I glanced at him. His shoulders were rigid, his hands clasped, thumbs pressed together like he was holding something in.
My throat went dry.
Then—he moved.
Alan shifted slowly, as though the weight of his body had changed. He cleared his throat. The sound was rough, jarring in the stillness.
I almost stopped breathing. Was my son about to speak for the first time?
And then… he spoke.
“Before I answer… I want to say something.”
Even Judge Brenner leaned forward.
“When I was seven, my mom left me at a grocery store. She said she’d be back soon. I waited. I waited until it got late. I was hungry, so I ate a cracker I found under the candy rack. That’s when the owner called the police and they found me.”
His hands tightened into fists.
“I got moved around a lot after that. One family said I was creepy. Another said I was too old to be cute. The third didn’t even learn my name.”
He looked up.
“When Sylvie took me in, I didn’t trust her. I thought she’d give me back too. But she didn’t.”
He paused, breath shaking.
“She made me cocoa. She read to me. She left me notes. And paid attention to the food I loved. She let me exist in my own bubble, waiting at the edge for the moment it popped.”
He looked at me fully then—for the first time since we’d arrived.
“She never forced me to speak. Instead, she stayed. And she tried so hard to show me that she cared… and even… loved me.”
