He told himself he wasn’t getting involved emotionally. But he knew he was only fooling himself. Every time he saw her smile at his mother, something in him tightened. Not desire, at least not initially, but recognition. This was someone burdened, someone cornered, someone fighting quietly. He understood that struggle more than she knew.
One afternoon, as he sat with Margot, she signed something slowly, making sure he understood: “Lena is a girl who lost her voice.” Margot rarely used metaphors. Evan understood instantly. His mother meant Lena carried silence as a protective shield. He had guessed as much.