The distance we cannot measure in miles

Dear Delyara, I called home tonight, and my grandmother’s voice sounded so incredibly small, so fragile over the static of the international line. She asked me when I was coming home to visit, her voice carrying a quiet, desperate hope that made my throat tighten until I could barely breathe. I gave her the usual, polished corporate excuses—I talked about my property disputes, my platform rollouts, and my business commitments. But as I hung up, I looked at my reflection in the dark window and felt a deep, sickening wave of shame. I am hoarding my time to build an independent legacy, yet I am letting the sand run out on the lives of the people who loved me before I had a single asset to my name. What is the value of an empire if the price is missing the final years of the hands that raised you?