Voicemail From the Dead

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,