My daughter’s first voicemail from overseas is only twelve seconds long

Dear Delyara, My daughter moved to London last week. She is twenty-six and thrilled. I am also thrilled, apparently, because that is what I told everyone at the farewell. Tonight, she left a voicemail while I was asleep after an early shift: “Mum, I got home safe. The flat is freezing. Love you. Call tomorrow.” Twelve seconds. I listened five times. When she lived ten minutes away, I sometimes ignored her calls because I was cooking or tired or knew she would call again. Now every ordinary sound feels imported. The little pause before “love you.” A bus outside her window. Something clattering in the kitchen. She sent photographs later of terrible furniture and a supermarket she likes. I spent years encouraging her to go. Travel. Build a career. Do not stay close because I might be lonely. Now she has done exactly what I raised her to believe she could do, and I resent geography like it has personally stolen something. Tomorrow I will call and ask whether she bought a warmer duvet. I will not tell her I slept with my phone beside my pillow like a teenager waiting for somebody to ring.