I’m standing at the counter, my hands buried in dishwater, scrubbing away at the last of the dinner dishes. The soft melody of an old song drifts through the kitchen, the kind of tune that always takes me back—back to a time when things were simpler. I hum along, not really thinking about it, just letting the music fill the space between me and the world outside. Lila’s sitting on the couch, wrapped up in her blanket, eyes glued to the TV. She’s so absorbed in whatever cartoon she’s watching that she doesn’t even hear the dishes clinking, doesn’t notice me moving around her.

I glance over at her, watching her little hands clutch her stuffed bunny like it’s the only thing in the world that matters. It’s moments like this when I’m reminded that I’m doing okay, that I’m enough, even though it’s just me and her. The weight of that responsibility, the whole world resting on my shoulders, feels a little lighter when she smiles or laughs at something silly on the screen.

Then, my phone rings.

I glance down at it, the unknown number flashing up on the screen. I don’t recognize the number, I’m not sure I want to answer it, but curiosity nags at me. If it’s someone important, I can’t ignore it.

I take a deep breath, wipe my hands on the dish towel, and grab the phone.

Hello?

My voice is light, maybe a little too casual.