Telha
I had been so excited to bring my wife and our newborn twin daughters home. The car was packed with balloons, and my heart raced with joy at the thought of finally having them all under one roof.
But when I arrived at the hospital and entered Suzie’s room, I found only Callie and Jessica in their tiny beds. My wife was gone. Assuming she had stepped out for some fresh air, I moved closer to the babies—and that’s when I saw the note tucked into one of their cribs.
“Goodbye. Take care of them. Ask your mother WHY she did this to me.”
My world shattered.
Just then, the nurse came in with discharge papers. “Good morning, sir. Here’s the—”
I cut her off, desperate for answers. “Where’s Suzie?”
“She checked out this morning,” the nurse repeated. “She said you knew.”
Feeling defeated, I took my daughters home. Standing on the porch, I found my mother, beaming with pride.
“Oh, Ben, they’re so beautiful!” she exclaimed, reaching for the girls. But I pulled back, refusing to let her hold them.
“Mom, what did you do to Suzie?” I demanded. Her face paled, but she quickly denied any wrongdoing.
“Ben, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, feigning confusion.
I didn’t know what to believe. That night, I replayed every moment of Suzie’s pregnancy in my head. She always seemed happy, or so I thought. But then I remembered the subtle, cutting remarks my mother would make. Suzie always laughed them off, but had they hurt her more than she let on?
Digging through Suzie’s belongings, I found the answer. Hidden in her beloved jewelry box was a letter from my mother. In it, she cruelly claimed that Suzie had trapped me with the pregnancy and that my daughters and I would be better off without her.
Tears streamed down my face as guilt consumed me. How had I missed this? How had I allowed my mother to treat Suzie this way? I confronted her immediately, demanding she leave my home. She tried to defend herself, but I refused to listen.
Days turned into weeks. I struggled through sleepless nights, endless crying (from both the twins and me), and the overwhelming loneliness of raising my daughters without their mother.
I contacted everyone who might know where Suzie was, but no one could help. Finally, her closest friend, Sarah, admitted that Suzie had confided in her. She had been deeply hurt by my mother’s behavior but had been too afraid to tell me, fearing my loyalty to my mom.
I was a broken man, holding on by a thread. When the girls’ first birthday came, it was a bittersweet day—celebrating their milestone without Suzie felt like a cruel twist of fate.
Then, one day, as Callie and Jessica played in the living room, there was a knock at the door.
When I opened it, there she was—my wife.
Suzie looked different, healed somehow. I didn’t say a word. I just wrapped her in my arms and broke down, crying harder than I ever had. For the first time in over a year, I felt whole again.
Suzie sobbed, apologizing through her tears. She told me how postpartum depression and my mother’s actions had pushed her into a dark place, convincing her that our daughters and I would be better off without her.
But she sought therapy, fought to heal, and finally found the strength to come back to us.
That day, we began to rebuild what we almost lost. Together, we found a way to move forward, stronger than before.
