She left the room, her school bag slung over one shoulder, leaving me alone with the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.
At ten o’clock, I went back to the kitchen and picked up my phone from the charging dock. My fingers felt cold against the glass screen as I looked at Jordan’s contact name.
I had not called him in three months, relying entirely on brief emails about child support payments that were always three days late.
I drafted a short, polite message, giving the date of July eighteenth and the time of the gathering. I kept the words simple, focusing entirely on Ethan’s wishes for his fifteenth birthday.
I hit the blue arrow before I could convince myself to delete the text.
The reply came within three minutes, the small gray bubble appearing on the screen almost immediately. My phone buzzed in my palm, a short, sharp vibration that made me jump.
I read the words twice, my thumb hovering over the glass as the words sank in.
