Three days.
That’s how long my mother had been missing.
Three days of frantic phone calls, sleepless nights, and unbearable fear. My 67-year-old mother, Edith, who suffers from Alzheimer’s, had somehow wandered out of the house in the middle of the night. And I wasn’t there to stop it.
I had been four hours away, dropping my kids off at summer camp. My husband, Nate, was supposed to be watching over her. He had promised me he would.
I had trusted him.
That trust shattered the moment my phone rang.
It was Nate. His voice was rushed, panicked.
“She’s gone, Claire!” he shouted. “Edith! Your mom… I don’t know how it happened. I just woke up, and she wasn’t here!”
The words hit me like a train. My hands trembled as I gripped my phone. I was sitting on the motel bed, my overnight bag still half unpacked. My coffee, untouched, sat on the nightstand. I had been planning to head back home in a few hours, but now? Now I needed to leave immediately.
I threw my things into my bag, grabbed my car keys, and ran out the door.
The drive home felt like an eternity. My mind raced with terrifying possibilities. Where was she? Was she hurt? Was she scared?
Or worse… was she even alive?
By the time I reached home, police officers were already there, combing through every bit of information Nate could provide. Flyers were printed, search parties were formed, and a hotline was created. But no matter how hard we searched, no matter how many people we called, there was nothing. No leads. No clues. It was as if she had simply vanished.
The guilt was crushing. I should have been here. I should have stayed. I should have taken her with me. Maybe it would have been inconvenient, but at least she would have been safe.
I barely slept. Every night, I stared at the front door, hoping she would walk through it, hoping the phone would ring with news that she was found.
And then, on the fourth morning, the police arrived.
I bolted to the window and saw them stepping out of the car. My mother was with them. She looked frail, exhausted, her clothes wrinkled, her hair wild. Relief crashed over me like a wave, and I ran to the door, throwing it open.
“Mom!” I cried as I pulled her into my arms. The scent of the outdoors and days of wandering clung to her. Tears filled my eyes. “Oh, Mom, you’re home!”
She clung to me for a moment before pulling back, her eyes scanning the house. Then, suddenly, she stiffened. Her gaze locked onto something—or rather, someone—behind me.
I turned to see Nate standing in the doorway. But instead of looking relieved, he looked… nervous.
A strange unease settled in my stomach.
“Mom? What’s wrong?” I asked gently.
Her frail hand trembled as she slowly raised it and pointed directly at Nate.
“You need to arrest him,” she said, her voice shaky but sure.
Silence. The air in the room became heavy. Even the officers exchanged uncertain glances.
“Mom? What are you talking about?” I asked, my heart pounding.
She turned to me, and that’s when I saw it. She wasn’t confused. She wasn’t lost in her mind like she sometimes was. No, in that moment, she was lucid.
“Three nights ago,” she began, her voice stronger now, “I saw him. I saw Nate in your bedroom with another woman.”
I felt like the ground had been ripped out from under me.
“What?” I whispered, my throat dry.
“I heard voices upstairs,” she continued. “At first, I thought it was the kids playing. Then I remembered—they weren’t home. I went upstairs to check, and that’s when I saw them.”
Nate shifted uncomfortably. “Claire, she’s confused,” he interjected. “You know how she gets. She’s probably remembering something from years ago—”
“No!” Mom interrupted sharply. “I know what I saw! I confronted you, Nathan! And you—you tried to make me feel crazy! You told me the woman was a homeless person you were helping out for the night! But what kind of homeless person wears designer shoes?”
I whipped around to look at Nate, searching his face for any sign that this was some sick misunderstanding.
He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
Mom wasn’t finished. Her voice broke as she said, “Then you told me I didn’t live here. You told me I needed to leave because this wasn’t my house. I was so confused… so scared… I believed you.”
I felt like I was going to be sick.
The officers shifted uncomfortably. One of them cleared his throat. “Ma’am, do you remember where you went after that?”
Mom shook her head. Her moment of clarity was fading. “I just walked… I just kept walking. I didn’t know where I was going.”
I turned back to Nate, my voice shaking with rage. “Tell me this isn’t true. Tell me she’s wrong.”
His hands went up defensively. “Claire, come on. She’s confused! She probably saw something on TV and mixed it up with real life—”
“Tell me the truth, Nate!” I screamed, my voice echoing through the room.
For a moment, he just stood there. Then he sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face. “Fine,” he muttered. “Yes. She walked in on something. But it wasn’t serious! It meant nothing, Claire! I didn’t want to scare her, so I told her something to calm her down.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “You lied to her. And when she wouldn’t accept it, you let her walk out the door. You let my sick mother wander the streets for three days. Because you wanted to cover your tracks.”
His face was pale. “I thought she’d come back—”
“Get out,” I said coldly.
“What?”
“I said get out, Nathaniel. Pack your things and go. I’m done.”
He tried to protest, but I wasn’t listening anymore. His voice became nothing more than background noise as he muttered curses and grabbed a bag. The front door slammed shut behind him.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Mom touched my arm. “Come on, Claire-bear,” she said, her voice soft. “Let’s make some tea. And some chocolate cake.”
I looked at her, and in that moment, I saw that the clarity had passed. The disease had pulled her back into its fog.
“Come,” she repeated, taking my hand. “We’ll make it together.”
I let her lead me into the kitchen. There would be time to process, to grieve, to figure out what came next. But right now? Right now, I just needed to hold onto my mother while she was still here with me.
