My mom pressured me to marry at thirty-two, so I ended up marrying a deaf tech millionaire. I learned sign language, quit my career, and got pregnant. When I was six months along, standing in our kitchen, he suddenly spoke: “I’m not deaf. I never was.”
I was standing in our kitchen in Palo Alto, six months pregnant, my hands trembling as I held the note I’d just written for my husband.
That’s how we communicated. How we’d always communicated.
Through written words. Through sign language. Through touches and glances.
Richard was deaf. Had been since a motorcycle accident five years before we met.
