Chapter 51

Annie's POV

Through the living room's windows. I watched Lucy and Penny on the lawn while explaining our latest therapy approach to Sue. Lucy moved through her exercise routine with careful precision, while Penny demonstrated her newest dance steps nearby.

"We're developing à specialized approach," I said, spreading the sketches across the coffee table. "The idea is to create a doll that resembles Penny.with the same two-way communication system we've been using with the Parker dolls."

Sue leaned forward, her eyes bright with interest. "That's brilliant.Penny would be thrilled to be part of Lucy's therapy." She glanced out at the girls.

"She's already become quite the interpreter at school. The teachers tell me she instinctively knows when Lucy needs help expressing herself."

I nodded,watching as Penny attempted to teach Lucy a twirl. "Their friendship has been instrumental in Lucy's progress. The way Penny naturally adapts to Lucy's communication style is remarkable."

"It goes both ways," Sue smiled. "Penny's never had such a close friend before.She-" She paused as the sound of tires on gravel caught our attention. Howard's car pulled up to the circular driveway, and I felt my chest tighten as I recognized Edward and Eleanor Parker in the back seat. The moment we'd been preparing for had arrived. "Lucy, Penny," Howard called as he helped the elderly couple from the car.His voice carried that particular gentleness he reserved for important moments. "Come meet Mr. and Mrs. Parker." I watched Lucy's transformation with the careful eye of both therapist and caregiver. Her breathing shifted from the steady rhythm of exercise to something shorter and more controlled. Each step toward her grandparents was measured, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

Edward's entire body seemed to gravitate toward Lucy, though he maintained the careful distance we'd discussed. I recognized that barely-contained longing; it was the same ache I felt whenever I caught sight of a little boy who reminded me of Brian.

Penny, bless her heart, broke the tension with her natural exuberance."

Want to see my new dance routine?" She was already spinning,her pigtails flying. "I've been practicing!"

Eleanor's careful composure melted into genuine delight. "We'd love to see it.dear."

As Penny launched into an impromptu performance, I noticed Lucy's fingers twitching slightly, unconsciously mimicking the dance moves. But when Edward took a step closer, she suddenly bolted toward the house.Her footsteps echoed on the stairs as she retreated to her room.

Eleanor's face feIl as Lucy disappeared upstairs. "Did we push too hard?Perhaps we should give her more time-"

"Wait," I touched her arm gently, recognizing the pattern from our therapy sessions. "Lucy's not running away. She's probably heading to her room to use the intercom system - it's become her safe space for difficult conversations." Sure enough, the intercom light blinked on moments later. Lucy's voice came through with that particular strain I'd learned to associate with her pushing past her comfort zone. "I'm sorry. I just...I couldn't..." "There's nothing to be sorry for," Edward assured her,though his hands gripped his knees hard enough to wrinkle his perfectly pressed slacks."But I want to talk to you!" Lucy's words burst forth with unexpected intensity. "I try so hard, but sometimes the words get stuck, and I feel like I'm disappointing everyone."

"Lucy," Eleanor's voice wavered slightly, "you could never disappoint us.Not being able to speak sometimes doesn't make you any less precious to us."

"But what if I never get better?" The fear in Lucy's voice was raw,familiar.

"What if I'm always broken?"

"You're not broken, sweetheart," Edward's words carried the weight of absolute conviction. "You're just finding your own way to communicate.And that's perfectly okay."

The sound of small feet on stairs drew our attention. Lucy descended step by careful step, her Parker dolls clutched protectively against her chest. Her face held the same expression I'd seen in the mirror countless times-the look of someone gathering every ounce of courage they possessed.

With deliberate care, she placed one doll beside Edward and the other next to Eleanor. Then, in a voice that barely disturbed the air but shook our world nonetheless, she said, "Grandfather?"

Edward's hand flew to his mouth, his shoulders shaking with suppressed emotion. Eleanor's fingers found his other hand, their shared grip white-knuckled with the effort of holding themselves together.

"I wanted to find you earlier," Lucy continued, each word precise and carefully formed. "But I was scared... scared that not being able to talk would make you sad. Make you not want me."

Eleanor opened her arms, and Lucy hesitated for just a heartbeat before stepping forward.

"We love you exactly as you are, sweetheart," Eleanor said, her voice gentle. "Whether you speak a thousand words or none at all, you're our precious granddaughter."

Edward joined them, his voice rough with emotion. "We're so proud of you,Lucy.So very proud."

Lucy's small fingers clutched at her grandmother's sweater, and I caught a glimpse of her profile-the subtle relaxation in her shoulders that I'd learned to recognize as trust. This was another breakthrough, another step forward in her healing journey.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, breaking the moment. Philip's name on the screen sent an immediate surge of tension through my body.I remembered our last conversation at the café-how I'd finally spoken my truth, how I'd walked away feeling lighter than I had in years.

My first instinct was to decline the call. I'd made my position clear during our last meeting. But something about witnessing Lucy's courage today-watching her face her fears and overcome them-resonated within me.

After everything we'd accomplished today, I felt more centered,more certain of who I'd become. The woman who had once bent herself into impossible shapes to please Philip was gone. In her place stood someone stronger, someone who could face this final ghost from her past without being haunted by it.

I stepped into the hallway, away from the tender family scene unfolding in the living room, and answered the call, "Philip."

"Annie, I need to see you again." His voice carried that familiar note of urgency that used to send me rushing to solve whatever crisis he'd created.

I took a breath and considered what the therapist in me recognized-that clean breaks were better than ragged edges, especially when a child was involved. "Fine," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Text me where we're gonna meet."

I ended the call before he could respond.