On the morning of his daughter’s third birthday, Callum left the house to buy one last gift. It was supposed to be quick. In and out. A simple errand before the music, the cake, the laughter.
He didn’t know that when he came back, everything would be different.
When I got home, the house was silent.
No music.
No humming from the kitchen.
Just the steady tick of the clock and the low buzz of the refrigerator, filling the space where laughter should’ve been.
The cake sat on the counter, unfinished. Dark frosting was smeared along the edge of the bowl, like someone had stopped mid-motion, mid-thought.
The knife leaned against the tub, sticky and forgotten. One balloon floated near the ceiling, its string wrapped tightly around a cabinet handle, tugging gently as if it wanted to escape.
When I got home, the house was silent.
“Jess?” I called out, louder than I meant to.
Nothing answered me.
My chest tightened as I walked toward our bedroom. The door was open. I stepped inside and froze.
Jess’s side of the closet was bare.
The floral hangers she loved—said they made the clothes feel happier—hung empty, swaying slightly, like they’d been touched moments ago. Her suitcase was gone. So were most of her shoes.
Jess’s side of the closet was bare.
I barely kept myself upright as I limped down the hallway, my prosthetic clicking softly against the floor. My body moved on instinct, panic pushing me forward.
Evie was asleep in her crib. Her mouth was slightly open, her curls stuck to her forehead. One small hand rested on the head of her stuffed duck, fingers curled tight.
“What the actual heck is this, Jess?” I whispered, my voice shaking as I gently brushed Evie’s cheek.
My stomach knotted painfully.
“What the actual heck is this, Jess?”
Folded neatly beside Evie was a piece of paper. I recognized the handwriting instantly.
Jess’s.
My hands shook as I opened it.
“Callum,
I’m sorry. I can’t stay anymore.
Take care of our Evie. I made a promise to your mom, and I had to stick to it. Ask her.
– J.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t stay anymore.”
The words burned into my chest.
There had been music playing when I left.
Jess had been standing in the kitchen, her hair pinned up, a smear of chocolate frosting on her cheek. She was humming off-key to something on the radio while icing Evie’s birthday cake. Dark frosting. Messy. Exactly the way our daughter wanted it.
“Don’t forget, Callum,” she’d called over her shoulder, smiling faintly. “She wants the one with the glittery wings.”
“Already on it,” I’d said, leaning in the doorway. “One doll. Giant, hideous, and sparkly. I’ve got it covered.”
Jess laughed—but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Evie sat at the table with her duck in one hand and a crayon in the other, humming along with her mom. She looked up at me, tilted her head, and grinned.
“Daddy, make sure she has real wings!”
“I wouldn’t dare disappoint you, baby girl,” I’d said, tapping my leg to wake the nerves before heading out. “I’ll be back soon.”
It felt normal. Familiar. Safe.
“I’ll be back soon.”
The mall had been packed, louder than usual. Saturdays always were. I parked farther away than I wanted and limped through the crowd, shifting my weight to keep pressure off my prosthetic.
It had started rubbing raw behind my knee again.
While I stood in line with the doll tucked under my arm, I stared at a display of children’s backpacks—bright colors, cartoon animals, tiny zippers. Something about the waiting, the ache in my stump, pulled me backward in time.
I limped through the crowd, shifting the weight off my prosthetic.
I was twenty-five when it happened. My second deployment. One moment I was walking across a dirt road in a rural village with my team. The next, there was fire. Heat. Metal tearing through the air.
They told me later the medic nearly lost me in the dust and blood.
Recovery was slow. Brutal. I had to relearn how to stand, how to balance, how to look at my body without hating it. There were days I wanted to rip the prosthetic off and disappear.
There were days I almost did.
But Jess was there when I came home. Her hands shook when she touched my face.
“We’ll figure it out, my love,” she’d whispered. “We always do.”
And somehow, we did.
We got married. Evie came not long after. Together, we built a life that felt solid.
But I also remembered the way Jess once turned her head too quickly when she saw my leg after a long day. I told myself it was just hard for her. The swelling. The smell of antiseptic.
I never questioned her love.
Not really.
“Next!” the cashier called.
By the time I got home, the sun was low. Across the street, Gloria sat on her porch reading one of my novels.
“Hey, Callum,” she said. “Jess ran out a while ago. She asked me to keep an ear out for Evie. Said you’d be back soon.”
My stomach flipped.
“Did she say where she was going?”
“Nope. Seemed urgent. Car was already running.”
Inside, the house told me the rest.
No music. No Jess.
Just silence.
Five minutes later, I had Evie strapped into her car seat. The note was folded in my pocket as I drove.
My mother opened the door before I knocked.
“What did you do?” I demanded. “What did you do?”
Her face drained of color.
“She did it?” she whispered. “I didn’t think she ever would.”
“I found the note,” I said. “Jess said you made her promise something. I need you to explain. Now.”
Aunt Marlene stood in the kitchen, drying her hands. She went still when she saw me.
“You should sit for this,” my mother said.
“No,” I snapped. “It’s my daughter’s birthday. Just talk.”
My mother twisted her hands.
“Jess came to me after your rehab,” she said. “She was overwhelmed. You were hurting. Angry. She didn’t know how to help.”
Then she dropped the truth.
Jess had slept with someone while I was gone. A mistake. One night.
She found out she was pregnant the day before our wedding.
“She didn’t know if Evie was yours,” my mother whispered. “I told her the truth would break you. I told her to build the life anyway.”
“That wasn’t protection,” Aunt Marlene said sharply. “That was control.”
“You had no right,” I said, my voice cracking.
“I was trying to protect you,” my mother whispered.
“You didn’t protect anything.”
That night, with Evie asleep beside me, I found another letter hidden in a book.
Jess had loved us.
She’d been afraid.
And the lie had eaten her alive.
The next morning, Evie looked up at me.
“Where’s Mommy?”
“She had to go somewhere,” I said softly. “But I’m right here.”
Later, as I removed my prosthetic, Evie climbed beside me.
“Is it sore?”
“A little.”
“Do you want me to blow on it? Mommy does that for me.”
I smiled. “Sure, baby.”
She curled into me like she always had.
We were smaller now.
But we were still a family.
And I wasn’t going anywhere.