The screen remained blank. No sign. Just silence.
Like an old clock that no longer ticks.
I slowly got up, pulled the curtain, and let the sun caress the bare walls. On the windowsill, a fly rubbed its little legs, indifferent. From the street came voices, laughter, life — but it felt like all the sounds were from another world. A world that no longer recognized me.
I took the picture out of my phone and looked at it closely. The cake seemed ridiculously small. The shaky letters in frosting looked like they were written for someone else. A child perhaps. Or an old man whom everyone loves, not a forgotten elder.
I sighed. I didn’t cry. I had no tears left. I exhausted them years ago, on the days I waited for Eliot to show up, to knock on the door, to say: “Dad, I’m here.” But he hadn’t come. And he didn’t come today either.
I took my cane and went down to the park. The air was warm, scented with linden. I passed by a group of boys playing football. One of them greeted me without knowing me. I smiled back briefly.
I sat on a bench and took out the bag of bread crumbs. The pigeons came quickly, rustling their wings. They looked at me, seemingly grateful, even though I had nothing to give. Just time. And crumbs.
Then, my pocket vibrated. Once. I looked around, as if the vibration wasn’t real.
The old phone lit up:
“Eliot: Dad, do you still have the same number? Happy birthday…”
I froze. My fingers trembled.
I tried to answer, but the buttons seemed to refuse to work. I pressed again. And again.
Eventually, I wrote:
“I’m still here. Thank you, son.”
I didn’t know what would follow. Maybe nothing.
Maybe just that message, like a drop of water in a long drought.
But for the first time, after many years, I felt… seen.
Maybe life, at 97, still has surprises.
And sometimes, those three little dots… are all you need to keep going.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher do not assume responsibility for the accuracy of events or for how characters are portrayed and are not liable for any misinterpretations. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed belong to the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
