Arianne said. "For telling me."
"Is he going to talk again? For real?"
Arianne looked down at Leo. His breathing had evened out. The tension had left his jaw.
"I don’t know. But he’s trying."
Lily nodded. She went back to her map. But her eyes flicked to Leo once more before she picked up her marker.
At home that evening, Arianne put the twins to bed.
Lily fell asleep quickly, curled around Petal, her drawings stacked on her nightstand. She’d added three more names to her chart over the course of the afternoon — Finn, a woman from accounting who’d given her a sticker, and a man from legal who’d let her press the elevator button.
Leo was still awake. The Lion was on his pillow. The whale was on Arianne’s nightstand.
She sat on the edge of his bed. He didn’t look at her. His eyes were on the ceiling.
"I heard you today," she said.
His hand, on the blanket, curled slightly.
"Whenever you’re ready. Whatever you can say. I’ll hear it."
He didn’t nod. Didn’t type. But his hand stayed curled on the blanket, and that was enough.
She kissed his forehead. Left the door cracked.
She called Franz from her room.
It was late. He’d be in his hotel room, done with the day’s shoot. He answered on the second ring.
"Leo said something today."
A pause. "What did he say?"
"He tried to say my name. It wasn’t clear. But he was trying." She paused. "Lily told me she’s seen him practicing in the bathroom mirror. Mouthing words with no sound. For a while now. She didn’t tell anyone because she thought he wanted it to be a secret."
Franz was quiet. She could hear him breathing.
"Your name," he said finally. "He tried yours first."
"I was there. He was looking at me. He wanted me to hear."
"He chose you."
She closed her eyes. "He’ll try yours next. When you’re home."
"Less than a week."
A pause. Then Franz spoke, his voice lower than before. "Tell him I heard. When he wakes up. Tell him I’m proud of him."
"I will."
"Goodnight, Arianne."
"Goodnight."
She set the phone down. The whale was on her nightstand, its button eyes catching the lamplight. Down the hall, Leo was in his bed, the Lion beside him. She wondered if he was still awake. She wondered if his lips were moving in the dark, shaping words with no sound.
He’d tried her name first. Not Mama, not Dada, not the names of the parents he’d lost. Hers.
She turned off the lamp. The room went dark.
It was enough. For now, it was enough.
