When the call came, Abby’s blood ran cold.
The screen showed one name she never expected to see again:
Mom.
The sun was setting over a quiet cemetery in Ohio as ten-year-old Abby Collins walked into the chapel, her small hand wrapped tightly around her Aunt Laura’s.
At the center of the room rested a polished wooden casket.
Inside was her mother, Mary Collins.
Still. Peaceful.
Gone.
People dressed in black filled the room, whispering condolences, sharing memories through tears. Candles flickered softly, casting warm light over grief that felt anything but warm.
Abby stepped forward slowly.
Her heart pounded.
This was it.
Her last goodbye.
Mary had been her whole world.
A single mom. Her best friend. Her safe place.
For years, they had faced everything together—even the long, brutal fight against breast cancer.
And now…
Abby was alone.
As she looked at her mother’s face one last time, something inside her broke.
But then she remembered something.
Her hands trembled as she reached into her pocket and pulled out her mother’s phone.
Aunt Laura noticed.
“Are you sure about this, sweetheart?” she asked gently.
Abby nodded, barely holding back tears.
“I want her to know I’m still with her… even if we can’t talk anymore.”
Step by step, she approached the casket.
Each movement felt heavier than the last.
Then, carefully…
She placed the phone beside her mother.
Leaning closer, she whispered:
“I love you so much, Mom. Now part of me will always be with you. And when I miss you… I’ll pretend you’re just one call away.”
That phone wasn’t just an object.
It was their connection.
During Mary’s final months—especially when hospital visits were restricted—they had lived through that device.
Texting.
Calling.
Video chatting.
Holding on.
Now, Abby stepped away, tears streaming down her face.
Aunt Laura wrapped her in a tight embrace.
And just like that—
Mary was buried.
That night was unbearable.
In her aunt’s house—now her new home—Abby lay awake, staring at photos of her and her mother placed carefully around the room.
She clutched her pillow tightly.
Tears soaked into the fabric as memories replayed over and over.
The goodbye.
The silence.
The emptiness.
The next morning, Laura had to leave for work.
Before walking out, she kissed Abby’s forehead.
“I’ll be back soon. Call me if you need anything, okay?”
