I still remember that night years ago when Walter first started learning sign language. It was past midnight, the lamp glowing warm in our bedroom while he sat at the desk, practicing over and over with that serious look on his face.
I had written on a small notepad and slid it to him, placing my hand gently over his. “You don’t have to do this. I can manage. I’ve lived with it all my life.”
He’d looked at me with that perfect smile that always made me believe him. “Rosine, you went through so much pain, not being able to hear anyone. You were alone, carrying it all by yourself. I can’t stand that. Let me be the one who understands you. Let me be your voice, your comfort.”
Those words had cracked me open. I cried that night like a child, because for the first time, someone seemed willing to fight through my silence just to reach me. Not Cali, Not my parents, who always treated me like Beatrix’s shadow. And definitely not Beatrix, who was the reason I became deaf in the first place.
That night came back to me like a nightmare…
I was only thirteen then. Beatrix and I were waiting outside the Charles estate after school. I had been holding my sketchbook against my chest, smiling faintly when I saw Cali’s car pulling up.
But Beatrix’s smile was different. I knew that look now it was the same one she always wore before tearing something from me.
“Rosine, move!” she shouted, grabbing my wrist.
Before I could even process her words, she shoved me hard. My body stumbled forward, straight into the path of the approaching car.
The world spun. I remember the blinding headlights, the squeal of brakes, the sharp blast of a horn.
Then impact. My head hit the ground first, right by my ear. Pain exploded through me, searing white, then everything blurred.
When I woke up in the hospital days later, the silence was unbearable. I couldn’t hear my mother, couldn’t hear the doctors, couldn’t hear my own voice when I tried to scream. All I had were Beatrix’s crocodile tears by my bedside, her soft words mouthed to me like she cared.
But I knew. I knew her push hadn’t been an accident. She wanted me gone. She wanted Cali to herself.
That was the day I lost my hearing. And that was the day I learned what it meant to be invisible, too.
And now, I thought Walter was different. I thought he was my shelter.
But now, watching him sign so easily in front of me, I felt nothing but bitterness. The same hands that once felt like protection had become a cruel reminder. He had used my silence as a shield, whispering his love for Beatrix while I sat beside him, smiling like a fool, never hearing a word.
“Sweetheart, we should get ready. Beatrix’s birthday banquet is starting soon. If we’re late, people will talk.”
His eyes lit up as he said her name. Not me. Not us. Her.
Something twisted inside my chest. Still, I forced myself to lift my hands and sign back slowly. “Wait for me. I’ll… I’ll go get change first.”
I rushed upstairs. The moment I closed the bedroom door, my strength fell apart. My shoulders shook, and tears poured down in silence. It was the kind of crying that didn’t even make a sound, the kind that emptied you out.
After a long while, I forced myself to calm down. I wiped my swollen eyes, fixed my hair, and slipped into a simple but elegant gown. I didn’t want to give Beatrix or anyone else one more reason to sneer at me.
On my way down, a sliver of light from Walter’s study caught my eye. The door was cracked open.
For three years of marriage, I’d never gone inside. Walter always said it was his private space, and I respected that. I thought it was his way of keeping work separate from our home. But tonight, something in me moved. I reached out and pushed the door wider.
What I saw froze me.
The walls weren’t filled with business charts or family portraits. They were covered… covered… with photos of Beatrix. Her as a child, her as a teenager, her smiling, crying, laughing. Every angle, every moment, framed neatly, like she was some goddess he worshipped.
Not one photo of me. Not even our wedding picture.
I staggered closer, my legs unsteady. On the desk was a pile of letters tied with ribbon. My fingers shook as I picked one up. The first line read: To Beatrix, my nine hundred nighty-ninth love letter.
Every word bled with devotion. Promises, confessions, obsession. It wasn’t me he spent his nights thinking of… it was her.
Beside the letters lay a contract. My eyes widened as I read the title: Transfer of Ownership: Rutherford Crown Holdings.
Rutherford Crown Holdings. The company Walter fought his whole life to protect. His empire. His family’s legacy. And he was ready to give it all to Beatrix, just like that.
The hours he locked himself away here weren’t for work. They were for her. Always her. And me? I was nothing but a placeholder, a name he needed to keep her out of reach. The truth hollowed me out until I felt invisible, erased.
***
By the time we arrived at the Charles’ mansion near the lake, I wasn’t myself anymore. I was a shadow.
The grand estate glowed under chandeliers, the halls filled with music and laughter. Guests in designer gowns and tuxedos mingled, sipping champagne like the night belonged to them.
At the center stood Beatrix, dazzling in a gown made just for her, every sequin catching the light. Her beauty was undeniable, her presence magnetic. She looked like she owned the night, like she had always belonged to the spotlight.
My parents hovered around her, eyes shining with pride. They touched her hands, stroked her arms, like they couldn’t believe she was really back. Like they didn’t want to let her go again.
They had once looked at me the same way. I remembered it. I had once been their precious daughter. But everything changed the day Beatrix went missing and then returned.
Fifteen years ago, we were twelve years old when they found her after she’d been gone for two weeks. I ran to her with open arms, thinking we’d finally be sisters again.
But her first words cut deeper than any blade.
“R-rosine,” her tears were falling from her eyes, “what did I do wrong? Why… Why did you let them kidnap and take me away?”
