How she used to sit in the audience at our school plays, clapping louder than anyone.
Every now and then she would pause and say the same thing.
“I hope he calls one day.”
He never did.
But I stayed.
Not because I expected anything.
Because she was my mom.
When she passed away, the house felt unbearably quiet.
The funeral was small. A few relatives. Some neighbors.
My brother didn’t come.
No message. No call. Nothing.
At first, I thought maybe he just didn’t know how to face it.
But two weeks later, the doorbell rang.
When I opened the door, there he was.
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