A Second Chance at Closure
Fifteen years ago, Lisa vanished. She left one rainy evening, saying she was just going to buy diapers for our newborn son, Noah—and never returned. No calls, no notes, just silence. I filed missing person reports, searched everywhere, and held on to hope even when others told me to move on. I told Noah his mother disappeared and that it wasn’t his fault, but I never shared how many nights I stayed awake, wondering if I missed a cry for help.
Then, fifteen years later, I saw her in a supermarket. At first, it was just a glimpse—a profile, a laugh—but I knew it was her. “Lisa?” I called, my voice trembling. She turned, and for a moment, time stood still. Outside, under a grey sky, she finally spoke. She told me she’d been drowning under the pressure of motherhood and marriage, didn’t know how to ask for help, and thought leaving was the only way.
She went to France, planning to return, but the weeks stretched into months. She convinced herself Noah and I were better…
