As I drove to the hospital, I was happy. My smile was unstoppable. Today, I was bringing home my girls!
I waved to the nurses at the station as I hurried to Suzie’s room. But when I pushed through the door, I froze in surprise.
My daughters were sleeping in their bassinets, but Suzie was gone. I thought she might have stepped out for fresh air, but then I saw the note. I tore it open, my hands trembling.
“Goodbye. Take care of them. Ask your mother WHY she did this to me.”
A nurse carrying a clipboard entered the room. “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?” I stammered to 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 left the hospital in a daze, cradling my daughters, the note crumpled in my fist.
Suzie was gone. My wife, my partner, the woman I’d thought I knew, had vanished without a word of wa:rn:ing. All I had were two tiny girls, my shattered plans, and that ominous message.
When I going out, my mom, Mandy, was waiting on the porch, holding a casserole dish.
Her face faltered, confusion knitting her brow. “What’s wrong?”
I delivered the note in her direction. “This is what’s wrong! What did you do to Suzie?”
“Ben, I don’t know what this is about,” Mom replied. “She’s… she’s always been emotional. Maybe she —”
“Don’t lie to me!”
“You’ve never liked her. You’ve always found ways to undermine her, criticize her —”
“I’ve only ever tried to help!” Her voice broke, tears spilling over her cheeks.
That night, I thought back to our family gatherings, and the small barbs my mother would throw Suzie’s way. Suzie had laughed them off, but I could see now, too late, how they must have cut her.
I found a letter to Suzie in my mother’s handwriting. I read it:
“Suzie, you’ll never be good enough for my son. You’ve trapped him with this pregnancy, but don’t think for a second you can fool me. If you care about them, you’ll leave before you ruin their lives.”
It was almost midnight, but I didn’t care. I went to the guest room and banged on the door until Mom opened it.
“How could you?”
“All this time, I thought you were just being overbearing, but no, you’ve been bullying Suzie for years, haven’t you?”
Her face paled as she scanned the letter. “Ben, listen to me —”
“No!”
“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 them. You’re done here, Mom. Pack your things. Get out.”
Her tears fell freely now. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” I said, cold as steel.
The next weeks were hell.
One afternoon, while Callie and Jessica napped, my phone buzzed. It was a text from an unlisted number.
When I opened it, my breath caught. It was a photo of Suzie, holding the twins at the hospital, her face pale but serene. Beneath it was a message:
“I wish I was the type of mother they deserve. I hope you forgive me.”
I called the number immediately, but it didn’t go through.
There was a knock at the door in this evening.
I thought I was dreaming at first. Suzie stood there, clutching a small gift bag, her eyes brimming with tears.
“I’m sorry,” she cried.
She’d left to protect the twins and to escape the spiral of self-loathing and despair. Therapy had helped her rebuild, one painstaking step at a time.
“I didn’t want to leave,”
“But I didn’t know how to stay.”
I took her hand. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
And we did. It wasn’t easy — healing never is.
