When I arrived at the hospital to bring home my wife and newborn twins, I was heartbroken: Susie had disappeared, leaving only a cryptic note. While caring for the babies and unravelling the truth, I discovered dark secrets that tore my family apart.
As I drove to the hospital, balloons bobbed beside me in the passenger seat. My smile was unstoppable. I was bringing my girls home today!
I couldn’t wait to see Susie’s face light up when she saw the nursery, the dinner I had made, the pictures I had framed on the mantel. She deserved joy after nine long months of back pain, morning sickness, and the endless merry-go-round of opinions from my overbearing mother.
It was the culmination of all my dreams for us.
I waved to the nurses at the post, hurrying to Susie’s room. But when I pushed open the door, I froze with surprise.
My daughters were asleep in their cots, but Susie was gone. I thought she’d gone out for some fresh air, but then I saw the note. I tore it open, my hands shaking.
‘Goodbye. Take care of them. Ask your mother why she did this to me.’
The world blurred as I reread it. And reread it. The words didn’t change, didn’t morph into something less horrible. A chill ran down my skin, freezing me in place.
What the hell did she mean? Why did she…no. It couldn’t be. Susie was happy. She was happy. Wasn’t she?
A nurse entered the room with a clipboard. ‘Good morning sir, here’s the discharge…’
‘Where’s my wife?’ I interrupted.
The nurse hesitated, biting her lip. ‘She checked out this morning. She said you knew.’
‘She…where did she go?’ stammered I told the nurse, waving the note. ‘Did she say anything else? Was she upset?’
The nurse frowned. ‘She seemed fine. Just…quiet. Are you saying you didn’t know?’
I shook my head. ‘She didn’t say anything…just left me this note.’
I walked out of the hospital in a daze, holding my daughters and the note crumpled in my fist.
Susie was gone. My wife, my partner, the woman I thought I knew, was gone without a word of warning. All I had were two tiny girls, my ruined plans, and this ominous message.
When I pulled up to the house, my mother, Mandy, was waiting for me on the porch, beaming and holding a casserole dish. The aroma of cheesy potatoes wafted up to me, but it did nothing to calm the storm raging inside.
‘Oh, let me see my grandchildren!’ – she exclaimed, setting aside the dish and rushing over to me. ‘They’re beautiful, Ben, absolutely beautiful.’
I stepped back, holding onto the car seat. ‘Not yet, Mum.’
Her face went pale, confusion knotting her brow. ‘What’s wrong?’
I tossed the note in her direction. ‘That’s what’s wrong! What did you do to Susie?’
Her smile disappeared and she took the note with trembling fingers. Her pale blue eyes tested the words, and for a moment it seemed as if she might faint.
‘Ben, I don’t know what’s wrong,’ Mum replied. ‘She… she’s always been emotional. Maybe she’s…’
‘Don’t lie to me!’ The words rushed out, my voice echoing off the walls of the porch. ‘You never liked her. You always found ways to undermine her, to criticise her…’
‘I was only trying to help!’ Her voice trailed off, tears streaming down her cheeks.
I turned away, and my gut clenched. I couldn’t trust her words anymore. Whatever had happened between them, Susie was gone. And now I was left to pick up the pieces.
That night, after tucking Callie and Jessica into their cots, I sat at the kitchen table with a note in one hand and a whiskey in the other. Mum’s protests were ringing in my ears, but I couldn’t let them drown out the question swirling in my head: What did you do, Mum?
I thought back to our family gatherings and the barbs my mum would throw in Susie’s direction. Susie had brushed them off, but now, too late, I realised how they had hurt her.
I began to dig, both literally and metaphorically.
My sadness and longing for my missing wife intensified as I went through her things. Finding a jewellery box in the cupboard, I put it aside and then noticed a piece of paper peeking out from under the lid.
When I opened it, I found a letter to Susie, written in my mother’s handwriting. My heart raced as I read it:
‘Susie, you will never be good enough for my son. You’ve trapped him with this pregnancy, but don’t think you can fool me for a second. If you care about them, you’ll leave before you ruin their lives.’
