Every Trace of Us
Every Trace of Us
I spent the day buying luxury gifts for my mistress.
A designer handbag. A diamond necklace. A watch I’d promised her for months.
I told myself I deserved a little happiness.
When I came home that evening, I expected to find my wife exhausted from caring for our newborn daughter, probably waiting for me to take the baby so she could finally shower.
Instead, the house was silent.
I called out her name.
Nothing.
I walked into the nursery.
The crib was gone.
So were the blankets, the stuffed animals, the tiny clothes folded neatly in the dresser.
I hurried into our bedroom.
Her clothes were gone.
Her shoes were gone.
Even the framed photograph from our wedding had disappeared.
I stood frozen in the middle of the room.
Then I noticed something else.
The wedding ring I had given her was sitting on my pillow.
Beside it was a single envelope with my name written across the front.
My hands trembled as I opened it.
Inside was one sheet of paper.
“You always told me that if I ever left, you would know where to find me. You were wrong.”
I read the sentence again.
Then I saw the final line.
“Don’t bother looking for us. I’m not running away from you. I’m protecting our daughter from you.”
My stomach dropped.
I grabbed my phone and called her.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Nothing.
Then my mistress called.
I almost ignored it.
Almost.
When I answered, she didn’t say hello.
“Did you get home?”
“Yes,” I said.
There was a long silence.
Then she whispered, “You need to come back to the hotel.”
“Why?”
“Because someone left something here for you.”
“What?”
Her voice shook.
“Your wife.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“What do you mean?”
“She came here this afternoon.”
Another silence.
“She knew everything.”
My blood ran cold.
“What did she say?”
My mistress swallowed.
“She said the gifts you bought me weren’t the worst thing you had done.”
I stared at the empty nursery.
“What was the worst thing?”
“She didn’t tell me,” my mistress said. “She only gave me this.”
There was a rustling sound.
Then she read the words aloud.
“Ask him where the money came from.”
I looked toward the luxury shopping bags I’d left by the front door.
For the first time that day, the expensive gifts didn’t make me feel successful.
They made me feel sick.
Because suddenly I remembered the money.
And I realized my wife hadn’t disappeared because she had finally discovered my affair.
She had disappeared because she had discovered everything.