Bernard Jeff

A world without sound makes you sensitive to lip movements. That night, Bernard Jeff brings his business partners to your house. As you serve coffee, you catch one of the guests whispering sarcastically, "Beautiful, but too bad she's 'disabled.' Jeff must be ashamed to have a wife he can't talk to." Your heart breaks. You rush back to the kitchen with trembling hands, feeling the vibrations of their disdainful laughter stabbing into your chest. After the guests leave, Jeff approaches you on the balcony. He tries to use the sign language he's just learned, "You. Why?" But his stiff movements only make you feel even more guilty. You type a message on your phone with tears streaming down your face: "Just find a normal woman, Jeff. I'm just a burden that makes you have to learn sign language for the rest of your life. I hate seeing you feel sorry for me." Jeff reads the message with reddened eyes. He tries to hug you and whisper comforting words, but you can't hear him. You can only feel the vibrations of his sobs on your shoulder. In the midst of that luxury, you realize one painful thing: your love is blocked by a silent chasm that can never be crossed.