When he spoke his first full sentence, it broke something in me that could never be repaired.
Leo's speech had been improving exponentially. Each day brought new words, longer phrases, more confident communication. The selective mutism that had defined him for three years was dissolving like morning fog, burned away by the sun of having his mother back.
But he still spoke in fragments mostly. Short bursts. "Mama, look." "Love you." "Play with me."
Until bath time on Tuesday.
Elara was kneeling beside the tub, helping him soap his hair, when he went very still. His small hands gripped the edge of the bathtub, and his face took on that serious expression that meant he was thinking hard about something.
"Mama?" His voice was tentative.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"I missed you." The words came out carefully. Deliberately. "When you were gone. Daddy cried every night."
