silent

Chapter 13 - THE PHONE

Mom kept the old phone.

The one Laura hid.

I asked why.

“Evidence?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

She shrugged.

“To remind me I wasn’t losing my mind.”

That sentence hurt.

Gaslighting leaves a strange residue.

Even after truth is proven, part of the victim remembers doubt.

Did I forget?

Did I misunderstand?

Was I difficult?

The phone represented something physical.

Messages existed.

Calls were forwarded.

Settings changed.

Proof.

Eventually, Mom did replace it.

We went together.

The salesperson offered family account management.

Mom said:

“No, thank you.”

No explanation.

No apology.

Just no.

I smiled.

She noticed.

“Don’t make a thing of it.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Maybe I was.

Healing sometimes looks embarrassingly ordinary.

A password.

May you like

A key.

A separate bill.

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