Chapter 5 - The Voicemail I Finally Heard
Sophie was admitted at 7:18 that evening.
At 8:06, she told me to go home.
At 8:07, I refused.
At 8:30, she stopped arguing because the medication made her sleepy.
I sat beside her bed in a plastic chair.
The room was dark except for the monitor.
For years, I had slept through artillery practice, helicopters, generators, and soldiers snoring five feet away.
That night, every sound kept me awake.
At eleven, Sophie's phone vibrated.
She opened her eyes.
“Can you hand me that?”
I picked it up.
The screen showed a reminder.
ONCOLOGY PAYMENT PLAN.
I pretended not to see it.
As I passed the phone over, she noticed my expression.
“Don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“No.”
“You get that crease between your eyebrows.”
“I have a crease?”
“You've had it since you were thirty.”
For one second, she smiled.
I nearly forgot we were divorced.
Then the smile disappeared.
She unlocked her phone.
I stared at my hands.
“Do you still have the voicemails?”
Her thumb stopped.
“What?”
“The ones you left me.”
Silence.
“Yes.”
I looked up.
“You kept them?”
“I sent them to myself.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
She did know.
But I didn't push.
“Can I hear them?”
Her face changed.
“You don't want to.”
“I do.”
“Ethan.”
“I need to.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I said things I don't want to hear again.”
“I already made you say them alone once.”
That did it.
She turned her face toward the wall.
Then she opened a folder on her phone.
Four audio files.
She handed me the phone.
My finger hovered over the first.
Sophie whispered, “Headphones.”
I found earbuds in my pocket.
The first recording began.
Her voice filled my ears.
“Hey.”
A pause.
“It's me.”
Another pause.
“I know you're busy.”
I closed my eyes.
“I had a doctor's appointment today.”
Her breathing was uneven.
“They think I'm pregnant.”
The recording ended.
Twenty-seven seconds.
That was all.
The second voicemail was longer.
“Ethan, I need you to call me.”
She sounded scared.
“They found something on the ultrasound.”
A pause.
“They don't know what it is yet.”
Her voice dropped.
“I don't want to do this alone.”
I stopped the recording.
My vision blurred.
Sophie was still facing the wall.
I forced myself to play the third.
“They want me to see an oncologist.”
Her voice broke on the word.
“I know we're getting divorced.”
She sniffed.
“I know maybe I shouldn't be calling.”
Then she said something I would remember for the rest of my life.
“But before you were my husband, you were my best friend.”
I pressed my fist against my mouth.
The fourth recording began.
This one was only fourteen seconds.
“Forget it.”
Silence.
“I shouldn't have called.”
Another pause.
Then the faintest whisper.
“I'm scared, Ethan.”
The message ended.
I took out the earbuds.
I couldn't look at her.
The colonel disappeared.
The officer disappeared.
Every wall I had built disappeared.
May you like
I lowered my head into my hands.
And for the first time since our first baby died, I cried where Sophie could see me.
