The alert came right on time, just like it always did – nine o’clock on the first day of every month.

I didn’t realize then that grief, when left untouched for too long, eventually invites truth to break it apart.

Everything shifted on an unremarkable Tuesday.
The bank contacted me—not with a statement, but with a problem. Doña Clara’s local branch had closed, and they needed updated information to continue processing transfers. I tried calling her landline. Disconnected. I tried the cell phone I’d bought her. Straight to voicemail.

A strange sensation settled into my chest—not panic, but something colder. A quiet warning.

I realized I hadn’t truly spoken to her in months. Just short thank-you messages.

I checked my calendar. I had unused vacation days. My car keys sat on the table.