At 7:42 a.m., my father finally replied in the family group chat. I had been awake since 5:00, phone on my pillow like a heartbeat,…
I knew something was wrong the second the hospital put me in a private room. Not an exam room. Not a hallway chair with a…
At 1:57 p.m., I checked my watch for the fifth time. The chapel was full: my parents in the front row, her old friends…
His phone was on the coffee table, plugged in and charging, screen dimmed but still glowing faintly in the late-afternoon light. He’d been in the…
It was the pause. A small, quiet pause she took in my living room during our housewarming party—right after she asked where my couch was…
At exactly 12:03 p.m., the elevator doors opened onto our floor, and I stepped into the hallway with my heart still in “presentation mode”—tight, fast,…
At 11:58 p.m., my phone turned into a strobe light. DAD CALLING. Decline. MOM CALLING. Decline. MELISSA CALLING. Decline. The screen kept blooming with…
The voicemail light blinks like a heartbeat that won’t slow down. 2:17 a.m. I’d already watched it tick to 2:18, 2:19, 2:20—like time itself was…
At 2:07 a.m., my phone vibrated itself off the nightstand and hit the hardwood with a clack that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet…
On my thirtieth birthday, the doorbell rang while a single candle melted into the frosting of a cake I’d bought for myself. I wasn’t expecting…