My name’s Dottie. I’m 22 years old, and I’ve been hard of hearing since the day I was born. Life for me has always been like standing with one foot in each world — the hearing world, where people expect me to speak and lip-read, and the deaf world, where my hands say more than my voice ever could.
I’ve gotten used to people staring. Whispers don’t really bother me anymore. But that day? That day was different.
It started like any normal Tuesday. I pushed open the glass doors of Rosewood Café, a cozy little spot filled with the smell of cinnamon rolls and warm bread. I spotted my best friend Maya right away, already waiting at our favorite corner table. Her wavy hair bounced as she laughed at something on her phone.
