Chapter Nine
Mindy
I sneak a glance at Sharon as we drive through the busy streets of New York.
She’s quietly sitting in the back seat, staring out the window, deep in thought. I know my daughter well and it’s clear that something’s bothering her. Except sometimes, she won’t tell me what it is. She’s always been closed off about her feelings, and it makes me wonder if it’s because of her selective mutism. Her body language is screaming tension: hunched shoulders and clenched hands. My mind is going crazy with worry about what happened today, how she must be hurting.
I suck in a deep breath and plaster a grin on my face. "Listen, honey bunny," I chirp, trying to sound cheerful and not like I'm about to pull out my own hair. "How about we go get some ice cream? My treat!"
Sharon’s eyes light up like Christmas morning. "Before dinner?"
"Let’s go wild today, baby. What do you say, huh?"
She giggles. "Can we get chocolate, Mommy?"
The tension in my chest eases at her enthusiasm. Ice cream always does the job when I want to cheer her up. It’s one of the best tricks I have up my sleeve. Too bad I can’t use it all the time.
"You know it, sweetpea. Chocolate overload it is."
I pull up to Scoops & Smiles, our favorite ice cream joint. I'm eagerly bouncing on my toes as we head toward the shop, hoping this sweet treat will make Sharon feel better and take her mind off her rough school day.
The ice cream parlor is bright and colorful, with candy-colored walls and a display case filled with a wide variety of different flavors. Sharon grabs onto my hand as we make our way inside, her small body jumping with anticipation. As we get closer to the counter, her eyes light up at the sight of all the delicious options.
"Mommy, look!" she squeals, pointing at each one and trying to read off their wacky names like Chunky Monkey Business and Scoop-a-Dooby-Doo.
I can't help but laugh along with her. "Seriously, who comes up with these names? Rocky Road Rage? Berrylicious Brain Freeze?"
Sharon's face is beaming with joy. She seems like she completely forgot about whatever was troubling her before. Her eyes are glued to the sight before her, like she just found a secret tunnel to Charlie’s Chocolate Factory.
"Which one can I have, Mommy?" She asks with such innocent enthusiasm that I almost melt into a puddle.
"You can pick whatever, Sweetie," I say, getting down to her level. “I’ll get something else and you can try out mine too, okay?"
Sharon’s smile could light up a dark room. "Really? Thank you, Mommy!" She wraps her arms around my neck in a hug. I hold onto her tightly, cherishing every second of the precious moment.
Minutes later, as Sharon and I are sitting in a cozy booth savoring our ice cream, I'm reminded of a funny story from my childhood. "Did I ever tell you how Auntie Emily and I fooled everybody around us in school?" I ask with a mischievous grin spreading across my face.
Sharon’s eyes widen with curiosity. "No, Mommy! Tell me!" she exclaims eagerly.
My mind drifts back to those carefree days. "Well, when Auntie Emily and I were about your age, we decided to play a little trick on our teachers at school. We switched places for a whole day just to see if anyone would notice."
Sharon giggles, her mouth full of colorful sprinkles. "Really? Did they figure it out?"
I smile at the memory. "Nope! Nobody could tell the difference! We even fooled some of our friends. I went to all of Emily’s classes, and she went to mine. It was so hard not to laugh when the teachers called us by the wrong names!"
"That's funny, Mommy!" Sharon laughs, her eyes sparkling with delight. "I wish I had a twin sister too!"
My heart clenches a little at her words. The bittersweet pang of longing for the sister I lost gnaws at me, but I brush it aside. The past is the past. What matters right now is the joy of sharing this moment with my daughter.
"It was pretty awesome," I agree, reaching out to boop Sharon on the nose. "But you know what? Having a twin is special, but being your mom is the best thing in the whole wide world."
Sharon beams at me, her smile brighter than all the colors of the ice cream parlor. "I love you, Mommy," she says quietly, her voice filled with pure, innocent affection.
"I love you too, baby," I reply, my heart overflowing with adoration for this precious little girl. I never thought it was possible to love like this. A mother’s love for their child is unlike anything else in this universe. I remember the days when my own mom kept telling me that “one day, you’ll understand what it’s like.” Back then, I had no idea what she meant. Now, I understand it more than anything.
"Can I have another ice cream, Mommy?" Sharon asks eagerly, her eyes sparkling with hope.
I’m about to gently refuse - after all, one whole scoop is enough before dinner - when something catches my eye through the parlor's large front window.
Parked just across the street, is a black Escalade. Its license plate reads SUN-8899, and I’d recognize that combination anywhere. I saw that car just the other night. It’s Maron’s old car.
My breath catches in my throat and I can feel myself go a few shades paler. I have no idea why I’m having this reaction, despite knowing that someone else is driving that car. I strain my eyes to see who it is, but the tinted windows block my full view of the interior. Thanks to the bright daylight, however, I can make out the features of a figure sitting in the driver’s seat, talking on the phone. Whoever he is, he’s a pretty big guy. He’s wearing sunglasses, a black leather jacket, and a salt-and-pepper beard. He’s good-looking, even. Almost as good-looking as…
Oh my God.
I blink hard, almost unable to believe my eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I’m seeing a ghost. A ghost I’ve been trying to forget every day, for the last seven years. My heart almost stops beating. My skin goes even more pale, if that’s even possible.
