The line went dead before any goodbye could leave my mouth.
The search began for the cheapest flight.
For a long while there was only the hum of the old refrigerator. Memory drifted in. Jason at four, climbing into my lap with sticky fingers, calling me Mama like it was the most important word in the world.
Now I barely got a hi.
But bitterness wasn’t allowed in my kitchen. He was my boy. He always would be.
The blanket folded easily under my hands, every flower smoothed, and slid into a paper gift bag from the dollar store. The old phone Jason had handed down years ago groaned awake, and the search began for the cheapest flight.
The numbers stung. Nearly a whole month’s pension.
“It’s only money,” I told myself. “She’s my granddaughter.”
One click. Confirmed, before second thoughts could win.
Thirteen hours of travel had left my legs throbbing like a second heartbeat.
