Story 32: Orchestrating the Unseen Reunion

It was the final leg of a grueling 4,500-kilometre journey. We began our mega-descent over the picturesque Darling Scarp, moving down the Great Eastern Highway. I waited for the shift, and then it hit me: a moment of pure, raw exhilaration as the sweeping panoramic views of the Swan Coastal Plain, the Perth city skyline, and the distant Indian Ocean finally flooded into view. It was the visual signal that I was home—safe and sound.

My thoughts turned immediately to my children. My exact intention was to reach out to them the moment the rig was set up.

But the phone call did not go well. Understandably, they were deeply hurt and angry. In their eyes, I had abandoned them. The weight of feeling like I had totally failed as a mother crashed over me. I was at a complete loss, buried under the dense human density of a mess I had no idea how to fix.

In that dark space, daily meditation became my absolute lifeline.

Then, in June 2012—about five months into the silence—my Inner Being bypassed my logical mind and led me to purchase the Abraham Hicks Chicago workshop from 9 June 2012. The recording featured a segment with a distraught mother who was separated from her children.

I kept listening. I played that workshop over and over again for four straight months. Slowly, the agonizing heartache mutated into absolute certainty. I stopped chasing, stepped into alignment, and waited for my children to make contact.

By October 2012, I was actively aligning my energy daily using Rhonda Byrne’s The Magic. Right in the middle of this frequency work, a private number called my husband’s mobile, only to hang up the moment he answered.

I prayed to God it was my daughter. I had recently experienced a vivid dream where she made contact, and my mother had dreamt the exact same thing. I knew the field was whispering to me.

Shortly after, someone called my mother's landline and hung up when she answered. The matrix was twitching.

A month later, while visiting my brother, Nathan’s mobile rang again. Private number. We looked at each other, holding our breath. This time, when Nathan said hello, the silence broke with the sweetest sound in the entire universe—the voice of our daughter, Layla. I instantly burst into tears.

During our trek around Australia, I had felt a random impulse to design a business-card-sized photo of the Nissan and Camelot with our phone number stamped across the front. I had printed 50 of them, rationalizing that I would hand them out to friends we made along the highway.

It was only after Layla called that the true, hyper-dimensional reason for that impulse was revealed.

Back in October, when the ghost calls first started, Layla had been sorting through old photos I had sent her two years prior—back during our school holiday travels before the wheels came off in Story 28. Mixed into those old keepsakes was one of those tiny business-card photos of the Nissan and Camelot.

For the very first time, Layla noticed the small mobile number printed on the front. Following a sudden, unexplainable impulse of her own, she dialed it just to see if it was still connected.