My Foster Son Never Spoke a Single Word – Until the Judge Asked Him One Question

I didn’t try to stop it. There was no point pretending this didn’t matter more than anything else ever had.

Alan looked down again. His fingers twisted the hem of his shirt, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t speak,” he said slowly, “because…

I thought if I messed up — if I said the wrong thing, then Sylvie would change her mind. And someone would come and take me away again.”

I swallowed hard, tears pooling faster than I could blink them back.

He hesitated, then lifted his head.

Estella let out a breath that sounded like a sob. I heard her reach for a tissue.

Judge Brenner’s eyes crinkled into a smile, gentle and full of approval.

“Well then,” he said quietly, “I think we have our answer.”

Outside in the parking lot, the air felt warmer than it had that morning. I leaned against the car to adjust the strap of my shoe, but my hands shook so much I gave up halfway.

My son came around the other side, reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a folded tissue. He held it out without saying a word.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” I said.

“You’re welcome, Mom.”

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