The Silence After the Answerphone

Dear Delyara, I called home tonight, listening to the long, mechanical rings bounce across the miles until the automated message kicked in with that familiar, static-heavy voice. I didn't leave a message. I just hung up and sat in the quiet kitchen, listening to the refrigerator hum against the wall. The distance between where I am and where they are isn't just measured in miles; it's a structural gap built out of years of unsaid things and paths chosen out of spite. The phone line is clear, but the connection is completely dead.