The lamp on the nightstand still has a yellow sticker from a garage sale: $2.50, faded marker.
I picked it up the same summer I became a stepparent. Didn't know what I was doing. Still don't.
The game got rained out, ninth inning. I drove home past the flooded curb, water over the sidewalk, and tried to call the boy to say I'd pick us up sandwiches.
I misdialed by one number. A woman answered, not annoyed.
She said, 'It's okay. You sound tired. You need to talk?'
I told her about the lamp, the rain, the boy who calls me nothing yet.
She didn't offer advice. Just listened. Like I was someone worth hearing.
It's been four months. I still think about her voice. How kindness from a stranger can feel like a door left open.
I leave this message in case the line still works: You asked if I was okay. I'm learning to say yes.