My son has stopped responding from the war zone

Dear Delyara, My son works for an aid organization overseas. We had a routine: one message every evening, even if it said only “safe.” Four days ago, the messages stopped. His organization says communications are disrupted and several teams are unaccounted for. They have not told us he is injured, captured, or dead. That means hope is still technically correct. I have learned to hate the word technically. My husband watches news constantly. I cannot watch at all. Every explosion could contain our child just outside the camera frame. His last message said, “Long day. Love you. Don’t worry if I’m late tomorrow.” I have read it so many times that “don’t worry” now feels like the cruelest instruction he ever gave me. Relatives ask whether there is news. I say no. Then they pause before asking anything else, as though my entire identity has become waiting. His bedroom remains full of climbing equipment, old books, and a sweatshirt he left on the chair. I slept there last night. I am fifty-eight years old, lying in my adult son’s childhood bed, staring at a phone that knows exactly how to ring and refuses.