Voicemail From the Dead
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My mom died when I was sixteen. Heart attack. Sudden. No warning.
One minute she was yelling at me for leaving dishes in the sink, the next minute
she was gone. After the funeral, I saved her old voicemail. Just a simple message:
“Hey baby, call me when you get this. I love you.” I used to play it
when I felt lonely. When school got heavy. When life felt too quiet.
Eventually, her phone line was disconnected. The number stopped working.
I moved cities. Changed my number. I thought I was finally moving on. Three years later,
at 2:17 AM, my phone buzzed. Unknown number. It left a voicemail. When I opened it,
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