George
I slammed my glass twice on the bar's countertop, a silent command for the barman to refill my drink.
He looked at me, stunned, but I couldn't care less. I had downed at least ten rounds—maybe more. I had lost count.
"Sir, I think you've had enough," he said, his voice laced with genuine concern. But I didn't give a damn. Even if I drained every last bottle in this bar, it wouldn't numb the pain clawing at my chest.
Slowly, I lifted my gaze to meet his, though my drunken vision wavered. Still, I tried. He got the message.
"I hope you weren't lying about not driving here," he muttered, begrudgingly refilling my glass.
I tossed the drink back in one swift gulp, letting the burn settle in my throat. Just then, my phone beeped. Maybe it was an emergency at work, I thought.
I was wrong.
As soon as I unlocked my phone, I saw a message from an unknown number. The preview read:
Do not ever contact me again. Leave me the fuck alone.
My heart plummeted.
All the alcohol in my system seemed to vanish in an instant. I sat there, staring at the screen, unable to process what I was seeing. My wife—my Emily—was just… gone.
I had tried everything. Searched everywhere. Asked everyone I knew. Yet no one had any idea where Emily was. The police couldn't find a single trace of her. It was as if she had gone off the grid, vanished into thin air.
I read the message again, my fingers tightening around the phone. I couldn't comprehend what I had done—why she would choose to leave me like this, without a word, without an explanation.
It had been two weeks of searching, two weeks of sleepless nights, unanswered calls, and dead ends. I replayed our last moments together over and over, trying to pinpoint what went wrong.
Emily and I rarely fought. Even when we did, we never went more than 24 hours without talking. So why? Why would she disappear?
She couldn't have left over something as trivial as me missing her award night. Yes, it was a big night for her—I knew that. But there was an emergency surgery at the hospital, and she understood. She was the one who told me to go. There are no other doctors on shift, she had said. You have to do it.
I had planned everything for that night. I had won. I had won. I had even invited her mom over to help with the surprise. I couldn't ask Tammy—Emily's best friend—because she was about to leave the city. But everything had been perfectly set.
I made sure I'd be home in time to set everything up after the surgery. But the last thing I remember was having a drink and chatting with Emily's mom.
Then I woke up the next morning… and Emily was gone.
No note. No text. No trace of her anywhere.
Maybe I had a little too much to drink that night, but I had never been a heavy drinker. And the wine Emily's mother brought had less than two percent alcohol. Even if I had finished the entire bottle, I would have been fine.
I kept replaying that night in my head, going over every conversation I'd had. I had spoken to all of Emily's friends, but none of them knew where she was. Or at least, that's what they claimed. Tammy, however, managed to give me one cryptic response:
"Emily is great, but you need to stop contacting her."
Everyone seemed to be saying the same thing. And I was exhausted.
I buried my face in my hands and wept—like a child, like a man who had lost everything. The barman and the people sitting next to me must have been staring, but I didn't care.
Then it hit me—Mrs. Phoebe.
Emily's mother.
I lifted my head, scrambling for my phone and keys before dashing out of the bar. I had lied to the barman about not driving, but I couldn't afford to care right now.
As I sped toward Emily's mother's house, I replayed our last conversation in my head. I had asked her where Emily was, and she told me she had no idea. But I didn't believe her.
I knew she was hiding something.
And when I arrived at her mansion, my suspicions were confirmed. The staff told me she had left for a vacation.
A vacation.
Her only daughter was missing, and she had packed her bags and flown to Bali like nothing had happened.
I slammed my car door shut and stormed toward the main entrance. The walk from the car park felt unbearably long, but my rage fueled every step.
And when I stepped inside, I saw her.
Mrs. Phoebe sat comfortably, sipping champagne while a staff member worked on her pedicure.
My blood boiled.
How could she be so unbothered when her only daughter had vanished? How could she sit there, indulging in luxury, when Emily was gone?
Emily and her mother had been inseparable. They told each other everything, protected each other fiercely. They would have done anything for one another. So why was she acting like none of this mattered?
The moment she saw me enter, she waved a hand, dismissing the staff.
Then, in a cold, emotionless voice, she said, "Yes? Why are you here?"
I clenched my fists. "What do you mean, why am I here?" My voice trembled with fury. "Where is Emily?"
"I told you before, I don't know."
Her voice was hollow, devoid of even the smallest trace of concern—for me, for Emily, for the fact that her daughter's husband was standing before her, desperate, unraveling, lost.
I let out a sharp breath, placing a hand on my waist as I leaned forward. My voice was low but firm. "I know you know something. And you're not telling me."
She remained silent, her face unreadable.
"But I promise you," I continued, my voice rising, thick with barely contained desperation, "I will find her. Even if I have to go to the ends of the earth, I will find Emily." My heart pounded violently against my ribs as I jabbed a finger in her direction.
She didn't flinch.
Instead, she calmly wiped her feet, stood up, and walked toward me—slowly, deliberately. Stopping just inches away, she met my gaze, eyes scanning me with a sharpness that made my breath hitch.
Then, with an eerie finality, she said, "Emily is going to have the life you could never give her."
I blinked, caught off guard. My mind reeled.
"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice hoarse with confusion.
She scoffed softly, shaking her head. "Look, I suggest you stay away from Emily. For good. If you truly love her and don't want to ruin her life…"
A sick feeling twisted in my stomach.
I didn't understand.
Or maybe I did—but I didn't want to admit it.
She took a step back, sighing heavily. "I know about your—Disease." she hesitated, shaking her head. "Your… Don't make me say it, please."
I stiffened.
She knew.
Oh, God.
She knew.
My throat went dry, my pulse thundering in my ears. A cold sweat prickled at my skin as my breath hitched.
I had only just discovered the truth myself.
I ran a hand over my face, trying to steady myself.
I had wanted to tell Emily. I had planned to. I was just waiting for the right time.
I just… wasn't ready.
Because this? This would break her.
Emily would give up everything—her dreams, her future—just to be by my side for as long as it took. Even if it meant slowly watching me wither away.
Mrs. Phoebe's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.
"She knows."
The room tilted. My breath faltered.
"That's why she left."
I felt like the air had been sucked out of my lungs.
Emily knew.
She had looked me in the eyes, kissed me goodnight, whispered she loved me—all while knowing.
Mrs. Phoebe took a step closer, her voice quieter now, almost… pitying.
"Unless you want to subject Emily to a life of misery and pain," she said, "please, let her go."
I could hear the exhaustion in her tone, the plea beneath her words.
She wasn't being cruel.
She was protecting her daughter.
From me.
A sharp beep interrupted the suffocating silence.
I pulled my phone from my pocket, my hands unsteady.
A message.
"We've found her. Should we send the location?"
I stared at the screen, my vision blurring.
And in that moment, I was torn.
Between holding on and letting go.
Between chasing after the love of my life—or setting her free.