I still remember the day Jason left, four years ago. He had been depressed for a couple of months, and it was the first time in a long while I’d seen him so excited, almost restless. He said he needed some time in nature, alone. “Just me and Scout,” he said, scratching our dog’s ears while our kids laughed.
“Are you sure you don’t want company?” I asked, holding our toddler, Benny, while our four-year-old, Emily, clung to my leg. Jason just smiled and shook his head. “Nah, I’ll be back before you know it. Promise.”
But he never came back.
At first, I thought he’d gotten lost or hurt. Search teams, friends, and neighbors scoured the mountains, calling his name. It felt like a bad dream. But days turned to weeks, and the searchers started looking at me with pity.
Eventually, they said they had done all they could. People told me I was strong, but the words felt hollow. After months, Jason was declared legally dead. Life had to go on, but little things kept him alive in our home: his hiking boots by the door, his chipped coffee mug, the wool scarf he loved.
Then, one quiet Saturday, everything changed. I was in the backyard with the kids when something rustled in the bushes. A thin, scruffy dog walked toward me. I didn’t recognize him at first, but then my heart skipped. “Scout?” I whispered. It was him—older and matted, but it was Scout. In his mouth, he held a green jacket, frayed and faded. I knew it instantly; I’d washed that jacket a hundred times.
“Scout, where did you come from?” I reached out, but he turned and trotted toward the trees. Something inside me told me to follow. I told the kids to stay put and took off after him. Scout led me deep into the forest, ducking under branches and slipping on leaves. My heart pounded with a mix of hope and terror.
Just as the light began to fade, I saw it: a cabin, tucked away and quiet. Smoke drifted from a fire pit. I saw footprints in the mud. “Jason?” I whispered. I walked to the window, and there he was. He looked different—wild, with long hair and a rough beard—but it was him. And he wasn’t alone. A woman stood close to him, her hand on his arm, looking like she belonged there.
I pushed the door open. It creaked, and they both turned. Jason’s eyes widened. “Maggie…” he breathed, his voice eerily calm.
“Jason,” I said, my voice wavering. “What is this? Where have you been?”
He looked at the woman, then back at me. “I was trapped, Maggie. That life wasn’t me. Out here, I’m free. I’ve found something real.”
I stared at him, barely able to breathe. “You left us. You left your kids. They think you’re dead.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I know it’s hard. But Sarah and I… we’ve built a simple, meaningful life.” His words sounded robotic, like a rehearsed script.
Anger boiled over. “You just walked away? You didn’t even let us know you were okay?”
“Maggie, you wouldn’t understand,” he sighed. “That life felt like a prison. Now, I’m living to the fullest.”
“A prison?” I whispered. “Is that what we were to you?”
“Maybe if you weren’t so obsessed with your cursed technology, you could come worship nature like we do,” the woman, Sarah, hissed at me.
Jason started to speak, but I raised my hand. I didn’t want his excuses. I looked at his empty, detached expression and realized the Jason I loved was gone. He had been gone long before he disappeared. Without another word, I turned and walked out.
The walk back felt heavier, a reminder of the life I was leaving behind. The next morning, I went straight to a lawyer. “I want a divorce,” I said, my voice finally strong. “And I want support. My kids deserve his assets.”
As I left the office, a strange calm washed over me. I’d spent years grieving a ghost. Now, it was my turn to choose. I was going to build a life for my children rooted in honesty and love. Jason had taken his path, and I was taking mine. I was never looking back.
