“Matthew? This isn’t funny, where are you?” I called out, expecting to hear his voice from another room.

But the house was silent, except for the faint hum of the refrigerator.

My heart started to race as I noticed a note on the kitchen table.

It read, “Don’t search for me.“

I stared at the note, hoping 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 didn’t know 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 helpless and alone.

I returned 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 something,” 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 tried 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.

Then, one day, I received a call from my mother-in-law.

“If you want to know the truth, promise me you won’t tell Matthew anything,” her voice cracked through the FaceTime call, breaking the silence of the room.

“Promise? What’s going on?” I asked, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach.

“Matthew is here at my house. With his mistress and their newborn baby,” she began.

I was horrified.

“Matthew told me to keep it a secret from you, Abbie,” she continued. “His mistress had nowhere to go, so he brought her here. He’s planning to spend money from your joint account to rent them an apartment. He told me he is going to divorce you and stay with his mistress. She’s… barely 19.”

I felt like the ground had just been pulled out from under me.

My vision blurred with tears as I struggled to comprehend her words.

“He… he’s what?” I stammered.

“I’m sorry for lying to you about his whereabouts and not telling the truth earlier, ” she continued. “I didn’t know what to do since he is my son… I needed some time to think about everything. But you are also family to me and the mother to my grandkids, whom I love dearly. That’s why I decided to tell you the truth. Abbie, you still have time. You can find a lawyer and save your money for the sake of your kids.”