Morett

wave of sound from the other end. It wasn't the quiet hum of an office. It was the clink of silve

small. A cold stone settl

in the background. "Oh, Dante, forget about

entire Instagram feed was a curated shrine to th

h the line, sharp with impatience

his go-to excuse, the one he used whenever he didn't want to be bothered. For three years, I had chosen to

s tumbling out in a rush. "He's dying. The doct

ightly my knuckles were white. I waited

d a rustling sound, as if he'd moved the phone away from his mouth. I cou

even colder than before. "I told you

ked, rising in pitch. "He is dying! D

ile hallway. A passing nur

ugh the phone. "The hospital will

w of his brow, the dismissive wave of his hand.

ow, hot tears streaming down my face. "Onl

n my life I had ever be

floated through, clearer this time.

He gave me his final ve

one last time, but the only sound was th

ng up

begging for my brother's

e tiny flame of hope that had flickered to life was gone, extinguished by a tid

single, piercing, continuous note, a blade of sound