Leah
The phone rang just as I was pulling into my driveway.
I almost let it go to voicemail.
Bella was in the back seat telling me something important about a cat she had seen near the park. A very specific cat, apparently. She was sure it was the same one from last week because it had a white patch on its nose shaped like a teardrop.
I was giving this the attention it deserved.
Real attention.
Full attention.
Because the point of picking Bella up from school was that Bella got me, not my phone.
Then I glanced at the screen.
Mom.
My mother did not call me.
She sent short, precise texts when something practical required discussion. The time of a family event I was expected to attend. A question about Bella’s school schedule. A formal note that she had sent a birthday card.
Phone
