Chapter 3: A Call Kept Open Under The Flickering Light
The phone lay between Noah’s knees, its screen turned upward against the tile. The word “Grandpa” remained beneath the green call symbol, bright enough to stain the underside of the fallen chair with a weak reflection. The connection timer continued counting. I watched the numbers change because watching them gave me something orderly to hold on to.
Evan stood in the kitchen entrance, one hand near the doorframe. The work boot from the hall had become both feet, planted wide enough to block the clearest path out. He did not need to touch me to make the room smaller. The refrigerator pressed cold against my back. The chair cut across one side of the floor. Noah was on the other side of my body, still clutching his stuffed dinosaur in one hand and the phone in the other.
My ribs moved when I breathed. Each shallow breath caught against the broken places and stopped before it could become full.
I needed to get Noah behind me, though he was already trying to place himself there. I needed to reach the hallway, though Evan occupied it. I needed to keep the phone where Grandpa could hear and see enough to understand what was happening. Those needs pulled in different directions, and my body could not obey all of them.
I lifted two fingers toward Noah.
He looked at me, then at Evan. His face stayed serious, almost still, but his grip tightened around the dinosaur’s fabric neck. He shifted backward until his shoulder touched the lower cabinet. The phone remained visible between us.
Evan’s eyes went to the screen.
The call timer kept moving.
From the small speaker came Grandpa’s voice, roughened by distance and static. “You lay a hand on my girl again, you won't walk out.”
The words entered the kitchen and hung there. Evan’s expression changed so slightly I might have missed it if I had not been studying him for danger. His jaw tightened. His gaze left the phone and settled on me, as if the threat had been something I had placed in his path.
I kept my hand flat on the floor. The tile was cold enough to numb my palm. If I tried to stand, I would have to push through my ribs, and if I failed, I would fall in front of Noah. I tested one knee instead. Pain climbed beneath my side, sharp and immediate. My breath broke apart.
Noah moved closer without being told. The dinosaur dragged across the tile, making a faint rasping sound. He angled the phone toward my face, protecting its screen with his small body.
Evan took one step into the kitchen.
The overhead light flickered. For an instant, the screen disappeared in the dark, then returned brighter, the call icon pulsing green. Grandpa was still connected. I could not tell whether he could hear my breathing, Noah’s movement, or the silence that followed his warning. The phone showed a signal bar, then lost one, then found it again.
I reached for the counter behind me. My fingers touched the edge of a dish towel, a wooden spoon, the hard corner of the banked-up phone charger. None of them could help me cross the room. The counter was too high to use without standing, and standing felt impossible.
Evan’s hand left the doorframe and moved toward the phone.
Noah pulled it against his chest. The camera turned away from the room. Grandpa’s name vanished beneath the reflection of the flickering light, and the speaker went silent.
The timer froze.
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For one second, I could not tell whether the call had ended or whether the phone had simply lost its signal. Then the screen dimmed in Noah’s hands, leaving only a dark reflection of the kitchen and Evan’s approaching shape.
I pushed against the cabinet and tried to rise before he reached us.
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