The morning light on the Cape Town shore was a cruel, bright yellow. It didn't feel like a new beginning; it felt like an interrogation. I sat on the damp sand, my fingers digging into the grit, watching the spot in the sky where the black helicopter had swallowed my son.
I opened my mouth to scream. I wanted to tear the heavens down with a mother’s rage. I wanted to call Toby’s name until my lungs burst.
But there was only silence.
A hollow, terrifying nothingness lived where my voice used to be. I pushed the air from my chest, straining until my face turned purple and the silver scars on my neck throbbed like a second heartbeat. Nothing. Not a rasp, not a whisper. Toby had paid for my life with my speech, and the debt felt heavier than the ocean that had almost killed me.
“Elena. Sto
