Silent Mode

We moved into our new home when my daughter, Lily, was just a year old.
The woman downstairs, Mrs. Gable, warned me on the very first day. She had a nervous condition, she said, and Id better keep my child in line.
For five years, I covered our floors in soundproofing mats and lived our lives in silent mode.
But every day, shed take to the buildings group chat to tear me down, claiming my daughters noise was giving her a heart attack.
The week I took Lily to visit my mother, she escalated, tagging everyone in the chat:
Listen to that! Its her apartment again!! The crying is endless. Any more of this, and Im calling the police!
I ignored her. Instead, I took the five years of evidence I had painstakingly collected and filed a lawsuit.
On the day of the hearing, the judge asked my five-year-old daughter, Little girl, do you cry every day at home?
Lily looked at me, then slowly raised her small hands and answered in sign language:
Your Honor, I cant speak.
1
My name is Kate, and Im a freelance translator working from home.
When our daughter, Lily, turned one, my husband Mark and I bought this apartment on the twelfth floor.
The day we moved in, Mrs. Gable from 1101 was at our door.
She was in her fifties, dressed in a tasteful dark dress, her hair pinned up meticulously. But there was a persistent irritation etched into the lines around her eyes.
Youre the new ones?
She looked me up and down, her gaze lingering on Lily for a moment.
I smiled and offered her a small gift basket wed picked up from a local market.
Yes, thats us. Its so nice to meet you, were looking forward to being neighbors.
I wouldnt go that far, she said, her tone sinking as she took the basket. But theres something you need to understand. I have a nervous condition and a bad heart. I cant tolerate any noise.
She pointed a sharp finger at her ceilingour floor.
I get that you have a child, but you cant let her run around. No loud noises. If you trigger one of my episodes, youll be sorry.
Her tone was not a request; it was a command.
Holding Lily, I felt a knot form in my stomach. All I could do was stammer out a reply.
Well well be careful.
Only then did Mrs. Gable nod, satisfied, and turn to leave.
Watching her walk away, I felt a sense of dread.
Mark came over, his brow furrowed.
Whats her problem? Who talks to people like that?
Let it go, I said, trying to soothe him as much as myself. Its better to keep the peace. Well just have to be extra quiet.
For the sake of being careful, I lined our floors with the thickest, most expensive soundproofing mats I could find.
When Lily started walking, the first thing I taught her was to tiptoe.
I told her a sick grandma lived downstairs, and we were her guardian angels, sworn to protect her with our quiet.
Lily, bless her heart, was a quick learner. She moved with the silent grace of a kitten.
She never ran in the living room. Her toys were soft plushies and wooden blocks.
Anything that made a sound or could roll across the floor was packed away.
The television was never on; Mark and I got used to wearing headphones.
Our home was forced into silent mode.
I thought that would be enough. I thought we could finally have peace.
I was wrong.
Mrs. Gables complaints never stopped.
At first, it was, Kate, dear, were you moving furniture last night? There was a loud thud that sent my heart leaping into my throat.
I racked my brain. The night before, around seven, Lily had accidentally dropped a picture book.
Did your daughter have a ball in the house yesterday? Im telling you, my blood pressure shot through the roof.
We didnt even own a ball.
I was about to explain, but Mrs. Gable wouldnt hear it. She clutched her chest, looking like she might collapse at any moment.
Dont even bother. I cant listen to it. My body just cant take the stress.
She wasnt here to talk; she was here to accuse. The words died in my throat.
Soon, she moved her campaign from my doorstep to the buildings group chat.
@Apartment 1201, can you please control your child? Shes been running around since five this morning. Does anyone else want to get some sleep?
She followed it with a photo of herself lying on the sofa, a bottle of heart pills artfully placed on the end table.
I checked my phone. It was seven oclock.
I immediately replied in the chat: Mrs. Gable, Lily was asleep until six. Are you sure youre not mistaken?
She replied instantly: Mistaken? My ears are the only proof I need! The noise from your apartment is like an earthquake! Dont think I dont know what youre doing. Youre bullying a poor old woman!
Other residents, oblivious to the truth, started chiming in.
Having kids upstairs can be tough. Lets all try to be understanding.
Yeah, Kate, an old womans health is important. Maybe just try to keep it down a bit.
It is a little early for that much noise.
The wave of well-meaning but misguided advice left me speechless and cornered.
From that day on, I stopped explaining.
Instead, I started documenting.
I set my phone camera to timestamp every photo. I recorded everything Lily did.
When she woke up, when we left the apartment, when she was sitting quietly playing with blocks, when she went to bed.
Whenever Mrs. Gable launched an attack in the group chat, I would send a short video as proof.
The only sound in the videos was the soft tapping of my keyboard.
When Mark returned from a business trip and saw me organizing my files, he put his hand over mine.
Kate, what are you doing? Were living like criminals in our own home. Im going down there to talk to her.
I stopped him, shaking my head.
It wont do any good. It will only make her worse. She doesnt want quiet. She wants attention, she wants to be the victim.
I pointed to the thick binder on the table, filled with printed chat logs and my daily photo records.
You cant reason with someone like her.
Mark fell silent. He sighed and pulled me into a hug.
Im so sorry you have to go through this.
He was right. It was exhausting.
But for my daughter, for the sake of a peaceful life, I thought it was a price worth paying.
But some people are never satisfied.
When Lily turned three, Mrs. Gables war escalated.
She was no longer content with verbal assaults in the group chat. She began a physical one.
