Late One Night, I Heard My Daughter Whisper, “I Miss You, Dad” on the Phone — But He Died 18 Years Ago

Then breathing.

Not heavy. Not threatening. Just quiet, controlled—like someone holding their breath.

“Hello?” I said.

Silence.

Then a man spoke, his voice low and unsure.

“Susie?”

My stomach dropped.

“This is her mother,” I said. “Who is this?”

There was another pause. I heard him exhale, slow and emotional.

“My name is Daniel,” he said. “I… I knew her father.”

I sat down hard, my legs suddenly weak.

Daniel explained carefully. He and my husband had grown up together. After the accident, guilt consumed him. He moved away, changed his number, tried to bury a life that reminded him of everything he’d lost. Years later, while going through old boxes, he found a notebook—my husband’s handwriting filled the pages.

Susie’s name was written again and again.

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