The Deaf Boy Who Listened

Summary

When I was nine years old, the explosion that nearly killed Blair took my hearing instead.

I remember the heat, the concussive force that felt like a physical punch to the soul. Afterward, there was only silence. A thick, suffocating cotton-wool silence.

Blair was consumed by guilt. I remember her sitting by my hospital bed, her small hands trembling as she held mine, eyes red and swollen. She demanded—no, she begged—our parents to let us be engaged. It was a child’s promise, heavy with an adult’s burden.

"Wes," she sobbed, "I’m going to take care of you forever."