Fifteen years ago, my wife, Lisa, left home to pick up diapers for our newborn son, Noah—and never returned. There were no signs of trouble, no note, no clues. Just a sudden, heartbreaking absence. For over a decade, I lived with the ache of not knowing what happened. I raised our son alone, always wondering where she had gone and why.
Then, one quiet afternoon, everything changed.
I was at the local grocery store, wandering the aisles like always, when I noticed a woman standing a few feet away. There was something hauntingly familiar about her—the way she tilted her head while reading a label, the way she stood. I froze. Could it be?
I stepped closer, my voice uncertain. “Lisa?”
She turned. Our eyes met. A wave of recognition passed between us.
“Bryan?” she said, almost in a whisper.
We stepped outside, the hum of traffic and shopping carts in the background. She looked different—older, of course—but her expression carried a weight I recognized instantly. Slowly, she began to explain.
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