He knew as soon as his answering machine greeted his entrance with a blinking red glow in the darkness of his studio apartment.
Whatever its name, it was now partnered with anticipation---each tugging at either side of his mind---begging for the response of audible verification.
Nothing good came of a message on his house phone. Emergency use only. He had warned everyone. He pressed the button without hesitation's pause. The light stopped flashing and glowed a constant red warning as the message sounded.
"It's me. Your mom...She, ugh. She's left. She's really left me."
He ravaged the torturous beauty of rewind.
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