Abbie’s life is thrown into chaos when her husband mysteriously disappears, leaving behind nothing but a puzzling note. Several days later, a startling phone call from her mother-in-law uncovers a hidden truth that leaves Abbie reeling. What happened to Matthew?
“Matthew? This isn’t funny, where are you?” I called out, expecting to hear his voice from another room.
However, the house was silent, except for the faint hum of the refrigerator.
My heart started to race when I noticed a note on the kitchen table.
It read, “Don’t search for me.”
I hoped it was a bad joke. Matthew loved pranks, but this felt different. I grabbed my phone and dialed his number, only to hear it go straight to voicemail.
“Matthew, call me back,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “This isn’t funny.”
I called his mom next. “Hi, it’s Abbie. Have you heard from Matthew?”
“No, dear,” Claire replied. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes, yes, it is. Sorry, I guess he just went out for a walk.
I hung up and tried his best friend, James.
“No, Abbie, we haven’t heard from him,” James said, his concern mirroring mine.
Matthew never returned.
The kids kept asking, “Where’s Daddy?”
I had no idea how to answer them. I finally went to the police, clutching the note in my hand.
“Ma’am, with the note he left, we can’t start a search,” the officer said.
“But he’s missing!” I protested, feeling a lump rise in my throat. “What if something happened to him?”
The officer shook his head. “I’m sorry, but adults have the right to disappear if they want to. There’s nothing we can do.”
I left the station feeling alone and helpless.
I came back home to our cozy suburban house, now filled with an eerie emptiness. I gathered the children in the living room.
“Kids, I need to tell you somethin,” I began, my voice shaking. “Daddy is… he’s gone away for a while.”
“Why, Mommy?” my youngest asked.
“I don’t know, sweetheart,” I replied, pulling her into a hug. “But we have to be strong, okay?”
The days that followed were a blur of tears and unanswered questions
Every corner of the house reminded me of Matthew.
His favorite coffee mug on the counter, his shoes by the door, the jacket he always wore still hanging in the closet.
I made an effort to keep things normal for the kids, but it was a struggle. Every time they asked about their father, my heart broke a little more.
After that, one day, I received a call from my mother-in-law.
“Matthew’s here—with his mistress and their baby,” she whispered. “He’s using your joint account to fund their new life. I’m sorry, Abbie… but you need to protect yourself now.”
