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Thursdays are the same routine: Go to school, go to work, come home, pick up the phone, and dial. The phone rings. One ring, two rings, three rings. 
“Hi you’ve reached….”. She hangs up, calling the house phone instead.
 Her fingers quickly graze over the phone screen, dialing the numbers before hitting the green call button. One ring, two rings...
“Hi grandma. I was just calling to check in on you.” 
There’s a long pause that hovers in the air. 
“Who’s this?”
 The girl’s smile drops, tears welling up in her eyes. She was with her grandmother only just yesterday, bringing her to her appointment in Boston. They held hands on the drive there, singing to Elvis Presley.
    “Grandma, it’s Brooke.” 
    “I don’t know a Brooke.”
Brooke takes deep breaths, consoling herself before responding again. Before she has the chance, the frail old voice comes back over the phone.
    “I think you have the wrong number dear.”
No answer. Brooke hangs up, too emotional to even respond. She sits on her floor, head in hands, drowning herself in tears. 
Two years ago, the all familiar “Hello tootsie” rang from her voice. Now, the only thing she says is, “who?”.

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