It was past midnight when Sarah’s phone rang. She had dozed off on the couch, her father’s old quilt wrapped around her. The caller ID flashed Mom.
She hesitated. Her mother never called this late. A knot tightened in her chest as she answered.
"Hello?" Her voice was hoarse.
The silence on the other end stretched too long. Then, a deep breath. "Sarah…" The voice was small, like a whisper lost in the wind. "Your father… he’s gone."
The words didn’t register at first. They hung in the air, meaningless. But as her mother’s quiet sobs filled the line, reality crashed down.
"No," she whispered. Her fingers gripped the phone, knuckles white. "No, he—he was fine this morning. He—"
"He wanted to see you," her mother choked out. "He kept asking for you, but you were busy with work, and I— I didn’t want to worry you."
Sarah’s stomach twisted. The last time she had spoken to her father was three days ago. He had called, but she had been in a meeting. "I’ll call you back, Dad," she had texted. She never did.
Now, there was no one to call back.
She didn’t remember hanging up. She only remembered the crushing weight of regret pressing down on her chest.
She sat there for hours, the darkness closing in, the silence screaming louder than anything. Then, with trembling hands, she picked up her phone and played the last voicemail her father had left.
"Hey, sweetheart. Just wanted to hear your voice. No rush, call me when you can. Love you."
A single tear traced down her cheek.
She whispered into the void, "I love you too, Dad." But the words came too late.
---
The Echo of Goodbye
I meant to call, but time slipped away,
A promise postponed for another day.
Now silence lingers where your voice once played,
And "I love you" is a whisper that came too late.
If I could steal a moment more,
I'd hold your hand, I'd close that door—
The one between regret and peace,
And find the words to set me free.
But life is cruel, it won’t rewind,
Memories fade, but guilt won’t die.
So in the night, I search the sky,
For one last echo of goodbye.
Thankyou
