Sophia’s messages had changed first.
She used to send me pictures of her breakfast, complain about the dishwasher, ask if I remembered where we kept the spare lightbulbs. Then her texts got shorter.
We’re fine.
Busy day.
Baby is fussy.
I’m tired.
Then came messages that did not sound like her at all.
Your mother is helping so much.
Audrey has been great.
I need space.
Don’t call tonight.
Sophia never wrote like that.
My wife used commas when she was angry and full sentences when she was scared.
Those messages had neither.
I called.
No answer.
I called again.
No answer.
Then my mother called me back from Sophia’s phone and sighed like I was bothering her.
“She’s emotional, Lucas. New mothers can be unstable. You need to focus on your duty.”
Duty.
People like my mother loved that word when it benefited them.