My hand trembled as I dropped the letter. This was it. That was why she’d left. My mother was tormenting her behind my back. I replayed every interaction, every moment I thought was harmless. How blind was I?
It was almost midnight, but I didn’t care. I went to the guest room and pounded on the door until my mum opened it.
‘How could you?’ I waved the letter in front of her nose. ‘All this time I thought you were just bossy, but no, you’ve been bullying Susie for years, haven’t you?’
Her face went pale as she thumbed through the letter. ‘Ben, listen to me…’
‘No!’ I interrupted her. ‘You listen to me. Susie left because of you. Because of how you made her feel worthless. And now she’s gone and I’m here, trying to raise two kids by myself.’
‘I only wanted to protect you,’ she whispered. ‘She wasn’t good enough…’
‘She’s the mother of my children! You don’t get to decide who’s good enough for me or for them. You’re done, mum. Pack your things. Get out.’
The tears were pouring freely now. ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Yes,’ I said, cold as steel.
She opened her mouth to object, but stopped. The look in my eyes must have told her I wasn’t bluffing. She left an hour later, her car disappearing down the street.
The following weeks were a living hell.
Between sleepless nights, dirty nappies and the endless crying (of the babies and me) I had little time to think.
But every quiet moment brought me back to thinking about Susie. I contacted her friends and family, hoping to find some hint of where she might be. None of them had heard from her. But one of them, her college friend Sarah, hesitated before speaking up.
‘She was saying she feels…trapped,’ Sarah admitted over the phone. ‘Not because of you, Ben, but because of everything. The pregnancy, your mum. She told me once that Mandy said the twins would be better off without her.’
The knife dug deeper. ‘Why didn’t she tell me my mum was telling her things like that?’
‘She was afraid, Ben. She thought Mandy might turn you against her. I asked her to talk to you, but…’ Sarah’s voice broke. ‘I’m really sorry. I should have pushed harder.’
‘Do you think she’s okay?’
‘I hope so,’ Sarah said quietly. ‘Susie’s stronger than she looks. But Ben…keep looking for her.’
Weeks turned into months.
One afternoon, while Callie and Jessica were napping, my phone rang. It was a message from an unlisted number.
When I opened it, it took my breath away. It was a picture of Susie holding the twins in her arms at the hospital, her face pale but serene. Underneath it was a message:
‘I wish I could be the kind of mother they deserve. I hope you will forgive me.’
I immediately called the number but the call did not go through.
I wrote back, but my messages didn’t get through either. It was like screaming into the void. But the picture gave me resolve again. Susie was out there. She was alive, and at least some part of her was still pining for us, though she was clearly uncomfortable. I would never give up on her.
A year went by without any leads or clues to Susie’s whereabouts. The twins’ first birthday was bittersweet. I put all my energy into raising them, but the ache for Susie never left me.
That evening, as the girls were playing in the living room, there was a knock on the door.
At first I thought I was dreaming. Susie stood on the doorstep clutching a small gift bag, her eyes full of tears. She looked healthier, her cheeks fuller and her posture more confident. But there was still sadness behind the smile.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.
I didn’t think. I pulled her to me and hugged her as tightly as I could. She sobbed into my shoulder, and for the first time in a year, I felt whole.
In the weeks that followed, Susie told me how postpartum depression, my mum’s cruel words and feelings of inadequacy overcame her.
She left to protect the twins and escape the spiral of self-loathing and despair. Therapy helped her recover, taking one painstaking step at a time.
‘I didn’t want to leave,’ she said one night, sitting on the nursery floor as the girls slept. ‘But I didn’t know how to stay.’
I took her hand. ‘We’ll figure this out. Together.’
And we did figure it out. It wasn’t easy – healing is never easy. But the love, resilience, and shared joy of watching Callie and Jessica grow was enough to restore what we had nearly lost.
