I twist the dial. The static doesn’t hiss—it breathes. A slow, wet sound, like lungs filling with saltwater. Then the voice, small and cracked: ‘Lila… you promised.’
My stomach drops. That wasn’t Mirabel. That was me. The way I used to say his name when I tucked him in. The way I haven’t heard in ten years.
The ON AIR light flickers. The phone rings again. No caller ID. Just static—and a child’s giggle, muffled, like it’s coming from inside the receiver.