My Son Slammed the Door on Me. The Next Morning, My Phone Exploded.

“Sorry, Mom, bad connection.”

Click.

I told myself they were busy. Young parents are always busy. But the knot in my stomach grew tighter.

I started waking up at 3 a.m., staring at the ceiling, replaying every conversation, every text, looking for clues about what I’d done wrong. Had I overstayed last time? Had I said something that offended Jessica?

Had I been too much? I called Marcus directly one evening. “Honey, is everything okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, Mom. Why?”

“It’s just… it’s been seven months. I miss you.

I miss the kids.”

“I know,” he said, sounding distracted. “Things have just been crazy. We’ll figure out a visit soon, okay?”