“Then you should know better.” I looked directly at Amelia. “She doesn’t need fixing. She needs someone to stop treating her like a broken doll.”
“Get her out of here,” Victoria demanded.
“No.” Richard held up a hand. His face had changed. “What makes you think you know my daughter?”
“Because I was her.” The words felt like they were being ripped out of me. “I didn’t talk for four years after my parents died. Foster care. Fourteen different homes. Everyone wanted to fix me. Nobody wanted to just… listen.”
“This is a waste of time,” Victoria said.
But Richard’s eyes were on Amelia. The girl was staring at me now. Really staring.
“What changed?” Richard asked quietly. “How did you start talking again?”
“Someone stopped asking me to.”
The ballroom was silent enough to hear a pin drop.
“There was a woman. Mrs. Rodriguez. She ran the group home I ended up in.” I kept my eyes on Amelia. “She never pushed me to talk. Never bribed me. Never treated me like I was less than whole. She just… existed near me. Made me feel safe enough to be silent.”
Amelia’s hands stopped trembling.