I stared at the screen, then tried again. The same message blinked back at me.
My father wouldn't block me. He barely knew how to operate his phone; I’d spent years watching him struggle to master texting. There was no conceivable way he had navigated through his settings to block my number.
Which meant someone else had done it.
Clara or Eleanor. It had to be. They’d probably fed him a story, twisting the truth until he believed I was
10