Then, carefully…
She placed the phone beside her mother.
Leaning closer, she whispered:
“I love you so much, Mom. Now part of me will always be with you. And when I miss you… I’ll pretend you’re just one call away.”
That phone wasn’t just an object.
It was their connection.
During Mary’s final months—especially when hospital visits were restricted—they had lived through that device.
Texting.
Calling.
Video chatting.
Holding on.
Now, Abby stepped away, tears streaming down her face.
Aunt Laura wrapped her in a tight embrace.
And just like that—
Mary was buried.
That night was unbearable.
In her aunt’s house—now her new home—Abby lay awake, staring at photos of her and her mother placed carefully around the room.
She clutched her pillow tightly.
Tears soaked into the fabric as memories replayed over and over.
The goodbye.
The silence.
The emptiness.
The next morning, Laura had to leave for work.
Before walking out, she kissed Abby’s forehead.
“I’ll be back soon. Call me if you need anything, okay?”
Abby nodded.
But the moment the door closed—
The house felt too quiet.
Trying to distract herself, Abby began going through a few of her mother’s belongings.
Something to feel closer to her.
Something to hold on to.