The Sound of Her Breathing on the Dead Line

Dear Delyara, I called home at 4:00 AM just to listen to the house. I knew she’d be deep asleep, the phone on silent on the bedside table, but the line connected anyway and went straight to the ambient audio of our bedroom before the voicemail kicked in. For five seconds, through the static of the network, I could hear the faint, slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her breath against the pillow. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve heard all week. I didn't leave a message. I didn't want to taint that pure, peaceful silence with the sound of my tired voice in this guardroom. I just hung up softly, held the cold plastic phone against my cheek, and let the warmth of her safety settle into my chest.