My Foster Son Never Spoke a Single Word – Until the Judge Asked Him One Question

He nodded, a smile playing on his lips.

And that was the beginning.

I read aloud to him that night. He didn’t look at me, but he didn’t leave the room either. It was…

enough.

I didn’t push Alan to speak. I just lived beside him and left space for the sound if it ever came.

I packed his lunches with handwritten notes, not expecting a response. Sometimes they were silly jokes — jokes about squirrels stealing my tomatoes.

Other times they were gentler.

“I’m proud of you, sweetheart.”

“You’re doing great, Alan.”

“You’re the light I’ve always dreamed about.”

For weeks, they came back crumpled… or not at all. Then one day, I noticed one folded carefully and left on the kitchen counter.

I opened it and saw the words I’d written still intact, smooth and clean.

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