That night, she dreamed of the little red dot. It wasn't an absence anymore. It was a choice—small, red, and entirely hers. And for the first time in years, she didn't wake up reaching for her phone.

Instead, she unblocked three things: Her mom. Her dad. And her best friend’s number, with a note: “Call if bleeding or cake is involved.”

“Honey, Dad’s in the ER. Call me.”

The little red dot appeared at the top of her screen, but it wasn't a notification. It was an absence. A silent, deliberate void where pings, buzzes, and banners used to live.

She woke up reaching for the sunlight.

Then a text, which she only saw because she happened to unlock the phone to check the time: