Something in her voice felt off—too bright, too rehearsed. I agreed, though unease lingered.

She hugged me quickly, promised she’d call, and left. That evening, after Tommy spilled juice, I opened his suitcase for clean clothes—and that’s when I realized something was wrong. Inside were clothes for every season, not just two weeks. Medicines, his favorite toys, and even a large envelope with my name on it—full of cash. My heart raced. Why would she pack as if she didn’t plan to return? I tried calling her. Voicemail. I tried again the next morning. Still nothing.

Days passed. No calls. No texts. I contacted everyone—friends, coworkers—but no one knew where she was. Three weeks later, my phone rang. Jane. I rushed to answer. She looked tired, distant, and scared. “I can’t tell