Anytime she imagined a noise from upstairseven if it was just me walking from the living room to the bedroomshe would grab a mop handle, or some other long pole, and violently jab it into her ceiling.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
The sound was a dull, heavy blow that made Lily flinch every time.
More than once, the pounding jolted her awake from her nap.
She wouldnt cry out, just stare at me with wide, terrified eyes, her small body trembling.
Who could stand to see their child tormented like this? In that instant, my rationality shattered.
Shaking with rage, I stormed downstairs and hammered on the door of 1101.
Mrs. Gable opened it, a look of smug satisfaction on her face when she saw it was me.
Well, look who it is! Perfect timing! I was just about to come up and give you a piece of my mind! Is your apartment ever quiet?
Mrs. Gable, youre banging on the ceiling! Youre terrifying my daughter! Cant we just talk about this like adults? My voice trembled with a mixture of anger and tears.
She scoffed, planting her hands on her hips.
Banging? Im giving you a warning! Your place sounds like a construction zone, and Im not allowed to react? Let me tell you something. You keep making noise, and Ill keep banging. Every single day. Lets see who breaks first!
With that, she slammed the door in my face.
I stood there, a ringing in my ears.
Through the door, I could faintly hear her complaining to her husband, her voice dripping with triumph.
Can you believe the nerve of that woman from 1201? Coming down here to confront me! Cant control her own kid, and she has the audacity to blame me!
I went back to our apartment and scooped up the still-trembling Lily, stroking her back gently.
The tears I had been holding back finally fell.
Tears for my terrified daughter, and tears for my own years of spineless tolerance.
I whispered to her, and to myself.
Dont be afraid, baby. Mama will protect you.
And this time, I mean it.
I bought a decibel meter.
I started consulting with legal aid.
I digitized all my records, organizing everything meticulously.
Every statement she made in the group chat was screenshotted and saved.
Every time she pounded on the ceiling, I recorded it on my phone.
I logged the date, the time, and what was actually happening in our apartment at that moment.
I knew that one day, all of it would matter.
Before I knew it, Lily was five.
Five years is long enough to get used to anything.
I was used to tiptoeing, to the perpetual silence of our home, to Mrs. Gables daily one-woman drama in the group chat.
Every day, shed perform her imminent heart attack routine, accusing us of imaginary crimes.
Sometimes it was running, other times moving furniture, and once, bizarrely, the sound of chopping meat in the middle of the night.
I had long since given up trying to defend myself.
I just silently took my screenshots, saved them, and filed them away.
In five years, my evidence folder had grown to fill three external hard drives.
Mark, watching me grow more and more withdrawn, pleaded with me more than once.
Why dont we just sell? We can find another place. A top-floor apartment, or a ground-floor one.
If this continues, he said, his voice laced with worry, Im afraid youre going to have a breakdown.
I shook my head.
Why should we be the ones to leave? Weve done nothing wrong.
I looked over at Lily, reading quietly in a corner. She was growing up.
Unable to speak, her eyes were more expressive, more perceptive than those of other children.
She was too quiet. Heartbreakingly so.
I couldn't back down. I couldn't let her grow up thinking that the only response to bullying was to run and hide.
Kindness has its limits. Patience has an expiration date.
One Friday, I packed our bags. I was taking Lily to my moms for a week.
Mark was conveniently away on business. The apartment would be empty.
Before leaving, I gave him instructions for the smart home system.
Honey, while were gone, can you set the lights to turn on and off on our usual schedule?
Mark paused, then a look of understanding dawned on his face.
Youre planning to
Its time to set a trap, I finished for him.
He looked at me, a flicker of concern in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by resolute support.
Okay. Whatever you need, Im with you all the way.
With that, Lily and I slipped out of the building, unseen.
The first day at my moms was quiet.
The second day, Mrs. Gable fired her opening salvo in the group chat.
@Everyone, 1201 is at it again! Raising hell first thing in the morning! Shes going to be the death of me!
The time stamp was 7:30 AM.
At that exact moment, Lily and I were taking a peaceful walk in the park near my mothers house.
I looked at my phone and said nothing.
Someone in the group tried to placate her: Take it easy, Mrs. Gable.
Take it easy? How can I? You dont live under her. You have no idea how loud it is! Its unbearable!
The third day, the fourth.
Mrs. Gables performance grew more and more elaborate.
She started posting random audio clips of noise shed found online.
Listen to this! This is what I recorded from my ceiling! A ball bouncing! Right over my head!
The audio was a mess of static and muffled thuds, its origin impossible to identify.
On the fifth day, she reached her grand finale.
At ten oclock at night, she tagged everyone in the building.
Listen to that! Its her apartment again!! That child crying nonstop! Is this child abuse? If this keeps up, Im calling the police!
My hand clenched around my phone, my knuckles turning white.
My mother, seeing the look on my face, asked, What is it?
I handed her the phone.
Her face flushed with anger. That wicked old hag! How dare she say that about Lily? Our Lily cant even make a sound when she cries!
She was right. Mrs. Gables claim of endless crying was an impossibility.
Due to a congenital condition with her vocal cords, Lily had never been able to make a vocal sound.
I never wanted her to be treated differently or looked at with pity.
So, outside of our immediate family, no one knew.
I took a deep breath, forcing down the inferno of rage in my chest.
I calmly screenshotted the message, saved it, and tagged it: The Final Piece.
Then, I made a call.
It was to the legal aid hotline I had consulted more times than I could count.
Hello, I said, my voice steady. Im ready. I want to sue.

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