Page 52 of Unbroken

I grab my phone, scrolling through old messages until my eyes land on one I know by heart. From my sister.

I’ve read her last text to me more times than I can count. I can hear her voice when I see the words.

Mariah

On my way, beautiful. I saw the cutest little top for you and picked it up the other day. Luka is with Ekaterina and Polina, and they’re going on a day trip. Girl night tonight?

She was excited. Sweet. So her.

I called her after that and said I needed to talk about breaking up with my ex. She came. No hesitation, just met me at the bar.

That was the last text she ever sent me. The last time she ever came to the bar.

Because that was the night she was shot. Killed. Her light and life just snuffed from the world like a candle with a gust of wind. Just like that.

And I can’t stop carrying the guilt of it—because she was only there for me. She wasn’t even supposed to be at the damn bar.

I stare at the phone, and I wonder… is Vadka still paying her phone bill? Does he want the line to stay active? A little thread that keeps her in this world?

I check the time. He’s at work. Knowing him, he probably has her phone with him. Luka is with Zoya today, and the new nanny's supposed to be starting her trial run.

I tap her name. Swallowing hard, I ignore the brutal flash of pain in my chest and hit call.

My nose tingles, my eyes well up. As the phone rings, I wish for the impossible. I wish she’d pick up, just like she always did. “Hey, beautiful.”

We didn’t grow up with a lot of love or praise. Affirmation was scarce and rationed. But Mariah? She made sure I knew I was loved. She called me beautiful every single time.

Of course she doesn’t answer.

Then it goes to voicemail. Her voice. Still there. Strong and sweet and somehow so alive.

“Hey, sorry I missed your call. You know what to do. Hope you have a great day.”

Some people might call it generic. I don’t. I knew she meant every damn word.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and let the pain roll over me. I don’t know what else to do.

Beep.

Time to leave a message.

“Hey,” I say softly. “I guess part of me wants to believe you’ll get this. Maybe heaven has voicemail. I don’t know. I don’t even know if I believe in places like that… but if it exists, you’re definitely there. If anyone is, you will be.”

I pause. Swallow.

There’s so much I want to tell her.

That Luka’s getting taller. His eyes are starting to look more like hers than ever.

That I haven’t bought a single new thing formyselfsince she died—not clothes, not shoes, nothing. I can’t even step into the stores we used to shop at.

That I got a stupid infection because I’m constantly dehydrated. It’s crazy, but I refuse to use the bathroom at work—that’s where she died.

That I want to quit that job, but doing so feels like giving up on her. Like walking away from the last place she was.

That I’m drawn to her husband in a way that scares me. That I think he feels it too.

But I don’t say any of that.