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“I’ve been trying to reach your wife,” she said. “She should’ve been home hours ago.”
I frowned. “She didn’t text?”
I checked my phone—nothing. No calls. No messages. A knot formed in my stomach. After Claire left, I headed into the kitchen. That’s when I noticed it: a folded note sitting alone on the counter.
It was from Meredith. Brief. Emotionless.
I read it again and again, hoping somehow I’d misunderstood. But there was nothing else. No apology. No explanation.
“Dad… where’s Mom?”
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