You keep meaning to move it. There's a folder somewhere for this kind of thing, and you tell yourself you'll figure it out later, and later keeps not arriving. Good. Leave it exactly where it is.
I want to tell you something about the part you don't notice yet. You listen for the words. The reminder about the dentist, the "call me back when you get a sec," the little sigh at the end because they never did know how to hang up cleanly. You think the message is the message.
It isn't the words. It's the two seconds before the words, when they're still figuring out that the machine has picked up. That small throat-clear. That "oh, hi, it's me," as if you wouldn't know. Nobody ever recorded that on purpose. That's the part you'll play again and again, decades from here, just to hear the ordinary sound of someone not knowing they were being kept.
You're a little annoyed at it right now, if I'm honest. It's clutter. It made your storage full. You almost deleted it last spring to make room for photos.
Don't. And don't turn it into a shrine either. You don't have to listen to it today. You don't have to cry.
Just know that voice is still in your pocket, saying it's me, it's me, hi, in the flattest, most beautiful, most everyday way a person can say it.
Keep the phone charged. That's all.
Keep it charged.