He kissed my cheek.
Then I walked him down the driveway. I took a couple of photos of them together, saved Madison’s number in my phone, and made her take mine, just in case. Then she opened the car door for my son, and I stood there watching them with my hand pressed flat against my chest.
“Please,” I whispered in prayer. “Please let me be wrong about this.”
The taillights disappeared down the street, and I was left alone with a silence that felt far too loud.
For illustrative purposes only
The Phone Call I Feared
Hours after Nathan left, I was still pacing the living room in my socks.
I had refreshed his location on my phone so many times that the battery had started running low. My son was still at the venue. That was something, at least. Not nothing.
I told myself a dozen times to sit down. I put the phone on the charger, poured a cup of tea I did not drink, picked up a book, and read the same paragraph four times before finally giving up.
Then, three hours after my son’s departure, my phone lit up, and my stomach turned over.
The caller ID showed Madison’s name.
Not Nathan’s.
Madison’s.
Every awful scenario I had buried over the last few weeks came roaring back. I pictured Nathan stranded somewhere, his suit jacket folded over his arm, that shine in his eyes gone. I almost could not make myself swipe to answer.
“Hello?” My voice came out smaller than I wanted.
