Miorang had left just 10 minutes earlier. He’d come in with one of his sweet little smiles and a bag of peaches from the farmers market. He did that sometimes. He’d stop by, ask if I needed any help, sit for a few minutes, and talk in that calm, gentle voice that made people trust him instantly.
For five years I had thanked God that my daughter had married such a caring man before she died. Now I was looking at her phone and my heart was pounding so hard it hurt.
I looked toward the front window. Her truck was gone. The driveway was empty. The street outside looked completely normal. A blue sedan drove by. Mrs. Howard, the neighbor, was watering her flowers.
Somewhere nearby, a dog barked twice. Everything seemed the same. Nothing was the same. I picked up my phone with trembling fingers. The message was still there at the top, like a snake hidden in the grass.
It had arrived from someone saved as Mom, Rayan’s mother, sweetheart. That made my stomach twist so fast I had to press on my belly with one hand.
Linda had cried with me at Janet’s funeral. Linda had brought pots and pans to my house. Linda had sat at my dining room table, taken my hand, and said, “There are no words big enough for a loss like this.”
I had believed her, I had believed them all. My breathing became shallow. My mind raced in every direction. Maybe it was another Janette, maybe there was another woman, maybe it was a joke or a code or something I didn’t understand.
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