I called Daniel first.
My eldest son.
Always busy, always confident, always somewhere else.
— Daniel, I whispered, I need money for my medication. I can’t manage this month.
Silence stretched on.
Heavy, uncomfortable silence.
Then the call ended.
I thought it was a bad connection.
I called again.
The phone never rang.
He had blocked me.
I sat there, frozen, staring at the black screen.
The ticking of the kitchen clock seemed louder than ever.
Something inside me cracked.
Later, I called Laura.
My daughter.
More expressive, but often sharp.
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