Three days. That’s how long my mother, an Alzheimer’s patient, had been missing. While I was dropping the kids off at summer camp, I got a call from my husband, Nate: “Claire, she’s gone!” My heart sank. I rushed home, consumed with guilt for leaving her in his care. For three days, we searched, fearing the worst.
On the fourth day, the police brought Mom home. I hugged her tightly, relieved, but something felt off. She ignored me and pointed at Nate, her voice clear and accusing. “Arrest him,” she said. She revealed she had seen him with another woman in our bedroom. Nate tried to explain it away, claiming my mother was confused, but eventually admitted to having a visitor and lying to Mom to cover it up.
I couldn’t believe it. My marriage crumbled in that moment. I ordered Nate to leave. As he packed, I felt numb. Mom, slipping back into her Alzheimer’s haze, suggested we make tea and chocolate cake. I followed her, knowing I had two weeks to figure out how to tell the kids.