The call

Lily sat at the edge of her bed, her fingers lightly tracing the edges of the crisp white paper in her hand. It was such a small, fragile thing, yet it held the weight of a thousand unanswered questions. Her mother had handed it to her days ago, her eyes filled with an intensity that had unnerved Lily. "Call me when you're ready," Margaret had said, pressing the paper into her daughter's palm as if it were a lifeline.

But was it really? Lily had lost count of how many times she had picked up the paper, only to set it back down again, each time more uncertain than the last. The name scrawled across the top was nothing more than a few letters to her, a stranger's name. "Dominic," her mother had said, as though it meant something. It didn't—not to Lily.