847 unread messages.
I scrolled the way you do when you step into a conversation late, hoping you’ll find the context before it finds you.
Swipe after swipe, the timestamps stopped looking like last week and started looking like another lifetime.
7 years ago, the very first message was from my aunt.
“Finally, a place to talk without you know who’s seeing.”
My sister replied instantly:
“Charity case free zone.”
Then my mother, the woman who still kissed my cheek at holidays, typed:
“Don’t be mean. But yeah, this is nice.”
It didn’t land like a slap. It landed like weight, heavy and slow and absolute.
A few messages later, they made it official. A nickname thread, like they were naming a pet they didn’t respect.
My sister knew rule. We call her Cece. A cousin: Cece. My aunt: Charity case.
And my mother again:
“That’s awful, but also kind of accurate. LOL.”
