My four-year-old daughter signed that my fiancée put poison in my drink—then her aunt ran into the ballroom and begged me not to swallow
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Chapter 26 / 27
Chapter 26 - The last glass
Three years after the gala, Lily was seven.
She spoke some words.
Signed fluently.
Used whichever worked.
Sometimes both simultaneously.
Sometimes neither when angry.
At dinner one night, Nora poured me water.
Lily barely looked.
That was how I knew the fear had finally loosened.
Then she saw Nora put a lemon slice into it.
Lily signed:
“Poison.”
My heart stopped.
Then she grinned.
Joke.
I pointed at her.
“Not funny.”
She laughed silently.
Nora nearly choked.
I drank the water.
Nothing happened.
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That became the first time the word poison belonged to humor rather than terror.
I did not scold her again.
