Claire

“Babe I’m sorry, I was scared.” Maisie says, her hands folded in front of her face, she’s nervously biting her knuckles.

“Claire is seven, Maisie. She’s seven years old and she’s never heard her dad’s voice.” Your tears run hot down your face as you yell at your wife.

“I know, I know. . .” She is sobbing. You hope she feels awful. She should feel awful.

“How long have you known?” You demand.

“Babe. . .” She starts, but you cut her off. You don’t want her to tell you, you want to make her say it.

“Maisie, tell me when you found out I could still use your curse.”

“Two days after I took your voice, when we went to my parent’s house. My mom pulled me aside and explained a lot about the curse.” She speaks the words clearly, then starts sobbing again.

“It hadn’t even faded, Maisie! You still had power over me.” You pace through the living room, keeping moving, keeping distance between you and Maisie.

“I know. . .”

You remember that trip to her parents. It was right before you left for your first trip to Vegas. You remembered how her dad pulled you aside, gave you some very good advice. Both you and Maisie left that day feeling good about your future. If only you knew what you knew now. . .

“Maisie, tell me why you kept it from me.” You demand.

“We were free, both of us. I was so happy, babe. I wanted this life, the life we’ve lived. I didn’t want the curse to ruin you, to ruin us.” She’s crying as the curse forces her to tell you the truth. She hangs her head afterwards, resting her face on her hands.

“And when Claire arrived, or later when she was little and I had to play bedtime stories you recorded for me to put her to sleep. You couldn’t tell me then?” You ask, your voice cracking in your hurt and anger.

“Things were so good, and you said you didn’t mind.”

“What choice did I have?” You shout. “Your power over me lasted what, two weeks before it was fully gone? If I had known, Maisie, if I had known I could just write a sentence on a piece of paper and get my voice back. . .” You pace faster.

“I’m sorry babe, really, I am. But I’ve seen what the curse. . .”

You cut her off, you’ve had enough. “Maisie you can’t talk.” Her voice dies, one last squeak and she’s mute. Her eyes go wide, her face panicked. You walk over to the bar, right across from her.

“How do you like it? Maybe I should just leave you like this for ten years. TEN YEARS, Maisie!”

She grabs for the pad of paper but you grab it first, fling it across the room. She looks at you, trembling as you breathe heavy. You can feel the pressure in your face, there’s ringing in your ears. You look down, breathe. You need to settle down, stay in control. You don’t want to go too far, do something you’ll regret.

“Daddy? Momma?” You hear from the front door. “Is someone here?”

“I’m in here Claire-bear.” You say without thinking.

“Who’s there?” Her shaky and small voice calls. She’s scared, she doesn't know the sound of your voice. It shakes you. She can hear you now, she’ll know that you are angry. You don’t want the first time you speak to her to be marred by anger. Maisie be damned, Claire’s a victim in this too, she deserves better.

You walk over to the hallway, forcing yourself to calm down. She jumps when she sees you, but settles down quickly.

“Who’s here daddy? I heard someone.” She asks, still nervous.

“It’s just me Claire.” You say softly, squatting down to get to her level.

Her eyes get huge, her mouth hangs open.

“I love you, bear.” You say as tears start running down your face. Your anger fades to the background at the sight of her smile.

She runs to you, her arms wrapping around your neck.

“You can talk, daddy!” She yells. You stand up and hold her to you.

“I can. I can talk now.” You don’t know how to begin to explain. You just hold her and kiss her hair.

“Momma!” Claire yells “Daddy can talk.”

You turn to see Maisie nod her head as she cries. She does her best to look normal but you can see how worried she is.

“Momma, can you still talk?”

You jump in. “Of course she can, Claire. Maisie, you can talk, go ahead, tell her.”

“Yeah, baby, of course I can.” Maisie says, looking at you with a mixture of gratitude and guilt. She comes closer, looking to you for direction. You nod to her and she joins you and your daughter in a tight hug.

“Momma, does that mean you are cursed again?” Claire asks, in that matter-of-fact way only kids can.

“What?” you blurt out.

Maisie breaks the hug, takes a step back.

“Yeah, momma said you couldn’t talk because you gave up your voice to save her from the bad witch’s curse.”

You bite your tongue. You won’t let Claire get caught between the two of you, you won’t fight with Maisie with Claire here. And if you can’t say anything good. . .

You set Claire down, give her a kiss. “Why don’t you let momma tell you how she did it while I go wash my face.”

“Okay.” She says with a smile. She wraps her arms around your leg. “I’m glad you can talk Daddy.”

“Me too Claire-bear, me too.” She lets go and you walk to the bathroom, your breath fast and shallow. Your chest feels like it is going to explode. You are so angry with Maisie. Her betrayal hurts so much, and yet you would rather drop dead than put Claire in the middle of a fight.

You go in the bathroom, splash water on your face. Your parents fought a lot, they tried to hide it from you, pretended everything was okay when you were around, but you knew. You heard them when they thought you were asleep, you could feel the tension when you’d walk into a room and they’d suddenly stop their hushed speaking. Is that what Claire has to look forward to now?

“You see, baby, that if you love someone enough, even a curse. . .” You close the bathroom door, much harder than you intended. But it blocks out the sound of your wife inventing a story to explain to Claire how you could suddenly talk. Your chest hurts, you feel nauseous. You look around but there’s nothing to hit that Claire wouldn’t hear or see later. You sit down on the toilet lid, rest your head in your hands. Focus on breathing. The tears start to flow as your hurt makes its way back to the surface. You don’t know how to go forward, you don’t know what to do, so you just sit in your bathroom and cry quietly until there is a knock on the door.

“Daddy, are you okay?”

“Yeah, bear. I’ll be right out.” You say. You get up, take a deep breath, flush the toilet to provide cover for what you were doing, then run some water, wash your face.

It’s obvious you’ve been crying, but that’s not going to change so you open the door, walk out to your waiting daughter.

“Daddy, can you read to me?” She asks, holding a small stack of her favorite stories. Of course you can. You have a decade’s worth of stories to make up for.

You spend the entire evening with Claire, reading to her, singing songs with her, answering questions about anything and everything she wants to ask you. Periodically you sense Maisie watching, down the hall or just outside the door, just watching. Claire fights to stay awake longer, she asks more questions, she wants another bedtime story. You can’t say no, how could you? Finally, she falls asleep sitting on your lap, her head resting against your chest.

You tuck her in, kiss her goodnight one more time, turn off the little lamp next to her bed, and leave the room. Outside you lean against the wall and just breath.

When you look down the hallway Maisie is waiting. She’s been crying, and she can barely look at you. You take a deep breath and walk towards her.

“Babe.” her voice is weak, “I’m sorry, I didn’t. . . I never. . .” She starts bawling.

You walk past her. “I need to take a walk. I need to think.” She just nods.

You open the door, stop. “Maisie, I. . .” You start, but you can’t go through with any of the myriad of things you had thought to say to her.

“Damn it, Maisie, I never wanted to control you.” You grab your jacket from the rack near the door and walk out into the hallway.