John dials his mothers number over and over, but every time a cold, automatic voice answers, The number is no longer in service. He hasnt called her in two years. His wife has forced him to choose between her and his mum, and he chooses his wife.
The number is no longer in service
A knot tightens in Johns throat and a cold sweat breaks out under his white work shirt. He sits on a bench in the park and watches a group of laughing teenagers drift past. He feels like a stray animal, bewildered by life, laughter, joy, the carefree moments that surround him. A letter lies on his knees. In bold block letters on the envelope reads his name: John. A full stop follows, as his mother always does. He has already printed it out. The envelope is still sealed, so his sister hasnt read it. Inside, his mothers neat, textbookstyle handwriting fills two pagesno flourishes, every letter crisp and precise, like the work of a model student. The letter begins, Dear John, my son. If youre reading this, Im no longer here
Johns throat tightens at that line. He tries to hold back tears, but they spill as he keeps reading.
He isnt thinking about his mother that day. He steps out for lunch, craving a kebab. He can already picture the juicy, spiced meat wrapped with cabbage, tomato and cucumber, drenched in the shops signature garlic sauce. As he reaches the revolving doors of the shopping centre, a figure steps out onto the streethis mother, whom he hasnt seen in two years. She wears a brown coat, dark wavy hair that barely reaches her shoulders, and walks with the weary gait of a woman exhausted by work and domestic duties. She looks exactly like the mother that has haunted his thoughts for the past three months, appearing in fleeting visions and dreamssometimes packing bags as if about to leave, sometimes distant and sad, as if she could no longer protect him. He feels panic rising, the fear of being alone in a world without her solid presence.
Three months earlier, a small, battered creaturehalfferret, halfrathad crawled onto his bed. It was bruised and trembling, its halfhairless body pressed against him. Though he found it repulsive, pity won over disgust; he let it curl into a ball on his pillow, right beside his head. The animal breathed weakly, unable to move much. Then John realised there were no rats or ferrets in his flat. In the dark room the creature vanished, leaving only a warm imprint on the pillow. He swears he didnt dream it.
That night his wife, Alice, finally falls asleep. John grabs his phone and, almost instinctively, scrolls to old photos of him and his mother, when they were still a happy family. He cant make sense of what to think.
He lingers near the exit of the centre, hoping to catch up with the woman who seemed his mother, when he hears a courier asking the security guard, Which floor has the appliances? Ive got a delivery.
The third floor, the guard replies.
I work there, John interjects, glancing away from the doors. Whos the delivery for? Might be me.
A feeling of déjà vu washes over him. The courier reads the label on the parcel hesitantly.
Attention: John Miller.
Thats me, John says, reaching out.
ID, please, the courier asks.
John pats his chest, pulls his passport from his breast pocket, signs the receipt and steps outside. The street hums with chatter and car engines. He tears open the parcel and finds a note from his sister Emily.
Mother died on 12 June. She asked me to give you this letter. Dont call me I wont answer. Youre a traitor to me.
June12! And its now 15September! Hes been kept in the dark for three whole months. His head spins, his stomach twists into nausea, and he nearly collapses, braced against the dusty, orangecoloured wall of the centre. His mother the woman who gave him endless love, loyalty, protectionhas died. The same woman whose last words to his wife were, Im no longer your son!
The thought of kebab, cappuccino and his hunger fades away. He cant bring himself to open the letter here. He walks back to the park, sits on the bench, hesitates, then finally breaks the seal.
so Im gone. I have cancer, stagefour. Today I felt an unexpected surge of strength and decided to write before my hand gave out. They say such a sudden burst often means the end is near.
John, dont blame yourself. Ive called you countless times, hanging up before the ring. Pride has held us both hostage. Even now, pride stops me from picking up the phone. You dont call. Maybe you think of me, maybe you dont, but youre still my son, and I cant stop loving you.
