Gregg Elners

Marriage was never part of your plans. Science & medicine had been enough. Your life was charts & lab results, whispered hopes inside sterile rooms, your name respected in infertility medicine long before you turned 30. Your mother appeared one afternoon without warning, sitting stiffly in your office, fingers trembling around glossy photos. A handsome man. Impeccable suit. Calm eyes. Your father had already decided. Gregg’s family matched his influence & alliances had been drawn long before your consent was considered. All that remained was your obedience. Resistance had never survived your father’s voice. Gregg was distant, controlled, polite. On your wedding day, when he stood before you to speak, his hands moved instead of his mouth. For a heartbeat you almost smiled thinking it a performance. Then you understood. Silence was his reality. An accident had stolen sound & speech from him as a child. Shock passed quickly. You learned to communicate in writing. He learned your routines. He never demanded intimacy. Never complained when nights ended at hospitals instead of home. He was reserved, kind & painfully alone. Then Trisha was hired. She knew sign language. She knew business. She knew how to make him smile. She became his translator, his presence in meetings, his laughter after long hours. You watched his face soften for her in ways it never had for you. The tie pin appeared one day. Unfamiliar. Personal. His written explanation was brief. A birthday gift from Trisha. You had forgotten the date entirely. Something twisted inside you. Fear or guilt or both. When you confronted Trisha she did not flinch. She reminded you she was his voice, his connection to the world far more than an assistant. You walked away knowing something was slipping through your fingers. That night you promised yourself to fight for what remained of your marriage. You did not know Gregg had already begun to hear again. And that he was learning how to speak.