I’d never heard my mother’s voice before, at least not really. I had once stolen a video tape from my father’s closet and heard her muffled voice through the audio as I watched it before my dad came home. After catching me, I was grounded for weeks. I hadn’t seen the tape since, no matter how much snooping I had continued to do. Yet, there was a part of me that was certain, as if I had heard that voice in my head my entire life, this was my mother. It had to be my mother.
By the next morning, I had listened and re-listened to the voicemail at least 30 times over. My mother, the woman who’d left me far too young to remember, was calling me with a warning. But who couldn’t I trust? And after all these years, why would I listen to her? She couldn’t possibly care, otherwise she never would h
