The rest of the world was a distant radio station playing on the wrong frequency.
Alex saw the flash of red construction paper. He saw the enthusiastic, slightly crooked drawing of a triangle with fire coming out the bottom. He saw his son's proud, expectant face. But the boy's voice was a tiny, faraway squeak, like a mouse on a microphone.
The first sign was the silence. Not a true silence, but a muffled one, like the world had been packed in cotton wool. Alex woke up feeling like his head was a over-inflated balloon, tethered to the pillow by a thick, throbbing cord. The cold had arrived overnight, a sneaky invader that left a trail of scratchy throat and exhausted limbs. ears stuffy from cold
She turned in his arms, her face full of sympathy. She brought her hands up, framing his face, her thumbs tracing the circles under his eyes. Then, she leaned in, her lips almost touching his ear, and spoke. Slowly. Deliberately. Each word a carefully launched life raft across the muffled sea.
"What?" he asked, for the third time.
He found Sarah in the kitchen, her back to him as she made Leo a sandwich. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. She jumped, then relaxed, covering his hands with hers.
But the worst part, the most isolating part, was his ears. The rest of the world was a distant
"I can't hear you, Leo," Alex said, the admission a physical blow. He pointed to his ear. "Daddy's ears are broken."