4.11: Past

Leo stood. His legs felt like sandbags. He walked to the door, turned the handle, and stepped through.

He tapped his wristwatch. 4:11. He pulled out his phone. 4:11. past 4.11

“The moment just before I told you,” she said. “The moment I could have chosen different words. Or made the call later. Or never.” Leo stood

On the other side, his mother sat at a kitchen table, younger than he remembered, her hair still dark. She was crying into a phone receiver. The clock on her wall read 4:11. The phone in her hand read Calling Leo . turned the handle

“Past 4:11,” she said, “time doesn’t move forward. It moves inward.”

Leo took a bite. It tasted like morning.