Halfway through dinner, Jeremy slowly lowered his fork.
The soft clink against the plate was barely audible.
Yet it silenced the entire room.
He looked at me first.
Then at my parents.
Finally, he turned toward Zane.
His hand rose from the table, and one finger pointed at his father.
“You always knew why I stopped talking.”
His voice sounded unfamiliar, deeper than the voice I remembered, but fragile at the same time.
My chair scraped against the floor as I stood.
“Jeremy?”
