Chapter 20
WORDS BEYOND VOICE
VIOLET
If your love had a scent, what would it be?
SilenceInMidnight: Rain-soaked parchment.
There’s a notification of an incoming text from Rowan’s phone, and for a split second, neither of us moves.
The air between us is still warm and heavy, with the echo of words that made my chest feel too full and my pulse too loud.
Then the sound repeats and the moment loosens. Not all at once, but just enough to remind us that real life exists outside this quiet pocket we’ve built in one night.
Rowan: There’s someone here to meet you.
The ease I’ve been wrapped in since stepping into this home deflates slowly, like a balloon losing air instead of bursting. I thought I was doing well, so well, navigating this new version of myself without spiraling, without the panic the doctors warned me might come.
Truth hits me, sharp and unwelcome. The reason I felt calm wasn’t because I was coping; it was Rowan and the way he had been anchoring me, quietly becoming my north star in a sky where I don’t recognize any of the constellations. Before I can tip fully into the spiral, my phone vibrates in my hand.
Rowan: It’s Willow, with her fiancé and their daughter. You love all of them.
My racing heart slows, just a little.
Willow is my friend. I might not remember everything about her, but she cares about me. I could feel her affection at the hospital.
I cling to that thought, repeating it silently in my head.
Rowan rises from the couch, and I follow him to the porch, just when Willow walks toward us with a man beside her, and between them, a little girl holding both their hands.
They reach the porch, laughing softly and shaking snow from their coats. Willow kneels to brush flakes from the little girl’s woolen jacket and cap before she straightens and wraps me in a hug.
“I hope you don’t mind the company.”
“And to make up for showing up unannounced,” the man adds with a grin, holding out a box, “we brought dessert.”
Rowan takes it, and the man extends his hand to me. “I’m Raymond. It’s really good to see you back on your feet.” Then he gestures to the little girl. “And this is Quill. Our daughter.”
I notice the way Willow’s and Raymond’s eyes meet over Quill’s head, just a fraction of a second, but intimate enough to say everything. They’re deeply, unmistakably in love.
“Nice to meet you.” I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Did I know you?”
Raymond doesn’t let any awkwardness linger. Instead, his smile is kind and understanding.
“Yes. We all hung out together almost every week. And you were the light of every gathering, Violet.”
“Thanks,” I say, even though fear curls low inside me. Seeing pieces of my past scares me. What if nothing comes back?
I’m still lost in my thoughts when small fingers tug gently at the hem of my pale blue cardigan. I look down and Quill gives me a half-hesitant smile before her fingers move.
Oh my.
Before I can tell her that I don’t understand sign language, Willow explains, “She wants to know if your arm is hurting.”
I shake my head quickly. “It doesn’t hurt much, unless I move too suddenly.”
Quill beams, completely satisfied with my response.
I love how no one pauses to explain why she signs instead of speaks.
No one makes Quill feel like her actions or presence requires clarification.
It just is—natural and fully accepted. This must be what acceptance and love look like inside a family.
“Are we staying out here, or are you planning to invite us in?” Raymond asks, jerking his head toward the door.
Rowan turns immediately, ushering us inside without ceremony. Moments later, we’re back in the solarium.
“Holy crap, Rowan!” Willow squeals, spinning slowly as she takes it all in. “Your place is beautiful. I mean, I thought it was gorgeous just driving up here, but this room? This is epic. Why do you never invite us?”
She plants a hand on her hip.
“Because this is his sacred place,” Raymond answers easily, giving Rowan a playful pat on the back.
Rowan shakes his head, smiling, then lifts his hands to sign. Without missing a beat, Raymond translates.
“There’s no such thing as a sacred space. I just like things the way I keep them, and I don’t like people disturbing my stuff.”
Raymond laughs when he’s done, and Rowan simply shrugs in response.
Then his eyes meet mine.
There’s something different about him now—a mask, an aloof confidence I’ve only seen when other people are around. In company, he commands the room with restraint, so unlike the shy Rowan or the carefree Night I meet in our private moments.
“I envy you, Vi,” Willow says, settling beside me on the couch. “This view is unreal.”
She looks up at the falling snow.
I agree, it is unreal. But the man who comes with the view is even more so.
“Violet,” Raymond says gently, “would it be okay if Rowan shows Quill and me the new books he’s added? You and Willow could talk for a bit.”
I understand immediately that this isn’t just a surprise visit. It’s a check-in, my friends are making sure I’m okay.
While Willow smiles, Rowan’s jaw tightens, just slightly. It makes me feel oddly grateful that he wasn’t part of the plan either. I like that he doesn’t treat me as fragile.
Once they move out of earshot, Willow turns toward me, taking my hand and gently pulling my attention back to her.
“How was last night?”
Heat rushes to my face instantly.
A surprised smile pulls on her face as she takes me in for a beat and eventually says, “I mean, it was your first night out of the hospital. Were you able to sleep well? Or was it scary being somewhere unfamiliar?”
I’m sure my expression already gave her the reply; still, I take a calming breath and admit, “I slept well. Actually, better than expected. I didn’t realize how exhausted I was.”
She nods. “Totally makes sense. And just so you know, Daisy’s place, Elodie’s, mine—our homes are always open to you, Vi. If you ever want a change of scenery, or if you need space from here for any reason, you tell us. Okay?”
I nod. “Thank you. That really means a lot.”
“You mean a lot to us, Vi. Never think you’re alone. We’re always just a call away.” Her grip tightens briefly before she lets go.
“You like it here with Rowan, don’t you?” Willow’s gaze drifts lower than my face, taking in Rowan’s clothes on me.
I nod, my attention shifting automatically to where Rowan now sits in a leather armchair, Quill perched comfortably on his lap, a book open between them. Raymond settles across from them.
Rowan signs as he reads, and Quill signs back just as animatedly.
It’s mesmerizing and oddly calm. Watching them communicate without sound stirs an inexplicable ache in my heart.
I realize that signing is much more comfortable for Rowan than communicating through his phone. Yet he has never shown a trace of impatience or inconvenience when we talk.
Quill briefly looks toward us and signs to Willow before turning back to Rowan.
“The irony is wild—the two people in our family who struggle with speaking love words the most,” Willow murmurs.
I understand exactly what she means. Even without speaking, Rowan has the most beautiful way with words. I haven’t forgotten a single line of his letter or the emotions that ignited in their wake.
“What did Quill say to you?”
“She’s obsessed with storybooks,” Willow smiles. “Rowan’s trying to read a story about a family of otters, but Quill says she doesn’t like the plot, so she’s rewriting it in real time.”
I laugh softly.
“My QuillBug is going to be a kickass writer someday,” Willow says proudly.
“Wouldn’t that be amazing,” I reply and Willow smiles. “Does everyone in the family know sign language?”
“Yes. Rowan’s mom, Vienna, made sure of it when he became situationally mute. Raymond once mentioned that Rowan still talks to his dad sometimes.”
I nod. “Yes. I saw them together, talking.”
“You heard him?” Willow’s brows lift.
I shake my head. “No. I didn’t hear anything. They were at the carport while I was on the porch.”
She relaxes back on the couch. “I’ve never heard his voice either. The injury changed how he sounds and the hesitation eventually turned into silence.”
A dull ache settles in me.
I hope, quietly, fiercely, that one day Rowan feels safe enough with me. That he knows I don’t care how his voice sounds. That I would hold every word he gives me like something precious.