CHAPTER 137: Start Over

“Yes.” Another pause, and she sounds almost surprised herself. “It’s me.”

My hand is still on the edge of the sink, fingers digging in, anchoring me. A thousand things run through my head at once, and none of them make it out. Instead, I stand there, speechless, feeling like I’ve been kicked in the chest.

She clears her throat, and I can almost picture her doing it—sitting on that worn floral couch in the living room back home, clutching her old phone with those thin, elegant fingers. “Your father called me. Said you two had talked.”

“Yeah, we did.” I’m grasping at straws here, trying to find the right tone. Do I play it cool, cold, indifferent? Or do I ask her how the hell she got my number and what she thinks she’s doing calling me after all these years?

“Did he tell you why he called me?” Her voice is light, but there’s something brittle underneath. I can feel it, that same tension from so long ago, like a knife edge that could slice me open if I’m not careful.

“No,” I say. “H