When I saw everything prepared, my heart nearly burst with happiness.
The nursery at home was overflowing with balloons, and the car was packed with them too. It felt unreal that the room was finally ready—clean, perfect, waiting. As we drove, Suzie’s favorite songs played softly from a carefully made playlist. Every track had been chosen with love.
I wanted her return home to be unforgettable. After everything she had endured during the pregnancy, she deserved nothing less. I knew how hard those months had been for her. I wanted this moment to feel like a celebration of survival.
But the moment I stepped into her hospital room, every word disappeared from my mouth.
Suzie was gone.
Emily and Grace were there—our twin girls—sleeping peacefully in their bassinets, their tiny chests rising and falling in perfect rhythm. But Suzie was nowhere to be seen.
The room felt painfully quiet.
On the small table beside the bed, there was a single sheet of paper. My hands trembled as I picked it up. I recognized her handwriting immediately, but the words didn’t make sense—short, cold, unsettling.
I’m leaving.
Please make sure they stay safe and healthy.
You need to find out why your mother did what she did to me.
My stomach dropped.
Panic crept in fast, tightening my chest. I rushed to the nurses’ station, my voice shaking as I asked where my wife was. The nurse looked confused as she checked the records.
“She checked out this morning,” she said.
I told them there had to be a mistake—that I hadn’t been informed, that I didn’t understand. But they insisted she had left voluntarily.
No explanation. No warning.
The staff said they were just as surprised as I was.
And in that moment, standing there with two newborn daughters and a note full of unanswered questions, I realized something was terribly wrong.
This wasn’t how Suzie would leave.
Not like this.
