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And then, in the clearest, most terrifyingly steady voice, he said:
For a second, I couldn’t breathe or process this.
My son, my silent son, had just spoken.
I dropped to my knees in front of him, not caring that my dress pooled on the floor or that my mascara was probably already running.
“What?” I whispered. “Noah, baby, what did you say?”
He swallowed hard, like the words were sharp in his throat.
His fingers trembled around mine.
“I knew Ethan before you did,” he said, his voice cracking.
“I didn’t remember at first… but now I’m sure. It’s him.”
“What do you mean?”
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