My name is Khloe Hayes. I am 32 years old and I live in San Francisco. I am telling you this story so you understand how my entire life fell apart in a single second. I was 6 months pregnant. My belly was heavy and my feet were swollen. I was standing in our kitchen in Palo Alto writing a note on a yellow pad of paper. That was our life. Notes, hand signals, silence.
My husband Richard was deaf. He had been deaf since a motorcycle accident years before we met. I loved him for his silence. I loved him for needing me. I finished the note and waited for him to tap my shoulder, but he didn’t tap me. I felt his presence right behind my back. Then I heard a sound that did not belong in our silent home.
Khloe, a voice said, “Put the pen down.” The sound hit me harder than a physical blow. The room spun. My knees buckled and I grabbed the granite counter to keep from falling. I turned around slowly. My deaf husband was looking right at me. He wasn’t struggling to speak. He wasn’t reading my lips. The voice was deep, clear, and steady. He could hear me. He could always hear me. It wasn’t a miracle. It was the beginning of my nightmare.