I joked about it the next morning.
Still groggy over coffee, I said, “You left us in my dream last night.” He just smiled, kissed my forehead, and said, “Well, I’m right here, aren’t I?”
But I couldn’t shake the feeling.
In the dream, he packed his bags so carefully. So quietly. Like he didn’t want to wake the boys. I remember standing frozen in the doorway, holding our baby, while our oldest clung to my leg and asked if Daddy was mad.
That image wouldn’t leave me.
In the weeks that followed, he started to pull away. Said work was keeping him late. Always glued to his phone. His smile felt… fake.
I asked him once—trying to sound casual—if everything was alright. He nodded a little too quickly.
Then last Friday, he didn’t come home until almost 3 a.m. I was still awake, pretending to watch a movie but really just waiting. He blamed “car trouble.” But his hands were spotless. Clothes too crisp. No trace of panic—just guilt flickering behind his tired grin.
The next morning, he turned on the charm. Made pancakes with the kids. Kissed me like he hadn’t just lied to my face hours earlier. And maybe I would’ve brushed it off—told myself I was imagining things—if it weren’t for what happened next.
Jamie, our oldest, had a school performance. Nothing fancy—just a little play. He was so excited. Begged us both to be there. I rearranged everything to make it. My husband promised he’d come too.
He didn’t.
Jamie scanned every face in the audience as his turn got closer. I watched his expression change when he realized his dad wasn’t there. I gave him the biggest, brightest smile I could manage. But inside, I was furious.
When we got home, Jamie didn’t ask where his dad was. He just went straight to his room. That silence said it all.
I called my husband. No response. Sent a text—no reply. He finally walked in at 8 p.m., holding a bouquet and tossing out some lazy excuse.
“Client emergency.”
He didn’t see the drawing Jamie had left for him on the counter. The three of them under a rainbow—him, Daddy, and baby Noah holding hands. He didn’t notice Jamie skipped dinner and went to bed without a word.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I just lay there beside him, staring at the ceiling, listening to his steady breathing. And all I could think about was that dream.
Him packing. Me holding Noah. Jamie crying. My heart pounding.
A few days later, I found the second phone.
It was tucked in his car’s glovebox. I was reaching in for his charger when I noticed something black, partly hidden under some receipts. I powered it on—no password. That shocked me. Almost like he didn’t care if someone found it.
And what I saw…