Clara smiled, placed the phone on her nightstand, and plugged it into the charger. The battery was at 12%. Outside, the city hummed. Inside, the silence was no longer empty. The little Moto G, running its ancient Android 4.4.4, had found a way to keep talking.

Clara let out a long, slow breath. She tapped her daughter’s name. The chat history was gone, but that was fine. History was just memory. The future was the message she was about to type.

She typed the words into the search bar of her laptop: