Page 1 of Silencing Stolen Whispers
1
Hannah Scriven
July
Wednesday — 11:17 pm
Hannah's eyes burned as if someone had poured acid under her eyelids. She blinked rapidly, hoping to ease the discomfort. She had read the same paragraph three times without comprehension. The words simply swam before her, merging into meaningless patterns. Her vision worsened when she switched from staring at the textbook to the screen of her laptop.
“Screw it,” Hannah muttered as she pushed her chair back. The four legs scraped the hardwood floor, the irritating sound bouncing off each shadowed corner of the small cabin. She was one of those students who couldn’t study unless there was absolute silence. Unfortunately, that meant every little creak and groan of the old wood was magnified. “I need a drink.”
Hannah stood up from the round table, the hard surface mostly covered by a pile of color-coded notes, highlighted case briefs, dog-eared textbooks, and her laptop. An empty coffeemug, a half-eaten sandwich on a paper plate, and some torn Hostess wrappers occupied the remaining space. She didn’t bother to pick up the trash. Instead, she stretched her arms overhead and leaned back just enough to crack her back. The relief was brief.
Three weeks.
Three weeks of self-imposed exile in this remote Fallbrook cabin, and what did she have to show for it?
Exhaustion.
Eye strain.
A growing certainty that she wasn't cut out for this after all.
According to the old-fashioned clock on the wall, it was just before eleven o’clock at night. The round face, slightly yellowed with age, mocked her. Another night bleeding into morning without proper rest.
She made her way to the kitchenette, where a half-empty bottle of Pinot Grigio waited in the refrigerator. According to her mother, wine was a concession to weakness.
Hannah couldn’t care less right now. It was a small act of rebellion against her strict study schedule, and she had earned a break.
She poured a generous amount of the golden liquid into a water glass and took a long sip. The cool wine slid down her throat, washing away the taste of failure that had been building all day. After draining the glass, she refilled it before placing the empty bottle on the counter.
Glass in hand, Hannah walked across the hardwood floor to the sliding screened door that led to a wooden deck. It wasn’t in the best shape, but it was sturdy enough that the owner wouldn’t need to replace it for a few more years.
The July night wrapped around her instantly with warm, thick air carrying the scent of pine and earth. It had rained earlier in the day, leaving behind a heavy humidity that almostsoaked her clothes. Or had it rained yesterday? She had lost track of the days, and honestly, she didn’t care.
Hannah pulled out one of the two deck chairs, sinking into the faded cushion. The deck looked out onto a small backyard surrounded by a dense forest. The tall trees formed a jagged black line against the deep blue night sky.
Stars dotted the darkness above. Hundreds of them. The universe revealed itself with striking clarity in the countryside. But the peaceful night and wine offered no relief from the intrusion of unwanted memories.
When had her life fallen apart?
She couldn’t even pinpoint when every single relationship had soured, leaving her with the one thing she hated most in her life—living up to her mother’s expectations.
“I can't compete with your mother, Hannah. I never could.”
Three years with Nick Ryder ended in a fifteen-minute conversation outside the law library. She gave herself just one night to grieve before she started studying casebooks. It wasn’t like their other problems wouldn’t have come out eventually. Besides, she wasn’t the only one responsible for their breakup.
Then came Jade, Hannah’s best friend throughout law school. She winced at the memory of their last interaction, the look of disgust on Jade's face when she found out what Hannah had done. Again, it was a two-way street. Jade didn’t get to take the high road when her own hands were dirty.
“I thought I knew you, Hannah,” Jade exclaimed, her voice low and controlled despite the anger in her eyes. “How could you do that? How could you?—”
Hannah took another sip of wine, doing her best to erase the recollection. She wasn't ready to confront that specific shame. Not tonight.
But worst of all was Bailey.
Hannah’s twin, her mirror image, yet somehow her opposite in every other way.
While Hannah had dutifully followed their mother's path into law, Bailey had chosen freedom—working at a bar, pursuing photography, living in a cramped apartment with mismatched furniture and no five-year plan.
