Chapter Title: The Number We Carried
Today, I finally let it go.
A mobile broadband number. Just digits, easily forgotten by most. But to me, it held the weight of a thousand quiet moments shared across seats on buses and trains. Josephine and I used it whenever we travelled—back when journeys weren’t just about getting somewhere, but about being together.
The little device sat between us, connecting our old phones or tablet to the world beyond the window. We’d check maps, stream music, or simply look up the times for the next bus when the one we were on rattled through Wicklow too slowly. We didn’t talk much about what it meant. But it was ours—our shared signal, our silent travel companion.
After she stopped visiting, after our contact faded, I kept paying the top-up. Month after month. It wasn’t expensive. That wasn’t the point. I think I just hoped. Hoped that one day we’d go somewhere again. That she'd message to say she was at the station. That we’d hop on the 145, broadband humming, like nothing had changed.
But everything had.
The club filled her time. Rules filled her space. I became a name she used to mention—then didn’t. The journeys ended, but I kept the device like a relic. And the number? I never deleted it. I kept it as if it held the key to something we lost but might one day find again.
This morning, the signal failed. I tried to top up, out of habit more than need. And I realised—there was no need anymore.
So I let it go.
I watched the number vanish from my account. No fireworks. No farewell. Just a quiet confirmation message. But to me, it felt like closing a door I’d kept ajar for far too long.
Sometimes, we hold onto little things in place of the people we can’t.
Sometimes, a SIM card carries more memory than data.
And sometimes, letting go is the kindest thing we can do for ourselves.