We tore that house down and built a better one.
Last Sunday, I was making breakfast when Audrey came into the kitchen, and out of pure old habit, she stretched one leg behind her and rose, slow and careful, onto the ball of one foot — a small, gentle turn, nothing like the fierce spinning of before.
"Audrey," I said, out of pure old habit. "Careful. You'll hit the refrigerator."
She grinned at me, my daughter, back from wherever the silence had taken her.
"Mom," she said. "I know exactly how to control my movements now."
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