I heard my daughter whisper into the phone, “I miss you, Dad” – I buried her father 18 years ago

That night, after she’d gone to bed, I did something I’d never done before. I dug around.

Accessing the landline call log wasn’t difficult. That’s where it appeared. A number I didn’t recognize.

Woman standing in the living room | Source: Midjourney

I stared at it for a long time before I figured it out.

Ringtones echoed in the silence. I almost hung up. My thumb hovered over the button. I thought it was crazy.

And then a breath.

Landline on the table | Source: Midjourney
Landline on the table | Source: Midjourney

Soft. Masculine. Familiar.

“Susie,” the voice whispers. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t call again today.”

I couldn’t breathe anymore.

“Who is this?” I asked, though deep down I already knew.

Silence fell. Thick and thoughtful.

Man sitting on sofa | Source: Midjourney
Man sitting on sofa | Source: Midjourney

One click.

The call was disconnected.

I sat there, clutching the phone as waves of confusion and terror washed over me.

Charles was dead. I knew he was dead. I mourned him. I buried him, or so I thought.

Had I said goodbye to a man who had never been in that coffin?