Do you know how hard it is to feign care about your dead daughter?

I attended her funeral. I visit her grave every few months. I have a small shrine set up in my backyard, adorned with wilting bluebells and daisies. I burst into tears every time someone so much as mentions her name. The sobs rack my chest so violently that the thought of me faking it is unimaginable.

But I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing. My soul is simply an abyss, filled only with frost. I used to be full of warmth and happiness. My cold conscience only developed after my husband and I killed my daughter.

We called her Cammy, short for Cameron. From the moment she was born, she did nothing but cry. Her wails kept me from sleeping more than two hours a night. Every time I was lucky enough to drift off into slumber, I was jolted awake by a shrill scream. My husband refused to get out of bed, so I always had to go comfort Cammy. Every. Single. Time.

She took years off my life. I felt joy for the first time in years when her body went limp in my hands and I had to call the emergency services. They didn’t question my lack of care when they arrived, which was weird, but I think they simply chalked it down to my sleep deprivation. I lost so much sleep because of Cammy, and I’ll never gain it back, even though I sleep soundly now that she’s gone. I wouldn’t be surprised if I suffered some sort of magical brain damage because of it. That’s why I’m not surprised I woke up to the sound of a cell phone ringing, even though my phone is shut off.

I rub my eyes and sit up, yawning as I read the time on my clock. 3:12 a.m. I grab my phone and hold down the power button. It takes a few seconds before it powers on completely and my lock screen casts a green glow onto the ceiling, making me wince. I have a few notifications, from Target notifying me of the latest sales to the most popular tweets made today. But my most recent notification is a call from Cammy.

I never deleted her contact off my phone. I used it as a way to further my act of innocence. Maybe it’s a new phone that’s gotten her number, I thought tiredly.

Lo and behold, my phone begins to vibrate as the notification that Cammy is calling again pops up. I debate whether I should pick up or ignore it and go back to sleep, but I swipe left after a few rings.

“Hello?” I said.

“Mommy?” Cammy’s voice, burned into my memory, rings through. My heart sinks in my chest as my mouth goes dry.

“W…What? Is this a prank?”

“Mommy…” she drawls as her voice begins to fade. “I’ll see you soon.”

Then I heard a crash from downstairs.