Married to My Friend's Wife

We Found Your Nephew

I woke up in a hospital bed.

Turned out a woman passing by had found me collapsed outside and called for help.

The doctor looked over my chart, brows knitting. "You're in pretty bad shape. Why didn't a family member bring you in?"

I gave him a weak smile. "Don't have any. Sorry, Doc."

He paused, sympathy washing over his face.

And wasn't that something? A stranger on the street showed more kindness than the two people I had spent seven years loving with everything I had.

That was the first time it really hit me. All those years were a complete waste.

After a few rounds of IV fluids and fever medications, I was cleared to leave.

I wanted to just disappear—to take off somewhere, breathe fresh air, see new places, hit reset.

But life was no fairytale.

I hadn't worked in years. The only money I ever touched was whatever Mia gave me to buy groceries. I had no savings to speak of.

So, I rented a room at a cheap motel, sat on the edge of the creaky bed, and started making calls.

My first call went to my old boss at the TV station.

Before I gave everything up for Mia, I had been the most popular weather anchor on local television. When I quit, some of the execs tried to talk me out of it. But I was young, stupid, and head over heels. I was convinced that if I gave her everything, she would give something back.

Look where that got me.

I wasn't holding out much hope. Seven years was a long time off-camera. But to my surprise, my old boss didn't even hesitate. He set up a meeting with the station director that same afternoon.

Despite the years at home, I had kept in shape. Between laundry loads and school drop-offs, I had squeezed in workouts and pushed through late-night jogs. And my on-air skills? Still sharp as a tack.

After a quick round of meetings and evaluations, they gave me a shot.

The station manager even arranged for a small furnished apartment near the studio. I packed up my few belongings and moved in, not looking back once.

After a week of brush-ups and rehearsals, I went live.

That first night back on air? I broke the highest viewer ratings the network had seen in seven years since the day I left.

The station threw a celebration dinner in my honor. Glasses clinked, laughter filled the room, and the younger staff raised drinks to toast my return.

One of them handed me a glass of wine. I waved it off instinctively. "Sorry, I don't drink."

Then it hit me.

That wasn't true.

I had stopped drinking because Mia once said she didn't like the smell of booze on me. So, I quit, just like I had quit everything else for her.

Well, not anymore.

I chuckled, took the glass, and raised it high. "Kidding. I drink."

Then I tipped it back and drained it in one go.

By the third round, the buzz had kicked in. I leaned back, pleasantly dazed, until my phone rang.

It was a call from the police department.

"Mr. Newman? We found your nephew."

Just like that, the haze vanished. I sobered up instantly and bolted out, flagging down a cab straight to the station.

When I saw the kid in the police station lobby, my throat tightened. My eyes welled up before I could stop it.

They said nephews often resembled their uncles.

They weren't kidding.

The kid looked exactly like me. A smaller, younger version.

The police officer explained they had confirmed his identity through a DNA test.

Years ago, my sister had taken her toddler—everyone called him Cole—for a walk in the park. She stepped away for just a second to buy him cotton candy. When she turned back, he was gone.

Ten days of searching. Ten days of agony.

On the tenth day, she couldn't take it anymore.

She ended her own life.

Her husband—my brother-in-law—aged a decade overnight. A grown man reduced to sobs and silence. I stayed by his side and helped him search every lead, every whisper of hope. At the time, Ethan was only three and clung to me like glue. He wouldn't stop crying unless I held him.

But I had to leave him behind with his grandmother to chase the impossible: finding Cole.

A month later, someone reported seeing a child who looked like him in a nearby town.

My brother-in-law raced there immediately. But the kid turned out to be a girl.

He was devastated. Distracted and broken, he slipped near a riverbank and drowned.

Then came the final blow. Police told me human traffickers had been smuggling children out of the country. Cole was on one of those boats, and it capsized. Everyone onboard was presumed dead.

"Your nephew," the officer had said back then, "was likely one of the victims…"

After that, every trail went cold.

Mia and Ethan became the only family I had left.

Or so I thought.