The phone rang on a quiet afternoon when nothing seemed out of place.
I was sitting on the terrace, a cup of tea cooling beside me, watching the soft shimmer of the sea in the distance. The breeze carried that familiar salt smell I had come to associate with peace, routine, and the slow rhythm of a life lived carefully.
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” she said briskly. “The beach house has already been sold. Goodbye.”
No greeting. No explanation. Just certainty.
I didn’t respond right away.
Silence can be uncomfortable, especially when someone expects resistance. I let it stretch just long enough for her to realize I wasn’t going to react the way she thought I would.
Finally, I said calmly, “There’s just one detail you forgot.”
She laughed, but it wasn’t the relaxed laugh of confidence. It wavered slightly. “Mom, what are you talking about?”
I laughed too. Not out of anger. Not even out of satisfaction.
Out of clarity.
