“I’m busy, Emma,” she would say before hanging up. Even Dad, who usually stayed out of these things, wasn’t reaching out.
At first, I was angry. Frustrated. I had only asked for something reasonable. Was that really such a crime? But as the days passed, the anger faded into something heavier.
One evening, I lay in bed, my room dimly lit by the soft glow of my phone screen. I scrolled through old pictures—Bella, missing her two front teeth, holding my hand at the zoo.
Jake, laughing with his face covered in birthday cake, my arm wrapped around his tiny shoulders. They had always looked so happy to be with me.
I swallowed hard. Did they think I abandoned them? That I just didn’t want to see them anymore?
I sighed, pressing my thumb against Lauren’s name in my contacts. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating. Then I typed:
Me: “I don’t want to fight. I just need to be respected. Can we talk?”
The message sent. The screen showed Read.
Three dots appeared. My heart lifted slightly. Then—nothing.
The dots disappeared.
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