She studied him, noting the tremor in his hands, the shadows under his eyes that no amount of expensive skin care could hide. What would happen if you delegated? Let someone else handle the launch. Ethan laughed, but there was no humor in it. I built this company from nothing. Every decision, every innovation, every success, it all traces back to me being involved in every detail.

If I step back now, the company might actually survive without you micromanaging every pixel. Clara finished. Novel concept. You don’t understand. This is what I do. It’s who I am. No, it’s what you hide behind. There’s a difference. Clara pulled out her phone, showed him the practice videos she’d sent 3 days ago. You haven’t watched these, have you? Ethan’s silence was answer enough. I thought so.

Clara sat down heavily. Here’s the thing, Ethan. I can teach you every sign in the book. I can drill you until your hands cramp. But if you’re not actually present, if you’re still using work as an excuse to avoid the hard stuff, none of this matters. I’m here, aren’t I? I’m trying.

You’re going through the motions. That’s not the same as trying. She softened her voice. When was the last time you actually talked to Lily? Not practice signs at her, but had a real conversation. Ethan looked away. We had dinner together last week and and we sat in silence while she did homework and I answered emails. That’s not talking, Ethan.

That’s existing in the same room. I don’t know what to say to her. The words burst out of him raw and desperate. Every time I try, everything I think of sounds fake or patronizing or like I’m treating her like a child. She’s 16 years old and I don’t know her anymore. I don’t know her favorite music or what she does with her friends or what she wants out of life.

I know she gets straight A’s and her therapist says she’s adjusting well and she’s captain of the art club, but those are just facts. I don’t know her. Clara let the confession hang in the air between them. When she spoke again, her voice was gentler. So, start there. Ask her about art. Ask her what she’s working on.

Ask her anything that shows you’re interested in who she actually is. What if she doesn’t want to talk to me? Then you keep trying. You keep showing up. You keep proving that you’re not going to disappear again. Clara pulled out her lesson materials. But first, you need to actually learn the language.

So, let’s drill the basics until you can sign them in your sleep. Then, maybe you’ll have the tools to say the things that matter. They worked for 90 minutes instead of the usual 60. Clara pushing him harder than before. By the end, Ethan’s hands were shaking from exhaustion, but his signs were cleaner, more fluid. Progress, even if it was incremental.

Homework, Clara said as she packed up. I want you to sign something to Lily every day this week. Doesn’t matter what. Good morning, good night. How was school? Just one thing every day. Can you do that? What if I mess up? Then you mess up. She’ll survive. Clara headed for the door, then paused. And Ethan, get some sleep.

You can’t be present if you’re half dead from exhaustion. Over the following weeks, something started to shift. It was small at first, barely noticeable. Ethan signing good morning when Lily came down for breakfast. Lily responding with surprised hesitation. Ethan asking about her day in clumsy, grammatically incorrect signs.

Lily correcting him with expressions that ranged from exasperation to something that might have been hope. Clara heard about it during her coffee sessions with Lily, which had become a weekly ritual. The girl would show up with increasingly complex drink orders and stories about her father’s attempts at communication that were equal parts encouraging and absurd.

“He tried to ask me about my art project,” Lily signed one afternoon in mid- November, her fingers moving with contained laughter. But he mixed up the signs and told me he was proud of my garbage homework. Clara snorted into her latte. What did you do? Corrected him, showed him the right sign, and then Lily’s sign slowed, became more careful.

He asked me to show him my actual project. Like really asked, wanted to see it. Did you? Yeah. It’s this mixed media piece about silence, about how people assume silence is empty, but it’s not. It’s full of things people just don’t bother to hear. Clara felt her throat tighten. What did he think? He said it was beautiful in English because he doesn’t know the sign for beautiful yet, but he meant it. I could tell.

Lily’s hands trembled slightly. It’s the first time he’s looked at my art since before the accident. Mom used to come to all my shows, knew every piece I was working on. After she died and I transferred to the deaf academy, I think he just forgot I was still making things. And now he’s remembering. Maybe, Lily picked at her sleeve.

Or maybe he’ll quit again when things get busy, when the newness wears off. You’re protecting yourself. That’s smart. Is it? Or is it just sad that I can’t trust my own father to stick around? Clara reached across the table, squeezed the girl’s hand. It’s realistic based on evidence. But people can change. Not always, not easily, but they can.

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