Another Year Gone By

She lit a single candle on the cupcake. Red velvet, her mother’s favorite. The frosting smudged her pinky, and as she wiped away a tear, she licked it off, savoring the flavor. The phone rested on the table, speaker on. She watched the flame dance and the tendrils of smoke twist upward, vanishing into the shadows of her empty home. Her mother didn’t answer, but her voicemail came on. It began with a laugh, goofy and kind: "How do you work this thing?" A younger voice chimed in, teasing: "Mom, you're on already, its recording, Silly." Her mother laughed again, the sound of it like a hug she could no longer feel. "It is? Sorry, I can’t come to the—" The beep cut her short.

"Happy birthday, Mom," she whispered, biting her lip until it stung. She hung up but dialed again, desperate to hear the laughter. "How do you work this thing?" "Mom, you're on already..." The same words. The same warmth. The same absence. Her voice cracked as she whispered, "I miss you so much, Mama."