Three days.
That’s how long my mother had been missing. Three endless days of fear, searching, and sleepless nights. Three days of blaming myself for not being there.
My mother, Edith, is 67 years old. She has Alzheimer’s. And somehow, while I was away, she wandered out of the house in the middle of the night. Gone without a trace.
I was four hours away when it happened, dropping my kids off at summer camp. It was supposed to be a simple trip—drop them off, stay the night in a motel, and drive back home the next day. My husband, Nate, had agreed to work from home to watch over Mom. I trusted him. I thought she was safe.
But that trust shattered when I got the call.
It was Nate. His voice was frantic, almost desperate.
“Claire! She’s gone! Your mom… she’s missing! I don’t know what happened. I woke up, and she wasn’t here!”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My hands shook as I sat on the edge of the motel bed, my breath coming in short gasps. I had to get home. Now.
I threw my things into my overnight bag, barely stopping to zip it shut. My coffee sat untouched on the nightstand as I bolted for the car. The drive home felt endless. My mind raced with horrible possibilities—was she hurt? Was she lost somewhere, scared and alone?
For three agonizing days, we searched. The police got involved, neighbors joined in, flyers were posted, and hotlines were created. But there was no sign of her. It was as if she had vanished into thin air.
Guilt gnawed at me. I should have taken her with me. It would’ve been difficult, sure, but at least she would have been with me. Safe.
On the fourth morning, I heard the sound of a police car pulling into our driveway. I ran to the window, my heart leaping to my throat. Two officers were helping my mother out of the backseat. Relief washed over me so intensely that I nearly collapsed. But when I glanced at Nate, something about his reaction made my stomach twist.
He looked… nervous.
Not relieved. Not overjoyed. Just tense.
I shoved the thought away. He probably just felt guilty for letting this happen on his watch. That had to be it.
I rushed to the door, throwing it open. My mother looked disheveled, her clothes wrinkled and dirty, her hair tangled. The scent of the outdoors and days of wandering clung to her. Tears blurred my vision as I pulled her into a tight hug.
“Claire-bear,” she murmured against my shoulder, using the childhood nickname she had always called me. “Where were you? I was waiting for you. All alone.”
“Mom,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Where did you go? What happened?”
She didn’t answer me. Instead, her eyes darted over my shoulder, landing on Nate. Her whole body tensed, her face tightening with something I couldn’t quite understand.
Then, slowly, she lifted a trembling hand and pointed at him.
“You need to arrest him,” she said, her voice shaky but certain.
Silence fell over the room like a heavy weight. Even the officers hesitated, exchanging confused glances.
“What?” I asked, my chest tightening. “Mom, what are you talking about?”
She turned to look at me, and suddenly, I knew. This wasn’t a confused Alzheimer’s moment. Her eyes were sharp. Clear. Focused. She was completely lucid.
“Three nights ago,” she began, her voice steady. “I saw him. I saw Nate in your bedroom… with a woman.”
My heart stopped.
“What?” I whispered.
“I heard voices upstairs,” she continued, her hands shaking slightly. “I thought it was the kids playing. I forgot they were at camp. So I went to check.”
Nate shifted beside me.
“Claire, she’s confused,” he said quickly. “You know how her memory is. She’s probably remembering something from years ago—”
“No!” Mom shouted, cutting him off. “I saw you! I asked you what you were doing! You tried to make me feel like I was crazy. You said the woman was a homeless person you were helping out for the night. But she was wearing red-bottomed shoes! Do homeless people wear designer shoes, Nathan? And then—you told me to get out.”
“Mom, what do you mean he told you to get out?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Tears welled in her eyes. “He told me that I didn’t live there. That this wasn’t your house. He said I had to leave. And I believed him. I didn’t know where I was. I got scared… so I walked away.”
The room was deathly silent. My mother’s breathing was shaky, her moment of clarity slipping away. The officers shifted uncomfortably.
“Ma’am, do you remember where you went after that?” one of them asked gently.
She shook her head, her expression clouding with confusion. “I just walked… I kept walking.”
I felt like the ground had been ripped out from under me. My pulse pounded in my ears as I turned to face my husband.
“Nate, tell me she’s wrong,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me this isn’t true.”
He raised his hands, his face a mask of forced calm. “Claire, come on. You know how your mom is. She’s confused. She probably saw something on TV—”
“Tell me the truth!” I screamed, my voice raw.
Nate sighed, rubbing his face. “Fine. Yes. She came into the room. And yes, I had… a visitor. But Claire, it wasn’t serious! It meant nothing! I just didn’t want to freak your mom out, so I made up a lie.”
I felt sick. The betrayal hit me like a physical blow.
“A visitor?” I repeated, my voice shaking. “In our bedroom? While I was gone?”
“It wasn’t what you think!” he insisted. “Claire, we can work through this. Please, just listen—”
“Shut up,” I snapped. “You lied to my mother. You let her walk out into the night, knowing she was sick. Just to protect your filthy little secret. You’re disgusting.”
The officers cleared their throats awkwardly. “Uh, ma’am, legally, there’s nothing we can do. But… well, you married a terrible man.”
I nodded stiffly. “Thank you for bringing my mother home. You can go.”
As they left, I turned back to Nate, my hands trembling. “Get out.”
His eyes widened. “Claire, let’s talk about this—”
“There’s nothing to talk about. Pack your things. I’ll call you after I pick up the kids. You can explain to them why you don’t live here anymore.”
He muttered a few curses under his breath as he packed. The moment I heard the front door slam, I let the tears fall.
My mother took my hand, her expression soft. “Come on, Claire-bear,” she said gently. “Let’s make some tea and chocolate cake.”
I looked at her, realizing that the moment had passed. Her clarity was gone. But she was still here. Still my mother.
I squeezed her hand. “Yeah, Mom. Let’s do that.”
I had two weeks before the kids came home. Two weeks to figure out how to rebuild my life. But one thing was certain: I was done with Nate.
