Chapter 1

A boy from my daughter's class had a mother demanding eight hundred thousand in damages.

She claimed my daughter ran a little gang at school, that every single day she cursed at her son with the filthiest words.

She spammed the parents' group chat: "Pay up, or I'll get this little savage thrown into juvenile detention and run your whole family out of Riverton!"

I didn't argue. I signed for the summons, calm.

Strangers online told me to bow my head and apologize, said the husband was a real-estate developer and taking him to court was an egg throwing itself at a rock.

On the day of the hearing, I walked into the courtroom holding my daughter's hand.

The gallery was packed with parents ready to condemn us. In the plaintiff's seat, the rich wife's face was pure venom.

The presiding judge called the defendant to make her statement.

I crouched down and signed to her. My daughter stared blankly at the judge, and from her throat came only that broken ah-ba, ah-ba sound.

She was born deaf and mute, with severe autism on top of it. She can't even say Mom or Dad.

For one moment, the whole courtroom went dead silent.

……

Three days earlier.

I was in the kitchen making porridge for Libby when the phone on the table started buzzing like mad.

I dried my hands and opened the screen. In the parents' group chat, Mrs. Whitney had posted a photo.

In it, Herbert had a thick wad of gauze taped to his forehead. Right after came a hospital bill.

The amount: eight hundred thousand.

Mrs. Whitney sent a voice message, her voice shrill and grating.

"Irene Pruitt, get out here!"

"That little savage of yours runs around school in her little gang every day, and today she actually hit my son, cursed him with the dirtiest words she knows!"

"Eight hundred thousand. One cent short and I'll finish off your entire family!"

The chat exploded instantly, parents jumping in to pick sides.

"God! So vicious at that age?"

"Libby always seemed off, never fit in, dark and sullen. Turns out she's a little delinquent!"

"Mrs. Whitney, you can't let someone like this off. Call the police, get her sent to juvenile detention!"

"Terrifying. I'm telling Teacher Lambert tomorrow to move my son's seat far away from her. Wouldn't want him catching whatever disease these poor trash people carry!"

I watched the cruel words scroll up the screen, and my chest went tight.

I turned toward the living room.

Libby was sitting on the carpet.

Head down, a colored pencil in her hand, drawing away, quiet as could be.

She was sunk deep in her own world, unable to hear the sounds outside it, unable to make a single sound of her own.

Aaron Dickerson came storming out of the bedroom, his face black, and slammed his phone down on the couch.

"Irene, look at this wonderful daughter you raised. Mr. Whitney is the biggest client our company has."

"Are you dead set on destroying this family? You insane woman!"

Aaron jabbed a finger in my face and screamed. I paid no attention to his rage.

I picked up my phone and typed a few words into the chat.

"I'll take the legal route."

I hit send. The chat went quiet for a couple of seconds, then Mrs. Whitney's spamming came back even more frantic.

"Fine! You shameless shrew!"

"Playing dumb, are you? Just you wait. I'll make sure your whole family can't show its face in Riverton!"

Aaron saw my reply and shook all over with fury.

"Have you lost your mind? You dare talk back to Mrs. Whitney?"

"Is she someone you can afford to cross? Her husband could pluck one hair off his arm and it'd still be thicker than your waist!"

"Go kneel and apologize, now! Take that worthless little burden with you and kowtow!"

I looked at this man I'd been married to for eight years, cold.

In this house, he had only ever cared about his face and his job.

The day our daughter was diagnosed with autism and confirmed deaf and mute, he'd taken one look at her, then turned and slammed the door on his way out, disgusted.

After that his trips home grew fewer, and he never once tried to reach her on his own.

"If someone's kneeling, it'll be you." My voice was flat.

"My daughter didn't do it. She doesn't hit people, and she certainly doesn't curse anyone."

Aaron raised his hand to strike me. I didn't flinch.

His hand froze in the air, then came down hard against the wall, and he slammed the door behind him.

The apartment fell into dead quiet. I walked over to Libby, crouched down, and gently stroked her hair.

She didn't look up, still absorbed in smearing color across the page. I looked at the tangle of lines on her paper.

I carried the porridge out and set it on the coffee table.

"Libby, time to eat."

I signed the words. She gave no response, so I picked up the spoon and fed her, one small bite at a time.

The phone rang again. It was Teacher Lambert.

"Irene! What kind of mother are you, exactly?"

"Mrs. Whitney has taken this all the way to the principal's office. She's got the school board involved now!"

"Get down here and file the paperwork to withdraw Libby Dickerson. My class has no room for a bad seed like her!"

His voice was thick with contempt. I gripped the phone tighter.

"I won't be filing any withdrawal. Teacher Lambert, did you check the cameras? Is there any proof my daughter hit anyone?"

Teacher Lambert let out a cold laugh, dripping with disdain.

"Herbert said it himself, how could that be false? Besides, out of the whole class, your Libby Dickerson is the most solitary and strange one there is."

"I don't care how you do it. Don't let her show up for school tomorrow. Just looking at her is bad luck!"

"If you've got the nerve, then expel her."

I hung up on him and threw the phone onto the couch.

I looked at Libby in my arms, so slow and blank she couldn't even seem to chew.

The tears I'd been holding back finally fell onto the back of her hand.

But I wiped them away quickly.

If they thought driving my daughter and me to the wall would be easy, they were wrong.