After I Died My Daughter Dialed His Number Novels & Stories

Lily lay so still against the crisp white sheets, her small chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. I moved to her bedside on silent feet, not wanting to disturb the precious rest she so desperately needed. My fingers trembled as I reached out to brush a stray curl from her forehead, her skin was so cool beneath my touch. *What a pity soul,* I thought, the words catching in my throat like a sob. I don't want to lose my daughter. I don't want her to suffer. I don't want her to die. And Marcus, where was Marcus when our daughter needed him most? The thought brought a fresh wave of anger, hot and sharp. While I sat vigil beside our dying child, he was probably somewhere else which I

I stood up next, stepped out of the hotel room, my legs weak beneath me as I scanned the hallway, as if the connection might somehow return if I moved. “Miss Rosetta, please,” I called for what felt like the hundredth time as I paced the hallway. “Say something. Are you still there?” But then I got nothing only the same buzzing sound. Empty and hollow like she had vanished into thin air. I ended the call with shaking fingers and immediately dialed again. But then the same buzzing tone answered me. Again and again. My brows furrowed, dread pooling thick and heavy in my chest. My son was murdered.

nothing. Just as he was about to give up in despair, he found an old phone in the corner of the utility room. It was a spare phone I used to use. Trembling, Alexander plugged it in. When the screen lit up, he saw countless unread messages. All from Sophia. He opened the first one: It’s good your son died. He was just excess baggage anyway. Alexander’s blood froze. He continued reading: Short-lived ghost. Served him right having no daddy to love him.

Others joined in, beating me as I lay defenseless. In my despair, I glanced at the girl's face on Florence's phone. Then it clicked why my children died after calling me Dad.

And there, in the shadows, sitting on the rug by the bed, she dialed the only number she knew by heart. Her father's. One beep. Two. Three. Then a crackling sound. And a voice. "Yeah? Who is it?" She felt her throat tighten. "Dad?... It's... it's me. It's Lena." A silence. A long one. Then a burst of laughter. "Lena? Ah... you're not dead, are you?"

"But I can't ignore it anymore." The car continued down the road. For a few minutes, neither of us spoke. Then my phone vibrated. I looked down. Unknown number. My heart skipped. I stared at the screen. Another message came in. When I opened it, there were only two lines. YOU'RE LOOKING FOR THE WRONG PERSON. I frowned. Another message appeared. ASK YOUR FATHER WHAT HAPPENED THE NIGHT YOUR MOTHER DIED. My whole body went cold. I slowly looked up. My father was still sitting beside me.

“She called me for help, and I ignored her.” I stood there, looking at the man who once told me not to call again. Back then, his voice had been cold and impatient. Now, he was trembling. “I thought she was trying to disturb me,” he said, pressing his hands against his head. “I thought she wanted attention again.” His voice broke. “But she was dying.” Mom sobbed into her hands, and Dad turned his face away. Adrian bent down and picked up the phone, staring at my last message like it was a wound that would never close.

I had repeated it to myself every night until I no longer needed to think about it. Dad's number. I glanced over my shoulder. Claire was helping Aurelia onto a small carousel. The guards were watching the entrances as I slipped down the hallway. When I reached the phone, my fingers trembled as I lifted the receiver, then hurriedly, I dialed the number I had memorized. "Pronto?" his voice came through the receiver. (Hello?) My throat closed, "Daddy." There was silence at first, then I heard him breathe, "Gianna..."

A body was pulled from the sea, waterlogged and swollen. The woman was two months pregnant. Her face was unrecognizable, but I recognized the ring I had given her immediately. The dead woman was my daughter, Cecily Moretti. I had once been the most powerful Mafia Donna on the West Coast, with enemies everywhere. To protect Cecily, I staged a shipwreck ten years ago. I jumped into the sea clutching a doll and faked my own death. I left her in the care of the Griffiths family, whose son I had chosen to be her husband. I gave them money, power, and every advantage so my daughter could live a peaceful, happy life. But my investigation uncovered the truth. Five years after I disappeared, Cecily's

"Am really sorry mom–" "Sandra–." "Aunt vanessa–." "Proff Steffen...." "Don't hate me for dying– I don't want to die. Mommy– I love you..... Daddy– in heaven I love you. Your daughter–your daughter....you trained a very lovely daughter dad. A brave one. She is all by herself, in a haunted– woods. Holding out well. Am doing very well. Just doing–just doing what you told–me to do in ever bad situation. Just– keep breathing. See am breathing."