No, it can’t be.
You’re going nuts, Mindy.
I'm jolted back to reality by Sharon's voice. "Mommy? Can I have another ice cream?"
I look down at my daughter, my mind spinning from what I just saw. Without really thinking, I nod and follow her to the counter. My movements are almost robotic as I let her choose another treat.
Even as we leave the parlor and get back to my car, I still struggle to shake off the daze I'm in. My mind is consumed with a single thought: what the hell did I just see? Or who? And why does he look so much like… him?
Jesus Christ, I need to get my head straight. I’ve got enough on my plate and one more thing to occupy my thoughts is the last thing I need right now. Especially that I have a feeling that Sharon will require extra attention in the weeks ahead. This school event won’t be a walk in the park for her and I must make sure that she can handle the emotional pressure.
Earth to Mindy!
The day isn’t over yet, girl!
Right. Back to reality. I start the engine of my car, forcing my brain to focus on our next task.
"Alright, peanut," I say, glancing at Sharon in the rearview mirror. "We need to do some grocery shopping before we head home. Where do you think we should go?"
Sharon's face lights up at being given the choice. "Can we go to Walmart, Mommy? Please?" she asks excitedly.
"Sure, baby, but why Walmart?"
"Because they have the big toy section with all the dolls," she explains, her eyes sparkling from joy. "And they give out free stickers at the checkout! Melanie in my class got one yesterday."
Her reasoning brings a smile to my face. I never get tired of my baby girl’s enthusiasm about the smallest things in life.
"Walmart it is, then," I agree. "But remember, we going there to pick up groceries, not toys. We get our food first, and then we can take a look at the dolls, okay?"
"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 treatment begins 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.
But as I try to drift off to sleep, something just won't let me rest. A thought that keeps nagging me, a tiny voice from the past that just won’t go away. A thought about a certain someone that exited my life seven years ago. After about thirty minutes of tossing and turning, I decide to get up and head to the kitchen for a hot chocolate. It is the only thing that helps me on these evenings like this.
On my way to the kitchen, I glance into Sharon’s room. Seeing her peacefully sleeping form, her tousled hair framing her face, makes me smile and feel comforted. She’s fast asleep, breathing softly. Her features are now smooth, the tension that had gripped her earlier no longer visible.
My perfect little daughter.
Once I’m in the kitchen, I clutch the warm mug of cocoa. The steam rises, carrying the scent of chocolate - a luxury I allow myself only on nights like this. My eyes drift to the fridge, covered with Sharon’s drawings: stick figures of the two of us. Just her and me. No dad, no siblings, no pets. The silence of our small apartment seems to mock the laughter and friendly chaos that should fill a family home.
A lone tear escapes. It’s just not fair. Every kid deserves a beautiful childhood with a loving family. Grandparents, aunties, cousins, pets, and… a dad. But all Sharon has is me, and all I have is her.
And now, this selective mutism… How are we supposed to handle it? Will she grow out of it? How can I support her through this? And let’s be real, what will this mean in real-world terms? Will she need professional help? How will that affect our daily logistics? How much will it cost?
My gaze falls on the pile of bills on the counter, then shifts to the calendar on the wall. The latter, marked with doctor’s appointments and work deadlines, mockingly stares back at me. It’s almost as if it’s challenging me, daring me to keep up with its relentless demands. I feel the weight of it all press down on my shoulders, a constant reminder that no matter how hard I push, life keeps pushing back.
My hand trembles slightly as I lift the mug to my lips, allowing the sweet warmth of the liquid to calm my mind. I check the time - it’s almost midnight. Work tomorrow is going to be hell.
Maybe Betty's onto something. Maybe I should start looking for a partner more seriously. This whole situation is just too much for one person to handle. But why does dating have to be so damn exhausting? Why is it that I’m only able to meet a bunch of jerks who lack even the most basic human decency? It’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
But deep down, I know there’s more to it than just that. The real reason for being a single mother lingers in the back of my mind, like a dark shadow from the past. A dark shadow that just won’t go away. It follows me wherever I go and there isn’t a single moment when I’m unaware of it.
"Maron." I say the name out loud.
A moment later, I’m shaking my head, unsure where the hell that came from. But I just can’t help it. What if he’s out there somewhere? What if he didn’t die that day?
The more I think about it, the more believable it seems. If there’s one person who could fake his own death, it’s Maron Korolev. He’s got the power and the connections to pull off something like that. And with the Tramoxine launch going south all those years ago, perhaps he had a reason to do it.
Oh my God!
What if he’s really out there?
I don’t know what to think anymore. Even if he’s alive, what am I supposed to do with that information? He could have contacted me, but he never did. But then again, why would he? Should I contact him? Shouldn’t he know he has a daughter? And even if I decided to reach out to him, how would I get hold of him? I don’t even know for sure if he’s alive!
My mind feels like a clusterfuck of confusion. Not even my late-night hot chocolate can help these thoughts go away. But I’ve been around long enough to know one thing: the Universe has a funny way of knocking on your door when you least expect it.
Sometimes, the only sensible thing to do is wait and observe… and allow things to unfold at their natural pace.