I Got a Call From My Mom Three Years After She Died

I turned on the light and stared at the unfamiliar number on my screen.

Then I tried calling it back.

A recorded voice answered.

“The number you have dialed is not in service.”

The next morning, I went to work with dark circles under my eyes.

As I passed Dad’s study, I stopped.

Dad had died together in a car accident three years ago.

Since then, his study had remained exactly the way he left it.

I rarely went inside.

There were too many memories in that room.

But that morning, I opened the door.

The faint smell of dust and old books filled the air.

I walked over to the bookcase, running my fingers along the spines until I found Gabriel García Márquez’s 'One Hundred Years of Solitude'.

It was a hardcover edition.

Dad’s favorite book.

I pulled it from the shelf and opened it.

A yellowed piece of paper slipped from between the pages and fluttered onto the carpet.

I bent down and picked it up.

There was only one sentence written on it, in Dad’s handwriting.

'Your twenty-third birthday present is hidden in the usual place.'

My birthday was next month.

Dad had died when I was twenty.

Which meant he had written this before he died.

The usual place.

I knew exactly what he meant.

When I was little, Dad loved setting up treasure hunts for me.

Whenever he said something was hidden in “the usual place,” he meant the old suitcase tucked into the farthest corner of the attic.

I stared at the note, my thoughts in complete chaos.

The impossible phone calls from Mom.

The mysterious note Dad had left behind.

None of it made sense.

But I didn’t have time to think about it.

I put the note away and hurried to work.

When Wednesday came, I went to the office anyway.

At ten that morning, I was preparing materials for our quarterly presentation when screams suddenly erupted in the hallway.

Then came the pounding of footsteps.

A second later, the fire alarm blared through the entire building.

The office really was on fire.

Thick smoke began pouring in from the far end of the hallway.

My coworkers panicked and rushed toward the emergency stairs.

I was swept along with the crowd, my mind completely blank.

Mom had been telling the truth.

Sirens screamed outside as fire trucks raced toward the building.

We gathered across the street and watched black smoke billow from the seventh floor.

Our floor.

Fortunately, firefighters brought the blaze under control quickly.

No one was hurt.

But my supervisor severely reprimanded me for ignoring my coworkers and insisting on going back to the office to retrieve my personal belongings.

The truth was, I only wanted to see where the fire had started.

The company also lost several important files in the fire.

There was no evidence that I had anything to do with it.

Still, after my strange insistence on going back inside, the atmosphere around me changed.

People started looking at me differently.

That night, the unfamiliar number called again.

“Honey, why didn’t you listen to me?”

There was disappointment in Mom’s voice.

“Now listen carefully. You have an industry conference next week. Don’t take the shuttle bus the organizers provide. Get there on your own.”

“Mom, what is happening?”

I gripped the phone tighter.

“How do you know these things? Why are you telling me?”

There was silence on the other end for several seconds.

Then Mom spoke softly.

“I’m your mother. I’ll always protect you.”

Her voice became more urgent.

“Just remember. Do not get on that bus.”

The call disconnected again.

I sat there gripping my phone as a bone-deep chill spread through me.

This wasn’t protection.

It was some kind of impossible knowledge of the future.

And every time she gave me a warning, something happened.

If I listened, I avoided it.

If I didn’t, I suffered the consequences.

The industry conference was next Friday.

This time, I decided to listen.