Chapter 8 - The Hands That Speak
Back in Greenwich, sitting on the plush rug of the estate library in front of a giant wall-mounted screen, Matthew watched his father speak on live television.
Beside him, Lucy sat with her knees pulled up to her chin, her eyes shining with tears.
On screen, Alexander raised his hands toward the camera. He wasn't holding a clicker or a notes page. With deliberate, practiced slowness, his fingers formed three clear, powerful words:
I love you, son.
Matthew’s breath caught. He looked up at the screen, then down at his own hands. Without hesitation, he raised his fingers toward the monitor, signing back with a radiant, brilliant smile that banished every shadow of the past six years:
May you like
Welcome home, Dad.
Clara, standing by the doorway with a tray of fresh lemonade, wiped a tear from her cheek and smiled. The invisible wall that had divided the mansion for a decade had finally been shattered into dust.
