“Promise you won’t judge me?”
Another pause followed, and in the background, she could hear the soft murmur of voices.
“Daisy,” he said, playfully lowering his voice. “What kind of rubbish are you feeding our child?”
She laughed again, and this time, it was genuine. He was trying to lighten the mood, but something about his tone didn’t sit right. “Chips. And a doughnut.”
“Just one?”
She rolled over onto his side of the bed, burying her face in his pillow. “Don’t judge me for saying this…but…four.”
“Daisy!”
“I know, I know!” she said, her voice muffled. “It’s…it’s what she wants.”
“Correction, it’s whatyouwant.”
She grinned, picturing him wherever he was, shaking his head, maybe even smiling despite himself. “Same thing,” she teased.
“If our child comes out a ball of lard, I know who to—”
Suddenly, the call was interrupted by a loud bang, followed by frantic shouting.
“I-I have to go,” he stammered, his voice stripped of all humour. “I’ll ring you back.”
“You promise?”
He didn’t give her an answer. The receiver shifted, and she heard him speak to someone else, but she couldn’t make it out.
“Callan?”
She waited, the line crackling and voices becoming louder, before it went dead. Hours passed, and she stayed there unmoved, waiting for the phone to ring. But it never did.
The call came at 8:05 a.m. the next morning. Daisy remembered because she’d only just woken up and was trying to summon the energy to get out of bed when her phone buzzed.
“What time do you call this?” she asked, assuming it was Callan returning the call.
Expecting a light-hearted apology, when she was met with silence, she froze. “Am I speaking to Mrs Thomas?” a woman asked, calm and unfamiliar.
Daisy sat up, her heart pounding. The woman's voice was too detached and clinical for her liking. “You are.”
“This is Sergeant Edwards. I’m calling about your husband, Callan Thomas.”
A sinking feeling flooded through her. This couldn’t be it; this couldn’t bethe call.
In a handful of social gatherings, she’d come across a few widows who had told her about the call. “Time freezes,” one had said. “I was there, but I wasn’t there. They could’ve told me I won the lottery, and I wouldn’t have registered it.” As she stared around her, the walls seemingly warping and growing closer, she could feel the same detachment smothering her.
“Are you there?” the woman continued, and it hit Daisy that they’d been sitting in silence for too long.
“I’m…I’m here,” she stuttered.
“Are you at home, Mrs Thomas? Would it be alright if I came to speak with you in person? I always find speaking face to face—”
“No, I…I have things on today,” Daisy cut in. Whatever news she had, she needed it now. “Please, just tell me. Is he dead?”
“Mrs Thomas—”
“Is he?”
