Three days.
That’s how long my mother had been missing.
Three days of frantic phone calls, sleepless nights, and endless dread. Three days of imagining the worst, of picturing my poor mother—confused, lost, scared—somewhere out there, with no one to help her.
My mother, Edith, is 67 years old. She has Alzheimer’s. And she had somehow wandered away from home while I was away, taking the kids to summer camp.
The camp was four hours away. My husband, Nate, had insisted he couldn’t take time off work, so we decided I would take the kids, drop them off, spend a night at a motel, and drive back the next day.
I had left Mom in Nate’s care, trusting him to watch over her while I was gone.
But that trust was shattered the second I got the call.
It was Nate.
“She’s gone, Claire!” he yelled, panic thick in his voice. “Edith! Your mom… I don’t know how it happened. I just woke up, and she wasn’t there!”
His words sent ice through my veins. My heart pounded in my chest. My mother—my fragile, vulnerable mother—was gone.
I sat frozen on the edge of my motel bed, struggling to breathe. But there was no time to process. I threw my clothes into my overnight bag, barely swallowed a sip of my coffee, and ran out the door. I had to get home. My kids were safe at camp, but my mother? My mother was out there, alone.
I drove faster than I ever had before, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. With every passing mile, a terrible thought clawed at my mind: What if she didn’t make it? What if she had wandered into the woods, fallen, and couldn’t get back up? What if she was hurt? What if—
No. I couldn’t think like that.
For three agonizing days, we searched everywhere. The police were called, flyers were posted, and volunteers combed the streets. We called hospitals, shelters, even checked security footage from nearby stores.
But it was as if she had vanished into thin air.
Guilt consumed me. I should have stayed home. I should have taken her with me, no matter how difficult the trip would have been. I should have—
But how could I have known?
Alzheimer’s is a cruel disease, robbing her of herself in pieces. She had never wandered off before, not like this. That’s why I thought she would be safe.
I was wrong.
On the morning of the fourth day, a police car pulled up in front of our house. I ran to the window, my heart slamming in my chest.
And there she was.
A sob tore through my throat as I threw the door open. My mother looked exhausted. Her clothes were wrinkled, her silver hair wild and tangled. She smelled like the outdoors, like three days of fear and confusion. But she was alive.
I wrapped my arms around her, my relief overwhelming.
“Claire-bear,” she whispered, using the childhood nickname she had called me since I was little. “Where have you been, baby? I was waiting all alone for you.”
Tears burned my eyes. “Mom, where did you go? What happened?”
She barely seemed to hear me. Her gaze drifted past me, her frail body suddenly stiffening.
I followed her line of sight.
She was staring at Nate.
A strange expression crossed her face—something between fear and anger. And then, in a trembling voice, she pointed a shaky finger at him.
“You need to arrest him.”
The air in the room seemed to freeze. The officers exchanged uncertain glances. Even I couldn’t process her words.
“Mom? What are you talking about?”
She turned to me, her eyes sharp, focused. For the first time in a long time, she looked completely lucid.
“Three days ago,” she said, her voice steady, “I saw him. I saw Nate in your bedroom. With a woman.”
Silence fell like a hammer.
“What?” I whispered, my stomach twisting into knots.
“I heard voices upstairs,” she continued, her expression filled with pain. “But I forgot you and the kids were gone. I thought it was the children playing. I just wanted to see what they were doing.”
I felt Nate shift beside me.
“Claire, she’s confused,” he said quickly. “You know how your mom is. She’s probably mixing up memories again—”
“No!” Mom interrupted, her voice sharp. “I saw you! I asked you who she was, and you lied to me. You tried to make me feel like I was crazy. You said she was a homeless woman you were helping for the night!”
She took a shuddering breath, her frail hands curling into fists.
“But which homeless woman wears red-bottomed shoes, Nathan?”
My blood ran cold.
Nate looked away, his face suddenly pale.
“Mom… what happened next?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Her lip trembled. “He told me to get out. Said I didn’t live there. That I belonged with you and the kids, somewhere else. He said this wasn’t my home.”
Her words crushed me. The betrayal, the cruelty of it all—it was too much.
The room was silent except for Mom’s ragged breathing. Even the officers didn’t know what to say.
“Ma’am,” one of them finally asked, “do you remember where you went after that?”
Her moment of lucidity began to fade. She blinked, the sharpness in her gaze dulling. “I… I don’t remember. I walked away. I just opened the door and walked away…”
I turned to Nate, my voice shaking. “Tell me she’s lying. Tell me this isn’t true.”
He sighed heavily, rubbing his face. “Claire, come on. She’s confused. She probably saw something on TV or…”
“Tell me!” I shouted.
For a long moment, he didn’t say anything.
Then, he muttered, “Fine. I had a visitor. But it wasn’t serious, Claire. It meant nothing.”
I felt like I was going to be sick.
“A visitor?” I repeated, my voice hollow. “You had a woman in our bedroom?”
“It didn’t mean anything!” he insisted. “I can explain!”
“Shut up,” I snapped. “You lied to my sick mother. You let her wander the streets for three days just to cover your tracks! You knew she was vulnerable!”
He hung his head, guilt written all over his face.
One of the officers cleared his throat. “Ma’am, we don’t have evidence of a crime. Just that… well, you’re married to a horrible man.”
I nodded, my decision made. “You can leave now. Thank you for bringing my mother back.”
As they left, I turned to Nate.
“I trusted you. Now, get out.”
His eyes widened. “Claire—”
“Pack your things. I’m done.”
“Claire, let’s talk about this! It wasn’t what you think—”
“It’s exactly what I think. Get out. Now. I’ll call you after I pick up the kids. You can explain to them why you don’t live here anymore.”
He muttered curses under his breath as he packed. When the front door finally slammed shut behind him, I let my tears fall.
My mother placed a gentle hand on mine. “Come on, Claire-bear,” she said softly. “Let’s make some tea and chocolate cake.”
I looked at her, realizing the moment had passed. Her Alzheimer’s had taken over again.
“Come,” she repeated. “We’ll make it together.”
And so, I let her lead me to the kitchen, knowing I had two weeks before my kids came home. Two weeks to figure out how to start over.
