The Day I Disappeared

After Edgar left me that day, he didn't come home for several days.

During that time, Winifred kept posting on her Instagram feed. Each update was vague, but I could tell they were all about Edgar.

That morning, she shared a photo of Edgar's back as he cooked breakfast.

"With such a responsible dad, this baby is going to be so loved."

The comments were filled with messages from our old high school friends and mutual acquaintances.

"Wow, congrats! You're going to be a mom!"

"Why does your husband look so familiar? I swear I've seen that back before."

"Kinda looks like Edgar. Winifred just can't let go of him, huh? She even found a lookalike."

"Don't say that—what if it's actually him?"

"Everyone knows Edgar treats Wanda like she's his whole world. Didn't Winifred give them her blessing at their wedding? Pretty sure she moved on."

…

Today was the day I had planned to leave. I didn't know how to say goodbye. When I looked back at my social circle over the years, there was no one left besides Edgar.

After packing my bags, I looked around the home I had lived in for more than a decade. There was no sadness and no longing.

Just as I was about to leave, I heard a sound at the door. I instinctively hid my suitcase.

Edgar walked in with Crispin. "Darling, I'm back. Did you miss me?" he called out, sounding genuinely happy.

He hugged me, and all I could smell was the scent of Winifred's perfume.

I stayed silent.

Crispin ran up cheerfully. "Mom! Dad bought all kinds of yummy stuff! He said he's making clam chowder for you tonight!"

I remembered now. Back when we first got married, Edgar didn't know how to cook.

Since my health was fragile, I suffered terrible morning sickness during my pregnancy, and it scared him half to death. Near the end of my pregnancy, when I could barely get out of bed, Edgar started learning to cook for me.

His hands were always covered in cuts from the kitchen, but he never complained. "If you like it, I'll cook for you the rest of my life."

He had given me his heart without hesitation. But in the end, it was nothing more than a broken promise.

And I no longer wanted it.

I forced down the tears burning behind my eyes. My voice trembled as I said the final words I would ever say to him as his wife, "Edgar… I want some of that clam chowder."

…

Edgar couldn't quite explain it, but he could feel something was off with me today. The way I looked at him made his chest tighten with dread.

Guilt gnawed at him because deep down, he knew he had done something I might already have found out about.

He hadn't meant to hurt me. What happened with Winifred had been complicated.

Winifred had loved him for decades. Over the years, their constant entanglement had left him with a lingering sense of guilt toward her.

But love was something that couldn't be forced.

He loved me. He had only ever loved me.

At least, until that night.

Winifred had gotten drunk and threatened to kill herself. She had begged Edgar to come see her—just once was all she asked for.

That day, my mother, Joanna Lynch, called Edgar in tears, pleading with him to visit Winifred. She said, "I raised her on my own. I know you and Wanda are happy together. Wanda won't blame you for this. Just… please go see Winifred."

After some hesitation, Edgar still went. He figured he needed to be honest with Winifred and give her closure—something clear to finally end her one-sided obsession.

But when he arrived at her place, he found Winifred unconscious on the floor, passed out from blood loss. He panicked and rushed her to the hospital.

After emergency treatment, Winifred regained consciousness. Tears streamed down her face as she curled into his arms and cried, "Edgar, I have no one else. I only have you. Please don't leave me."

That night, he gave in.

After all, she was still a human being. More than that, she was my younger sister.

Maybe if he stayed with her for a while and kept me in the dark, he could help Winifred through her depression, and perhaps then she would finally get better.

But things spiraled faster than he expected.

One night, Winifred got drunk. She showed up in nothing but a skimpy silk robe, pressing her body against him. "Edgar, someone drugged me. I feel awful…" she moaned.

Winifred was nothing like me. She was bold, seductive, and unapologetically forward. Meanwhile, I had always been soft-spoken, graceful in a quiet way.

Winifred pulled him down by the neck, her perfume thick in the air—sweet and dizzying. Her hair grazed his face, falling across his lips and nose like silk.

"Please, Edgar. I need you."

Perhaps it was the atmosphere, or perhaps it was the alcohol clouding his judgment, but in that moment, he lost control.

He didn't stop her, and they spent the night tangled together.

The morning after, Edgar was filled with regret. But what was done was done. He felt he had no choice but to take responsibility.

Still, he couldn't stop thinking about me. His guilt toward me grew heavier by the day.

He was torn between two women—one he loved and one he owed.

And somehow, Crispin became obsessed with Winifred. He always wanted to visit her and always asked for her, giving Edgar one excuse after another to keep seeing her.

He told himself it was just for Crispin.

Perhaps, after telling the lie so many times, he started to believe it himself.

…

Now, as Edgar snapped back to the present, he found himself staring at me. I was smiling, but it looked more painful than any crying he had ever seen.

A sinking feeling stirred in his gut. Something was slipping through his fingers, something he might never get back.

"Crispin, head to bed now," he said, nudging Crispin toward the hallway.

"Darling, I'll make that chowder. Get some rest in the meantime. I'll call you when it's ready."

"Okay." I nodded with my usual calmness, looking like the girl who always listened to everything he said.

Edgar moved to the kitchen and started prepping. He laid out clams, shrimp, vegetables, and arctic shellfish—filling the counter with everything I used to love.

He moved methodically, chopping, seasoning, and stirring, just like he had so many times before.

His mind wandered. Lately, whenever he cooked, Winifred would sneak up behind him, hug him from behind, and press herself into him. She acted like they were newlyweds in some honeymoon phase.

I had never done that.

For the first time, the thought made him feel… hollow.

An hour later, the table was packed with food, every dish carefully prepared. At the center sat a steaming bowl of clam chowder—my favorite.

"Darling, dinner's ready," he called.

There was no answer.

"Darling?" he called again, louder this time. But still, I didn't respond.

He pushed open the bedroom door and saw Crispin was fast asleep in bed.

But the closet was empty.

Suddenly, my strange behavior over the past few days started making sense.

Panic rose in his chest. He tore through the room, yanking open drawers and searching through boxes. My passport and ID were gone.

The noise woke Crispin.

"Crispin, where's your mom?" Edgar asked, his voice sharp with fear.

Crispin burst into tears, frightened by Edgar's expression. "I don't know. I don't know where she went!"

Crispin wailed, but Edgar had no time to comfort him. He bolted from the room.

On the coffee table in the living room sat a single envelope.

His hands trembled as he picked it up. Soon, his eyes blurred with tears as he opened it.