“I need to block private numbers,” Ellen said. “Completely. Permanently.”

A pause. Then that same whisper, closer now: “You changed your number, Ellen. But you can’t change your voice.”

She called Comcast back. A different agent, a man named Marcus with a tired voice.

“That’s it. Flip it on. Any call that blocks its own number will hear a recording: ‘This number does not accept anonymous calls.’ They don’t even get to your voicemail.”

She didn’t answer. She never answered private numbers. But then it rang again. And again. Wednesday: three calls. Thursday: seven. By Friday, the phone was crying out every twenty minutes, a digital orphan desperate for attention.

Ellen first noticed it on a Tuesday. The phone rang—a sharp, jangling burst from the Xfinity handset on her kitchen counter. Caller ID blinked four gray words: .

The problem was the person on the other end.