“Elena, pick up. We need to talk. There’s been a misunderstanding. I need to know about Noah and Lily. Call me back.”
No apology.
No concern.
No “Are the children safe?”
Just need.
I deleted it.
Another voicemail followed.
This one from his mother, Patricia.
“Elena, this is not the time to be petty. Whatever happened between you and Ryan, we have a right to know the truth about those children. Call me immediately.”
Those children.
I deleted that one too.
I sat there long after the screen went dark.
The ocean kept moving, steady and indifferent.
For the first time in years, no one was standing over me, telling me what I owed them.
The next morning, Lily woke up asking for pancakes.
Noah wanted to walk to the beach.
I wanted to stay in bed and pretend the world could not reach us.
So we compromised.
Pancakes first, beach after.
