When He Calls by Robert Vaughan

Eight years later, the telephone rang. I heard that familiar husky voice.

Hung up. Backed away from the kitchen, my heart leading the way.

Shrunk down the hall toward the bedroom. What could I say? I was done, finished.

Thought I was resolved.

My husband came into the room. “Who was it,” he asked. Then he looked at me, bent over the dresser. And he knew. “No way.”

I nodded.

“Get the fuck out. Seriously?”

The phone rang again.

“You want me to answer it?” he asked.

I shook my head no. Picked it up, jittery. “What do you want, Dad?”