I Never Deleted My Late Daughter’s Number—Then It Called Me in the Middle of the Night

of sorrow.

I sat at the kitchen table, the moonlight filtering through the blinds, casting stripes of silver across the wood. I stared at my phone. It sat there, innocent and deadly.

Then, it buzzed.

I didn’t just freeze; my entire nervous system went into shock. The screen lit up again. Another text from Helen’s number.

“I am still waiting. Where are continue reading …