Im sorry I never got along with Alice. I was wrong in places, and she isnt easy either. Forgive me for the gaps in your upbringing; I raised you alone as best I could. Perhaps I was a bad mother, since you turned away so quickly. Youve punished me, son. Thats enough. Forgive me.
I wished, even in these last days, to hear your voice one more time
John chokes back tears, clenching his fist over his mouth. He never considered himself unloved. His mother always found time to listen, comfort, advise, and protect them like a wolf does her cubs. When two classmates tried to bully him in fifth grade, she grabbed a pocketknife and whispered, Touch John again and Ill cut off your ear, then escorted him to karate lessons, teaching him to stand firm and never show weakness.
He presses the phone to his ear, imagines the dial tone, and silently pleads, Pick up, Mum. Im sorry I was weak. Let this letter be a joke.
Silence presses in, heavy as a coffin, then the same automated message: The number is no longer in service.
No! No! John shouts, dialing again and again, the voice forever repeating, Number no longer in service.
Frustrated, he calls Emily, who answers with a harsh, Go to hell, you donkey! and hangs up.
He asks for time off work and drives home. He stands in the doorway, coat and shoes still on, utterly drained. Alice, on sick leave with their baby, looks up.
Why are you up so early? Something happen, John?
John cant form the words.
Mother died.
Alice clutches her chest, a feigned gasp that feels empty to John. Did your sister tell you? Whens the funeral?
It was three months ago.
And they never told you? Good family you have, she snaps. Shut up! Dont bring your family into this.
After calming down, they decide to drive to Emilys flat in the provincial town where their mother used to live. They set off immediately. John speeds down the road, his anger splintering onto everyonehimself, Alice, every relativeespecially his sister. They burst into the flat where Emily now lives. Johns voice shakes with fury.
You should have told me! You should have said Mum was ill! Youre a terrible
I should? I owe you nothing! It was your job to keep in touch! Youre a wimp, a henpecked man who swapped his own mother for this…
Alice tries to intervene, Dont
Enough! John roars, You had to tell us!
Emily turns red, I told you what I could. You should have called yourself!
Alice chimes in, Remember why you gave me an ultimatum? Because you said you werent my son any more!
Emily retorts, I remember! Youre the one who left Mum for a stranger!
The argument spirals. John recollects how Mum refused a wedding loan, how Alice never helped around the house, how she claimed postpartum depression and threw tantrums that scared their baby. Mum would sneak in to calm the baby, only to irritate Alice further. The tension escalates, each accusation louder than the last.
Finally, Emilys husband steps in, Get out. Both of you. Leave this house.
He shoves them toward the door, slamming it shut. Alice trembles, humiliation washing over her. John stands frozen on the landing.
Alice, voice shaking, Why did you stay silent? Why didnt you stand up for me when he cursed me?
John says nothing, collapses onto the dirty staircase and weeps. Alice is left speechless. Later, in the car heading home, John says coldly, A large part of what happened is your fault, Alice. Im also to blame, but youre the worst. How can I live with you after this?
Alice replies, The final decision is yours. Dont dump all the blame on me. Both you and Emily are at fault. She should have told us!
Their argument drags on until John finally stops answering Alices calls. He disappears from home; she never knows where he spends the night. For a month, he lives on the edge of his marriage, his grief over his mother consuming him. Eventually he returns, but remains distant, his love for Alice gone, his sorrow for his mother still raw.
Sometimes, John still thinks he sees his mother on the street, a phantom passing by without noticing him. Yesterday, he spots a woman on a commuter train, eyes fixed on the window, a crowd surging past. He weaves through, heart tightening, almost stepping on her footonly to realise its a stranger, not his mother.
Out of habit, he dials his mothers number again, hoping for at least a faint ring, a whisper from the beyond. The automated voice repeats, The number is no longer in service. He cries out, Im your son! Mother, hear me!
A synthetic voice finally says, Do not call this number again. Be grateful you still have your wife.
