She Left Us For a Dream
By Kevin
I never thought I’d be the kind of guy whose wife just… disappeared.
But a week ago, that’s exactly what happened. And how did I find out? Not from her. Not even from a neighbor. I found out from my five-year-old daughter. My little girl.
It started like any other regular Tuesday. One of those boring, forgettable days. I was at work, drowning in spreadsheets, answering emails, and daydreaming about dinner. It was Taco Tuesday—Laurel always made the best tacos, crispy and spicy just how I liked them.
Then my phone rang.
I almost didn’t answer it. I was swamped. But then I saw who was calling.
Home.
My stomach dropped. Laurel never called me at work unless it was serious. Usually, she just sent simple texts:
“Kev, can you grab some bread?”
“Alice and I are in a waffle mood. Can we get some tonight?”
But this? A phone call from home? My gut told me something was off.
I picked it up.
“Hey, Laur—” I started, but the voice that answered wasn’t hers.
It was soft. Scared.
“Daddy?”
My whole body froze. I shoved my chair back so hard it scraped against the floor.
“Alice? Sweetheart? Why are you calling me? Is everything okay? Where’s Mom?”
“She left,” Alice said in this tiny voice, like it was no big deal.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“What do you mean, she left? Alice, where is she?”
“She took her big suitcase,” Alice replied. “The one Buddy likes to sleep in. And she packed some of her clothes.”
She sniffled. I could hear our cat, Buddy, meowing in the background like he was confused too.
“She hugged me really tight and said I should wait for you,” she added.
I clenched the phone. My mind was racing.
“Did Mom say where she was going?”
“No…” Her voice cracked. “She just said I should be a big girl.”
The room felt like it was closing in on me.
“Sweetheart, listen to me very carefully. Stay in the house, okay? Don’t go outside. I’m coming home right now.”
I barely remember grabbing my car keys or getting to the car. I just remember speeding down the highway, my knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel.
What the hell had Laurel done?
When I burst through the front door, it slammed against the wall so hard it shook. The house felt… wrong. Not just empty. Abandoned.
“Laurel!” I shouted.
Nothing. No answer. Just the ticking of the kitchen clock.
Alice was sitting on the couch in her pajamas, hugging her stuffed bunny. She looked so small. So confused.
When she saw me, she ran straight into my arms.
“Daddy,” she whispered, her little fists grabbing my shirt. “Where’s Mommy? When is she coming back?”
I ran a hand over her messy hair. My throat felt like it was closing up.
“I don’t know, baby girl. But I’m here now, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
I carried her into the kitchen to fix her some cereal, and that’s when I saw it. A white envelope on the counter. My name written on the front in Laurel’s handwriting.
I put Alice down and opened it with shaking hands.
Kevin,
I can’t live like this anymore. By the time you read this, I’ll be gone.
You’ll find out what happened to me in a week.
Take care of Alice. Tell her I love her. I’ll always love her.
– Laurel
I read it once. Then again. And again.
She wasn’t just leaving me. She had left Alice.
Something inside me shattered.
I went into overdrive. I called everyone she knew.
Her friends?
“Kevin, she hasn’t reached out. We’re just as confused.”
Her parents?
“She told us she needed some space, Kevin. We didn’t think… this.”
Her coworkers?
“She quit two weeks ago.”
Two weeks ago? She had planned this. She had been packing up her life while smiling at us, cooking dinner, kissing Alice goodnight, and laughing at sitcoms.
And now she was gone.
That night, Alice clung to me like I might disappear too.
“Daddy,” she whispered as I tucked her into bed, “Mom’s coming back, right?”
I swallowed hard.
“I don’t know, sweet girl. But tomorrow, I’ll try to find her. You’ll stay with Grandma, okay?”
She nodded slowly, then asked, “But you’ll come back and get me?”
I kissed her forehead.
“Of course. And we’ll go for ice cream after. Deal?”
Her eyes lit up just a little. “Deal.”
The next day, I went to the bank and checked our joint account. Laurel had emptied her side. Practically wiped it clean.
Then I sat in her favorite coffee shop, going through her social media. It was like she’d erased herself. Deleted photos. Changed usernames. Ghosted everyone.
I finally went to the police. Filed a report.
The officer didn’t even look impressed.
“Sir, she’s an adult. No signs of foul play. She left willingly.”
“She abandoned her child,” I said. “That’s not normal.”
“She left the girl in a safe place. That’s not a crime. Unless she’s not safe with you?”
“What? Of course she’s safe. I’m her father.”
And that was the end of that conversation.
Days passed. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t think straight.
Then came Day Seven.
Alice and I were on the couch, eating takeout. I let her hold the remote. Something kid-friendly was playing. I wasn’t paying attention.
She started flipping through channels.
Then I heard her gasp.
“Mommy?”
I turned. My heart dropped.
There she was.
Laurel. On a brightly lit stage. A microphone in her hand. Her dark hair flowing over her shoulders. She looked alive. Glowing.
The announcer shouted:
“Next up, we’ve got a woman who gave up on her dreams for years! But tonight, she’s finally taking her shot. Give it up for Laurel!”
The crowd cheered like she was a star.
Then… she sang.
Her voice was unbelievable. Powerful. Passionate. Like it had been bottled up for years, waiting for the world to hear.
I sat there frozen.
I had been married to this woman for seven years. Shared a life. Built a family. And I had never heard her sing like that.
When she finished, one of the judges leaned in.
“So, Laurel, what made you decide to do this now?”
She smiled.
“Because I realized if I didn’t chase my dreams now, I never would. It’s one thing to be a wife and mom. But it’s another to watch your dreams die. I couldn’t do it anymore.”
I turned off the TV.
Alice looked up at me.
“Daddy? Why did Mommy leave?”
I couldn’t tell her everything. Not yet. So I hugged her close and said:
“Because Mommy wanted to fly.”
That night, after Alice was asleep and the house was quiet, my phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
I know you saw it.
Laurel.
I stared at the screen. My fingers trembled as I typed:
Then why didn’t you just tell me?
A pause.
Then her reply came:
Because I knew you’d try to stop me.
And that’s when I knew.
I could have begged her to come home. Could’ve fought for her. But she never wanted to stay. Not really.
She had been Laurel the wife. Laurel the mom.
But deep inside, she’d always wanted more. The world.
So I did the one thing she never expected.
I let her go.
I blocked her number. Filed for sole custody. And started to rebuild.
Because Alice deserves a mother who wants to be one. And I deserve someone who sees family as a blessing, not a chain.
Laurel got her dream.
But we got our freedom.
One Sunday morning, Alice sat on the kitchen counter. Her little feet swung back and forth while I poured syrup into a bowl.
The waffle iron hissed.
“Daddy?” she said gently.
I looked up.
“Mommy’s not coming back, is she?”
I paused. The truth was heavy, but she deserved it.
“No, sweetheart,” I said. “She’s not.”
Alice stared at the flour on the counter, drawing swirls with her finger.
“Did I do something wrong?”
My heart twisted.
“No. Never. Mommy leaving had nothing to do with you. Or with me. She had a dream, and she chose it. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t love you.”
She nodded slowly.
“Do you still love Mommy?”
I thought about it. Then I said, “I do. But I love you more.”
The waffle iron beeped.
“Come on,” I smiled. “Let’s drown these in chocolate sauce.”
“With extra ice cream?” she giggled.
I laughed. “You bet.”
And just like that, the kitchen felt warm again. Maybe not whole. But full of hope.
We were going to be okay.
