PART 1 – The Unknown Voice on the Phone
My name is Paolo and I am 58 years old. For years, I thought my life wouldn't change much. My days almost always proceeded the same way. I would wake up, make coffee, read the news, and then go to work. My children lived far away and my marriage had ended years ago. Not because of a big argument, but simply because sometimes two people slowly take different directions. Since then, I had grown accustomed to the silence. To an empty house, to evenings where only the sound of the television was present. I thought I had accepted that tranquility. I thought I didn't need anything anymore. Until the morning an unknown woman called me at exactly eight o'clock.
I looked at my phone and saw a number I didn't recognize. Normally I never answered calls like that, but that morning I did. "Hello?" I said. On the other end, I heard the sweet voice of an elderly woman. "Hello, my boy." I frowned, thinking I had misunderstood. "Ma'am, I think you have the wrong number." There was a short silence. Then she replied calmly: "I know." I didn't know what to say. "You know?" I asked, surprised. "Yes." Then she hung up without saying anything else. I thought it was just a bizarre mistake and quickly forgot about it.
But the next morning, at exactly eight o'clock, the phone rang again. The same number. This time I answered with a hint of curiosity. "Hello?" The same sweet voice resonated on the other end. "Hello, my boy." I sighed. "Ma'am, you know very well that we don't know each other, right? And that this isn't the number you're looking for?" "I know," she replied calmly.
"Then why are you calling me?" I asked. Then I heard her chuckle softly. "Because you always answer." And she hung up again. From that moment on, it happened every single morning. At eight o'clock, Teresa would call me. Sometimes the conversation lasted only a minute. She would ask small things: if I had slept well, if I had already eaten, if the sun was out. They were simple questions, but strangely I was beginning to get used to it.
After ten days, I noticed that every morning I was looking at my phone. I was waiting for her call without wanting to admit it. I didn't know her, but her voice carried a feeling I hadn't felt in a long time. As if someone was thinking of me, even if just for a moment. One morning I decided to finally ask her why she was doing it. "Can I ask you a question?" I said when she called. "Sure." "Why do you call me every day?" There was a moment of silence. Then she said softly, "Because you listen." I smiled. "That's not a real reason." Her voice suddenly became more serious. "For some people, it's the most important reason that exists." These words stayed in my head all day long.
A few days later, I finally asked for her name. "What is your real name?" I asked. "Teresa," she replied. "A beautiful name," I said. Then I asked her where she lived, but she didn't answer. Instead, she suddenly said, "Tomorrow I won't call you anymore." I felt a strange sensation in my chest. "Why not?" I asked hurriedly. But she didn't answer. The line went dead. That night I thought a lot about her. I tried to convince myself that it didn't mean anything. She was just an unknown woman. Yet it felt like someone had just said goodbye to me.
The next morning I woke up before the alarm went off. At 7:58 AM I was already in the kitchen with my coffee. I looked at the clock. 8:00 AM. My phone remained silent. 8:10 AM. Still nothing. I didn't understand why I was so worried, but I picked up the phone anyway and called Teresa's number back. After a few rings, someone answered. But it wasn't her voice.
"Hello?" said a man. "Am I speaking with Teresa?" I asked. Silence remained on the other end. Then the man slowly said, "Who are you?" I told him that Teresa called me every morning. His breath caught. "That's not possible..." he said softly. "Why not?" I asked. Then came the answer that made my entire world stop: "Because my mother Teresa died three days ago." I looked at the phone and felt my hands turn cold. It was impossible. I had heard her just yesterday. I had heard her voice. I had heard her laugh. But if Teresa died three days ago... who had been calling me every morning at eight o'clock?
To be continued…
