I made coffee and listened to them one by one.
My mother’s first message sounded gentle, almost confused. “Emily, sweetheart, the internet stopped working. Did something happen to the account?” The second voicemail came sharper. “Your brother needs his phone for job applications. This is extremely inconvenient.” The third sounded frantic. “Your father got an email saying the payment method was removed from the electric account. Call me right now.”
Then came Mason.
“Are you kidding me? You shut my phone off on Christmas weekend? That’s insane.”
Dad’s message was shortest.
“You’re punishing your mother over a misunderstanding. Grow up.”
A misunderstanding.
That phrase finally made me laugh.
Not loudly. Not happily. Just one dry, exhausted sound pulled from somewhere bitter inside me.
At 9:04, my mother texted:
