Chapter 3: The Sound on the Line
By the third afternoon, my unease had mutated into suffocating panic.
I dialed Hannah’s cell phone.
Voicemail.
I tried again.
Voicemail.
Then I called the landline one last time, my palms sweating around the phone.
The line connected.
But it was not my mother’s polished greeting.
It was a raspy, labored intake of breath.
A sound so weak and broken, it felt as though someone was using their last ounce of strength just to knock the receiver off the hook.
“Hannah?” I shouted, already standing.
No answer.
Just another faint breath.
Then, somewhere far away, my newborn son made a thin, trembling cry.
My blood turned cold.
“Hannah, stay with me,” I begged. “I’m coming home.”
Then my mother’s voice snapped in the background.
“I told you not to touch that phone.” Continue Reading ⬇️
