Thirteen years after my son vanished, I was left to confront debt and chronic illness alone. Last night, he appeared at my door, smiling, with two suitcases in hand. Yet, as I lay in bed, an unsettling feeling gnawed at me.
The next morning, my body ached as I got out of bed. The house was far too quiet. I made my way down the hallway to check Daniel’s room, hoping he had come back after our argument the night before. But when I opened the door, his bed was empty, save for a neatly folded note on the pillow. My hands shook as I read it: “Mom, I’m leaving. Don’t try to find me. I’m not coming back.” Tears blurred my vision. How could he just leave like this? How could my son abandon me?
I collapsed onto his bed, clutching the note, the weight of his departure crushing me. My husband Robert had been gone for six months, and now Daniel was gone too. The silence in the house was unbearable.
Dr. Chen’s words from last week rang in my head: “Evelyn, the results aren’t good. You’ll need ongoing treatment, and it won’t be cheap.”
Since Robert’s death, I had been working two jobs to manage the debt he left behind. Now, with Daniel gone and my illness worsening, the weight of everything seemed unbearable. I remembered Daniel at the funeral, standing stoically beside me as Robert’s casket was lowered. I could still hear the whispers from relatives.
“Poor Evelyn, left with a teenager.”
“And Robert didn’t leave much.”
“How will she cope?”
I didn’t have the answers then, and I certainly didn’t now. But I kept going, for Daniel’s sake—though, little did I know, he’d be gone within a week.
The next few days were a blur. I called his friends, his school, even the police. No one had seen him.
“Ma’am,” the officer told me gently, “He’s 18. There’s not much we can do if he doesn’t want to be found.”
Reality set in: I was alone, sick, and drowning in debt.
That night, I sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by bills—medical expenses, mortgage payments, credit card debt. How had Robert allowed things to get this bad?
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whispered to the empty room. “We could have faced this together.”
But Robert was gone, and now Daniel was too. I was left to bear the burden.
I called Dr. Chen the next morning.
“Evelyn, how are you feeling?” she asked kindly.
“I’m managing,” I lied. “But I need to know about the treatment—how often, and how much?”
Her voice softened. “It’s going to be a long process, Evelyn. Weekly treatments for the first few months. And the cost…”
The figure she gave me made my stomach churn, but I steeled myself. “I’ll figure it out.”
“There are support groups and financial programs,” Dr. Chen added. “I’ll send you the information.”
I thanked her and then called my boss at the diner.
“Jerry, I need more hours,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
“You’re already working six days a week, Evelyn. Are you sure?” he asked hesitantly.
“I’m sure.”
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