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THE THIRD CHAPTER
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༶•┈┈୨ THE PHONE RANG one pleasant morning in June. Maria was too busy making herself brunch to answer—as well as she did not want to. Nor was it her phone; therefore, not her business.

But it rang.
         And rang.
               And rang.

On the third call, the caller finally left a message. It was him, after months of silence, of not coming home, of leaving her alone.

"DAMMIT, GIRL, ANSWER ME!" And then the clack of hanging up. Immediate ringing, shrill in her poor ears, screaming through the kitchen, echoing through the house.

Maria huffed and puffed, wiping her hands on her apron, turning off the stove. With one harmless profanity, she answered as soon as the first ring finished.

"What?" A hiss, a snap, a bite. Maria made certain her cousin felt her anger.

He was gasping on the other end; ragged. Angry puffs at first, the old man fuming, but upon hearing her voice—

"Maria." Soft. Out of breath.

He sang her name.

She froze, rigid, stone-solid. Maria knew that tone of voice.

Ivo had used it fifty-one years ago, when he told her all was lost, and they were all that remained.

         She was silent. The phone shook in her hand. Her hand slammed against her heart and her heart slammed against her rib cage,

(dare she have hope?
dare she dream it?)

         and it was impossible to swallow.

         "Maria, I found him."

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