While Claire was taking her kids to summer camp, she received a heartbreaking phone call: her 67-year-old mother—who suffers from Alzheimer’s—was missing. After a desperate three-day search, the police found Edith and returned her home, only for the elderly woman to reveal a shocking secret about Claire’s husband.
It had been three long, harrowing days—three days filled with frantic calls, sleepless nights, and overwhelming anxiety—since my mother, a 67-year-old Alzheimer’s patient, had wandered out in the middle of the night while I was away. I was busy dropping the kids off at camp four hours away, and since Nate, my husband, couldn’t leave work, we had agreed that I would take the children, drop them off, stay overnight at a motel, and drive back the next day.
I had trusted Nate to look after Mom while I was gone, but that trust crumbled the moment I received his frantic call:
“She’s gone, Claire! Edith—your mom—is missing. I woke up and she wasn’t there,” he exclaimed.
Those words left me gasping on the motel bed, grateful only that my children were safe, which meant I could rush home. I grabbed my overnight bag, downed my coffee, and ran, believing that Mom would be safe with Nate working from home to be available if needed. I was horribly mistaken.
For three agonizing days, we searched everywhere. The police got involved, hundreds of questions were asked, flyers were distributed, and a hotline was set up, yet it was as though she had simply vanished into thin air.
The guilt consumed me—I should have been there, or at least taken her along despite the extra stops, to keep her safe. I never imagined that Alzheimer’s, which had gradually stolen pieces of her, would lead to something like this.
On the fourth morning, when the police arrived at our house and guided my disheveled mother from the backseat, my heart leapt. Relief surged through me—but then I noticed Nate’s uneasy, nervous look. I tried to dismiss it as guilt over his failure to watch over her, thinking I’d confront him later.
As the officers helped Mom up the steps, she embraced me with wild, unkempt hair and rumpled clothes, her familiar childhood nickname “Claire-bear” spilling from her lips. “Where have you been, baby? I was waiting for you!” she said. I softly asked, “Mom, where did you go?” but she barely responded. Instead, her gaze locked onto Nate. With a trembling hand, she pointed at him and declared, “You need to arrest him.”
The room fell silent; even the officers exchanged uncertain glances. I stuttered, “Mom? Nate? What are you talking about?” She continued pointing and then, turning to face me, made it clear that she wasn’t lost in confusion—she was fully lucid.
“Three days ago, I saw him. I saw Nate in your bedroom with a woman,” she began. “I heard voices upstairs, and forgetting you and the kids were gone, I went to see what was happening.” Nate shifted uncomfortably. “Claire, she’s confused—she’s probably recalling something from years ago…” he tried to interject.
But Mom shook her head vigorously. “No! I saw you, and I demanded an explanation. You made me feel foolish, Nathan! You said the woman was a homeless person you were helping for the night. Which homeless person wears red-bottomed shoes? And then you told me to leave!”
I asked, “Mom, what do you mean by that?” Tears filled her eyes as she recounted how Nate had told her she didn’t belong there—that she lived with me and the kids, and that she had to go. I listened in disbelief as the living room filled with nothing but her ragged breathing.
When one of the officers asked where she had gone afterward, she replied weakly, “I just opened the door and walked away…” My heart pounded, and I turned desperately to Nate. “Nate, tell me this isn’t true!” he raised his hands in defense. “Claire, come on,” he pleaded, “she must have seen something on TV or while she was out.”
I screamed for the truth. Reluctantly, Nate admitted, “Yes, she came into the room—and I had a visitor. But it was nothing serious. I told her it was just someone we were helping, so as not to alarm her.” I felt sick. “A visitor? You had a woman in our bedroom?” I yelled.
Before he could protest, I accused him: “You had an affair! While I was gone, you exploited the situation and lied to my vulnerable, sick mother!” His downcast eyes and the guilt etched on his face confirmed my worst fears—I no longer saw the partner I once trusted, but a coward who let my mother wander for three days to hide his deceit.
The officers awkwardly remarked, “Ma’am, we don’t have evidence of a crime; there’s nothing illegal here—just that you’re married to a terrible man.” I nodded and told them, “You can leave. Thank you for bringing my mom back.” Then, I turned to Nate and said, “I trusted you. Now, get out.”
He was stunned and tried to explain that we could work this out, but I was done. “It’s over. I’ll call you after I pick up the kids. You’ll have to explain to them why you no longer live here.” As he packed his bag with mumbled curses and left, I finally allowed my tears to fall.
Just then, my mother softly urged, “Come on, Claire-bear, let’s go make some tea and chocolate cake.” Noticing that her Alzheimer’s had taken over again, I followed her lead. I had two weeks to sort out my emotions before the children returned from camp—and the coming days promised even more heartache.
What would you have done?