I was three years old when I was diagnosed with selective mutism. My father, a forensic pathologist, immediately filed for divorce. His reasoning was cold, clinical, and simple: Forensics is a field that requires collaboration and communication. He didn’t need a child who couldn’t become a Medical Examiner. Even though my mom clung to the judge’s leg in court, screaming and begging not to divorce, the gavel still came down. The decree was final. My mom wiped her tears, drove me to a street corner, and set me down on the curb. Then, clutching the massive alimony check my dad gave her, she vanished. 1 I was picked up by social services and taken to an orphanage. I was five by then. Although I couldn't speak, I was acutely aware of the reality: Mom and Dad had thrown me away like garbage. To be honest, the orphanage was way more chill than my house ever was. At home, it was either my dad freezing the room with his icy stare, or my mom crying her eyes out. Sometimes, she’d secretly slap me across the mouth, hoping the pain would shock a word out of me. The more she did it, the deeper my silence grew. When I was eight, a middle-aged woman adopted me. She had a hard face, etched with a permanent grimace, and her smile looked painful, like cracked pavement. Standing near her, you’d swear the temperature dropped ten degrees. But her hands were calloused and warm. So, I took her hand and walked out of that orphanage. My adoptive mom—let’s call her Martha—was always busy. She’d lock me in the apartment for safety. She’d come home exhausted, dragging her feet. But she always made sure I had three square meals, and she’d hold me in her lap to read stories. Still, that cold aura clung to her. For a while after I learned to read, I genuinely suspected Martha wasn’t among the living. Later, I found out why. Martha worked at the crematorium. She was a "removal technician." A body snatcher. 2 I couldn't talk, which made normal schooling a nightmare. Special ed was too expensive, so Martha taught me to read and write after her shifts. Slowly, I became literate. But I still couldn't vibe with kids my age. Martha, afraid I’d rot away locked in my room, started bringing me to work during her night shifts. Her job was grueling and dull. It wasn't just driving; it was hauling all kinds of "human confetti"—complete bodies, pieces of bodies, fresh ones, ripe ones... She had to babysit the furnaces overnight. Because of my condition, I lacked the natural fear of the dead. Maybe it was just exposure therapy. I saw them as Martha’s clients. I had to treat them with respect. The crematorium staff all knew me. When they worked, they’d toss me little nuggets of trivia. At first, I just watched. Later, I stood at the main table, stitching bodies back together. Maybe it was in my blood. Eventually, I could take one look at a corpse and tell you exactly what made those marks. I got recommended to the PD’s Medical Examiner’s Office as an intern, dealing with even more bizarre "human puzzles." I still didn't speak. But the autopsy reports I typed up let countless restless souls finally sleep. I was good. Until the day before my official promotion letter was supposed to drop. My spot was given to someone else. 3 The unit suddenly got a new Assistant ME. Her name was Bella Vance. Bella was a bubbly, "pick-me" kind of girl. On day one, she was already besties with everyone, dragging the squad out for drinks. "Come on, are we brothers or what? Don't be a little bitch. We’re getting wasted tonight!" The new Captain, Captain Miller, ate it up. "Bella has worked huge cases at City HQ. She’s down here in the trenches to get gritty experience. She’s taking over the lead ME role for our squad." Miller finished his speech, but the expected applause didn't happen. One detective looked awkward. "Cap, we already have a dedicated examiner." Miller glanced at me, dismissive. "Just a temp. Let her go." The old ME had retired, and I’d been doing the actual work for years. I had a disability, sure, but everyone knew I was a wizard with a scalpel. My promotion vote had been unanimous. I was an intern on paper, effectively doing the job of a lead. Now Bella waltzes in, steals my job, and kicks me to the curb. My teammates, who had all voted for me, spoke up. "Maya has been with us for years. She knows the flow. Swapping her out now feels wrong." Miller frowned. "What's wrong about it?" "Bella’s father is Dr. Sterling Vance. The guy is a legend. Every agency fights for him. You got those genes? That pedigree? You think the mute girl can compare to Bella?" Seeing the team waver, Miller softened his tone slightly. "Maya can stay as Bella’s assistant. Support role." I rolled my eyes. Didn’t say a word. I usually play deaf when dealing with idiots. Besides, who can force a mute girl to kiss ass? 4 After the meeting, Bella cornered me. "You must be Maya. The Captain put me with Lt. Davies. I honestly didn't know you and the Lieutenant were partners. I’ve known him for years—if something was gonna happen between us, it would have happened by now. Don't worry." I assessed Bella’s personality type in exactly 0 seconds. You probably can too. I kept my head down, working, pretending I was deaf. She didn't get the hint. She slung her arm around my shoulder. "Maya, look, today is for the boys. No girls allowed, you know? Don't take it personal, I’m just one of the guys. I’m blunt like that." I was speechless. Not literally, well, yes literally, but also figuratively. This was such low-tier gaslighting. It was embarrassing. I noticed the rest of the squad glancing over, their eyes glued to us. I grabbed a notepad and scribbled a note: [Are you a dude?!!!!!!] I heard a detective snort-laugh nearby. Bella’s face turned bright red. Pure rage. She tried to recover, grabbing my hand. "Maya, it’s my fault. I came in and took your spot. I’ll go tell the Captain to give it back right now!" I yanked my hand away like she was toxic waste and turned my back. Bella looked confused. A teammate stepped in to save her. "Maya has a trauma response to men. She probably thought you were a guy." Bella’s face went from red to green. She was choking on it. "Maya, I am a girl. The guys just treat me like a bro because I don't like hanging out with other girls. Too much drama." I nodded like I finally understood. I wrote another note. [Maybe you and Lt. Davies should have a contest to see who can pee the farthest?] The sound of grown men trying not to explode with laughter filled the room. Bella’s face went from green to purple. 5 Captain Miller treated Bella like royalty. First time Bella went to a crime scene—this "legendary daughter of Dr. Vance"—she took one look at a bloated, decomposing floater and puked her guts out. Lt. Davies literally had to carry her away. Miller defended her. "She’s just adjusting. It’s a new environment." He comforted her like a toddler. "If you're feeling sick, just take the week off." Then he barked at me: "You finish the autopsy report and give it to Bella. She’ll analyze it. I’m sure her analysis will be more professional than yours." I pretended I didn't understand English and went to help the team fish out the rest of the body parts. Since Bella arrived, Captain Miller had become a "Bella Supremacist." Everything started with Bella. If she poured a cup of coffee, Miller acted like she invented caffeine. I suspected that if we weren't at a murder scene, Miller would have complimented the artistic pattern of her vomit. Naturally, Bella took credit for the report. The detectives weren't stupid. Seeing their hard work claimed by a nepo baby pissed them off. But Miller was the boss, so they only complained in the breakroom. I sat nearby reading files, my ears tuned in like radar. "Acting like her dad’s reputation is gonna get him a promotion." "I think Miller wants to make Bella the Captain." "I saw Miller take Bella to a hotel. Bought her flowers." "I heard Bella calling Miller... 'Daddy'." Snap. The pen in my hand broke. Miller is in his early thirties. He definitely doesn't have a twenty-something daughter. Spicy.
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