Chapter 1

I got married at twenty-six. My wife was twenty-nine.

We got along relatively well. Obviously, I wouldn’t have considered proposing if we didn’t. We’d moved into an apartment about a year before the wedding, and she had two kids who would come stay with us occasionally. It wasn’t often. My wife had moved upstate to be with me, while her kids stayed with their father’s side of the family. I never really looked at that as a bad thing. She loved her kids, and they were well taken care of. From what I understood, her relationship with their father had been extremely toxic. She had spent years trying to keep everyone together, and I think she eventually realized that she needed a fresh start. She needed a chance to rebuild her life. Honestly, I was happy to be part of that.

Like any other couple, our schedules didn’t always line up. She worked mornings, usually going in somewhere between six and eight, and she’d get off in the afternoon, usually around five to seven, depending on when she started. I worked nights at the airport. My shift was usually four to eleven. It was an okay job. My wife made more money than I did, so she usually handled most of the bills while I contributed what I could. She never complained about it. She knew I had somewhat unrealistic aspirations for my life, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to give me the time I needed to get on my feet and pursue them. I loved that about her. She was selfless. Motivating. The kind of person who made you feel like you could actually become the person you wanted to be.

One night, she decided to stay late for overtime because we were behind on some bills. I’d already offered to pick up extra shifts, but she insisted I didn’t need to. Since she was staying late, I figured we’d get off around the same time. At least I’d get to see her for a little while instead of coming home and her already being asleep. We texted throughout the day and FaceTimed whenever we had time. Sometimes it was only five minutes. Other times, we’d stay on the phone for what felt like hours. We were just trying to help each other get through the day.

Around 10:30, I only had about thirty minutes left on my shift. At that point, there usually wasn’t much to do. It was mostly sitting around and waiting for the clock to hit eleven. I was bored, so I decided to call her and see if she was getting ready to leave. She didn’t answer. That wasn’t unusual. Sometimes she’d be with a customer and wouldn’t be able to pick up. The only thing that bothered me was that her workplace closed at ten. Whenever she closed, she was usually done counting the register and wrapping everything up before I even got off work. Even if customers came in late, they would usually be asked to come back the next day. I didn’t think too much of it. I’d never really been an insecure guy, so I didn’t immediately assume anything.

Eventually, eleven o’clock came around. I got in my car and drove home. I parked in my usual spot, right next to hers. I figured that by the time I showered and got ready for bed, she’d probably be home. I unlocked the door and walked inside.

She was sitting on the couch.

She was wearing her robe, and her hair was wet, like she’d already been home for at least an hour. I was glad to see her. I hadn’t expected her to beat me home, and I couldn’t help but notice that her car wasn’t outside. When I pulled in, I didn’t see it anywhere in the parking lot, and her usual spot was empty.

I looked at her. “Where’s your car?”

She stared at me like she didn’t understand the question.

I followed up. “Your car isn’t outside. I didn’t even know you were home.”

She looked even more confused. For a moment, she just stared at me. Then she said, “Oh, my car. Sorry. I thought I heard something else. I had a flat tire, so I got a ride home.”

That didn’t make sense. She kept a spare tire in her trunk, and she knew how to change it herself. On top of that, she worked at a car dealership. If something was wrong with her car, there were people there who could help her. I remembered one of the maintenance guys giving her a free battery after her car died in the parking lot.

Still, I brushed it off.

“So how are you getting to work in the morning?”

Again, she gave me that look. It was almost like I was speaking a foreign language. Like she was unemployed and I was the only person who didn’t know. She stared at me for a moment before finally answering.

“I can get another ride tomorrow. It’s no big deal.”

It was already getting close to midnight. She had to be up early the next morning. If she needed a ride to work, she should have been figuring that out right then. She was always overly cautious about things like that. For her to suddenly be so careless didn’t feel right. But she was a grown. She was responsible, and she’d always been dependable. I decided to just let her handle it.

I walked down the hallway. “I’m going to get in the shower,” I told her.

She didn’t respond.

I was tired and didn’t feel like repeating myself.

A few minutes later, I heard my phone ringing through the shower curtain. I figured I’d check who it was when I got out. I finally stepped out of the shower and looked at my phone.

Two missed calls.

Both from my wife.

I stared at the screen for a second, then shouted from the bathroom, “Are you alright? I’m almost out. Give me a second.”

Nothing.

No response.

I dried myself off, wrapped a towel around my waist, and walked out of the bathroom. She was still sitting on the couch in the exact same position. I looked at her and asked, “What is it? What did you need?”

She stared at me like she didn’t understand the question.

It was the same look she’d given me earlier, when I’d asked about her car and how she was going to get to work in the morning.

At this point, I was getting irritated. “If you’re just going to play dumb for the rest of the night, I’m going to bed.”

She didn’t say anything.

I walked into our bedroom, got dressed, and laid down. Maybe three minutes later, my phone rang again. Her contact picture appeared on the screen.

I answered, irritated. “What?”

There was a brief pause.

Then I heard her voice.

“What’s your problem? I’m just calling to let you know I just got off. I’m on my way home.”

My heart dropped.

I couldn’t respond.

“Hello?” she said. “I’m like ten minutes away. What’s wrong?”

I sat up and stepped out of the bedroom with her still on the line. I walked into the living room.

The couch was empty.

I looked around the room.

Nothing.

She was gone.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

“What’s wrong?” my wife asked through the phone.

I still couldn’t answer.

“I’ll just see you when I get home,” she said.

Then she hung up.

I sat there for hours waiting for her to come home.

She never did.

To this day, I still live with the guilt that whatever happened to her that night might have been prevented if I had just called again, but I was too disturbed to call.

For years, I’ve questioned my own mind about what I saw that night, and I don’t know what happened to my wife after that phone call.

If that really was my wife on the phone…

Then who was sitting on our couch?