Page 24 of Ruthless Serenade

"Yay!" Sharon cheers, bouncing in her seat. "Can we get Lucky Charms, too?"

"We'll see, honey." I wink.

I focus on the road ahead as we head toward Walmart, but my thoughts just keep attacking me. I can't shake the feeling that… it’s like something important has shifted. Unless I’ve gone crazy. Or developed the ability to see the dead. Which is unlikely.

What if he’s out there?

What if he’s alive?

At the end of the day, Maron Korolev was a powerful man. Powerful enough to fake his own death and disappear from the public eye. Could it be possible? If so, why would he do that? Does this have something to do with the Bratva?

Stop it, Mindy!

I know I’m not doing myself a favor by allowing these thoughts to fester in my mind, but I just can’t help it. And the worst thing about it is that the simple idea that he could be alive, somehow makes me inexplicably, ridiculously happy.

***

Back at home, our usual evening routine unfolds.

I help Sharon with her homework and we have dinner together. Then, it’s time for her bath and bedtime story. Throughout it all, she seems quieter than normal. Her chatter is subdued, and her smiles are a little less bright. But I give her space, knowing that she'll come to me when she's ready.

Just as I’m tucking her into bed, she finally opens up about what happened at school earlier. Her voice is small and hesitant, as if she’s afraid to speak the words out loud.

"Mommy," she whispers, her eyes filled with a sadness that tugs at my heartstrings. "One of the big boys teased me today. He said… he said that you hate me because I can't talk."

Her words knock the wind from me. "Oh, baby," I murmur, gathering her into my arms and holding her tight. "I could never, ever hate you. You're everything to me. My whole world."

But Sharon isn't finished. "Then, the others joined in," she continues, her voice trembling slightly. "They started saying things like, 'Are you too dumb to speak, or do you just like being a freak?'"

I close my eyes, feeling a wave of anger and pain wash over me. How could children be so cruel, so heartless, to say such things to another child? My child?

"Listen to me, Sharon," I say gently. "Those kids are wrong. You are not dumb, and you are not a freak. You are smart, kind, and brave, and perfect just the way you are. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise."

Sharon sniffles, burying her little face in my shoulder. "But Mommy… why can’t I talk like the other kids? Why am I different?"

I stroke her hair, feeling my own tears threatening to fall. "Everyone is different in their own way, baby. And being different is a good thing. It’s what makes you special.

"I’m special?" She asks, seemingly mulling my words over.

"You are, baby," I tell her. "In the best possible way." I can feel some tears trying to escape my eyes, but I manage to keep my act together.

Sharon nods, and a small smile appears on her lips. "We’re both special, Mommy," she whispers, reaching out and pulling her small body close to mine.

A rush of emotions floods my heart as I hold onto her. I wish she could see herself the way I see her. How she is the most perfect creature in this world. I wish I could explain to her what she means to me in a way that she understands. But language alone isn’t enough for that. Perhaps, when she grows up and has her own kid, she’ll know. A mother’s love for her child is a special kind of love, a bond only a parent could understand. It is one that cannot be expressed with words.

Sharon finally drifts off to sleep, her little hand clutching her favorite stuffed bunny. I watch her for a few minutes, my heart swelling with a mix of love, joy, and protectiveness. Even in her slumber, I can see the traces of tension on her sweet face, the weight of the day's events still lingering.

When I’m sure she’s fallen asleep, I quietly slip out of her room, leaving the door slightly ajar just in case she needs me during the night. With a heavy sigh, I make my way to the living room and collapse on the couch. My mind is still a mess after everything Sharon told me.

I open my laptop, the blue glow of the screen illuminating my face in the low light of the room. With trembling fingers, I type "selective mutism" into the search bar. As I scroll through the results, I feel a sense of both relief and trepidation. Relief, because I finally have a name for what Sharon is going through, a tangible thing that I can research and understand. Trepidation, because I know that this is just the beginning of a long and difficult journey.

One article catches my eye, and I click on it, my eyes scanning the words hungrily.

Selective mutismis a condition that mostly affects children. Those affected are unable to talk in certain situations due to either fear or anxiety. While it is mostly common for kids around school age, it can also affect teens and adults. It is important to remember that children with SM are not being disobedient or stubborn. SM is a condition that is beyond their control.

If you suspect your child has SM, talk to a pediatrician or another healthcare professional. Treatments are available, and the outlook is generally positive - especially when treatmentbegins early. With encouragement and support, your child can learn to speak for themselves without letting fear or anxiety deprive them of their voice.

I let out a heavy sigh and close my laptop. I head to the bathroom and go through the motions of my evening routine on autopilot, taking a shower and brushing my teeth, with movements that are almost robotic. By the time I finally climb into my bed and turn off the lights, my thoughts are somewhat composed.

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