I never thought I’d be the man whose wife just disappeared — but a week ago, she did. I found out through our five-year-old daughter.

It was an ordinary Tuesday. I expected tacos, not heartbreak. When my phone rang, I thought it was Laurel. But it was Alice’s small voice: “Mommy left.”

I raced home, finding Alice alone and a letter on the counter:

I can’t live like this anymore. You’ll find out what happened in a week. Take care of Alice. Tell her I love her.

Laurel had planned it all. She quit her job, emptied her accounts, wiped her life clean.

A week later, the truth came out. On TV, under bright lights, Laurel sang — a voice I never knew she had. She told the world she left because she was tired of losing herself.

That night, Laurel texted me:

I knew you’d try to stop me.

I could have fought, but I didn’t. She made her choice.

I blocked her number, filed for custody, and focused on Alice — the one who stayed.

Laurel chased her dream.
We found our freedom.

And as Alice giggled over waffles and extra ice cream, our home finally felt full again.