I sat, stunned. My wife. My kids. My brother.
I drove to Jason’s apartment. He acted like nothing had happened. Said he was moving to another city for a new job. No sign of the twins. No trace of Heather.
That night, I waited in my car across the street. Around 10 p.m., Jason left his building and drove to a motel. A few minutes later, Heather stepped out of one of the rooms.
I approached. Phone recording in my pocket.
She froze. “Mark…”
“Where are the kids?” I asked.
Jason appeared behind her. “They’re safe. Inside. Let’s talk.”
And they did. Heather said she’d felt alone. Jason admitted they had been planning a new life together. I said little—just kept the recording going.
Later, the truth about Jason’s so-called “inheritance” came out. There’d been a legal mistake. The inheritance from our grandfather was actually mine. Jason had quit his job, banking on that money. When child services learned they had no income or permanent home, custody was re-evaluated.
Two months later, I had my kids back.
Heather was emotional when I picked them up. “Are you happy now?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “But I will be. They deserve the best.”
That was a year ago. Today, I work from home. My girlfriend, Amy, adores the twins. We have dance parties in the kitchen, laugh through bath time, and take evening walks. Emma giggles at every puppy we see. Ethan’s all about toy trucks.
One night, Amy looked at me while I rocked Ethan to sleep. “Do you ever miss her?” she asked.
I looked at Ethan. Then at her.
“Not for a second.”
Because sometimes, losing the wrong people is the first step toward finding peace—and building the life you were meant to have.