No one had called that number in ten years.

 No one had called that number in ten years.

The phone sat in the bottom drawer of an old wooden desk, buried under yellowed papers, broken pens, and memories no one wanted to touch. It was an old landline phone—gray, heavy, stubbornly alive. Mark kept paying for the line even after moving to a smartphone, even after the world moved on.

He told himself it was habit.

The truth was simpler: guilt.

Ten years ago, the phone rang at 2:17 a.m.
Mark saw the name on the caller ID.

Daniel.

His younger brother.

They had argued earlier that night. Nothing dramatic—just the usual bitterness. Their father’s hospital bills. Old resentments. Words thrown like knives because they both knew where it hurt most.

Mark watched the phone ring.
And ring.
And stop.

Daniel died in a car accident twenty minutes later.

Since then, the phone never rang again.

Until tonight.

---

Mark was half-asleep on the couch when he heard it.

The ring was sharp, metallic—wrong. Like a sound from another time.

He froze.

No one had this number. No one even knew it existed.

The phone rang again.

Mark stood slowly, his heart pounding in his ears. Every logical part of his brain screamed don’t answer. But his legs moved on their own.

He opened the drawer.

The caller ID lit up.

Daniel.

Mark’s breath caught in his throat.

“This isn’t funny,” he whispered to an empty room.

The phone kept ringing.

With shaking hands, he picked it up.

“Hello?” His voice cracked.

Silence.

Then breathing.

Soft. Familiar.

“Mark?” the voice said.

The room spun.

“I—I’m sorry,” Mark said instantly. “I should’ve answered. I should’ve—”

“I know,” Daniel replied gently.

Tears streamed down Mark’s face. “Where are you?”

There was a pause.

“Somewhere between,” Daniel said. “I don’t have long.”

Mark pressed the phone harder against his ear, afraid the connection would disappear. “I think about you every day. I replay that night over and over.”

“I know,” Daniel repeated. “That’s why I called.”

The line crackled.

“You don’t get many chances like this,” Daniel continued. “And neither do I.”

Mark swallowed. “Are you… at peace?”

Daniel chuckled softly. “Peace isn’t a place. It’s a decision.”

Another pause.

“Listen,” Daniel said. “You’ve been punishing yourself long enough.”

“I deserve it,” Mark replied.

“No,” Daniel said firmly. “You deserve to live.”

Mark collapsed into the chair, sobbing quietly.

“You didn’t answer the phone,” Daniel said. “But you showed up for me a thousand times before that. Don’t let one moment erase a lifetime.”

The breathing on the other end grew faint.

“I forgive you,” Daniel said.

The line went dead.

---

The phone slipped from Mark’s hand and hit the floor.

The drawer slammed shut on its own.

The room was silent.

Mark sat there until morning.

When the sun rose, he unplugged the phone for the first time in ten years.

Then he picked up his cellphone and dialed a number he’d been avoiding.

His mother answered.

“Hi, Mom,” Mark said. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

She cried.

And for the first time in a decade, Mark felt like he could finally breathe.