He hesitated.
Then he explained.
A few weeks earlier, I had run into our neighbor Margaret at the grocery store.
She had asked about Chloe.
Without thinking, I called her “my girl.”
Margaret’s daughter Maya happened to be friends with Chloe.
Somehow the comment reached her.
And Maya told Chloe something else.
That for years, I had continued asking about her.
That I had never hated her.
That I had missed her.
Chloe realized something was wrong.
She called David.
And eventually, she sent the box.
I looked down at the stack of cards in my lap.
Birthdays we had never shared.
Conversations that had never happened.
Years neither of us could get back.
Then I stood.
“Give me Chloe’s phone number.”
David hesitated.
“Alice, maybe we should—”
“The real one.”
He stopped.
“Not the number you told me had been disconnected.”
He knew there was nothing left to hide.
He pulled out his phone.
Scrolled.
Then read the number aloud.
“Leave the room,” I said.
“Alice—”
“I need to make this call alone.”
He left.
I dialed.
My hands shook so badly I nearly hit the wrong number.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Then a cautious voice answered.
“Hello?”
I couldn’t speak.
“Hello?”
Finally, I found my voice.
“It’s me.”
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