Chapter 1
I saw my husband, John Sullivan, at a bar, three months after he’d supposedly gone missing in a skiing accident.
With his arm around that so-called girl buddy, he was laughing out loud. “Thank God for your idea. I almost forgot what freedom felt like.”
His buddies kept raising their glasses, cheering him on and asking when he’d show up.
He looked down and thought for a moment. “Maybe in a week. I’ll show up once she’s gone totally crazy looking for me.”
I stood in the shadows, watching him bask in his freedom. Then I called a friend who worked at the county clerk’s of- fice.
“I’ve decided to cancel John’s identity record.”
“Not looking for him anymore?” my friend asked, hesitating.
I looked over at John, who was whispering to Nancy Shawn, my eyes stinging. My voice caught. “He can’t be found.”
If someone wants to stay hidden, what’s the point in finding them anyway?
I hung up and went back to the private room.
My best friend saw my face and shoved a drink into my hand.
“Wennie, John’s been missing for three months. There’s almost no chance he’s alive. You need to move on.”
I looked down at the colorful drink, then knocked it back.
The burn hit hard and brought tears to my eyes. I blinked fast, holding back the ache. “Would someone really fake their disappearance just to fool their wife?”
She gave me a hard stare. “What the hell are you saying? Anyone who’d do that is trash. Might as well be dead.”
I wiped my tears and grabbed my purse from the couch.
“You’re right. It’s time I let John go.”
Then I turned and left, heading home.
The house was as quiet as always. I’d grown to fear the silence over the past three months. Every time I came home, I’d turn on all the lights, brew the coffee he liked, and leave it on the table, pretending he was still here.
I didn’t get it. If he didn’t want to be with me anymore, he could’ve just divorced me. Why fake a skiing accident and go missing?
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12:32
Chapter 1
Sitting on the couch, I picked up the figurines of us on the table.
288 (Vouchers
Back then, John leaned against me, smiling as he pointed at them. “When I’m not around, let these two keep you com- pany.”
That voice from the past overlapped with what I heard in the bar today-his irritated tone.
“Wennie used to be sweet and gentle. But after we got married, I don’t know what happened-she got so clingy. Fak- ing my death is kind of a lesson for her. Maybe next time she won’t be so attached.”
Next to him, Nancy poured him another drink. “See how good I am? We’ve been friends for years, and I never cling to you.”
“Right. You’re my best buddy.”
They talked like buddies, but their legs were tangled together.
Just thinking about it made me sick.
I tossed the figurines into the trash and grabbed my phone. I sent out a broadcast message.
“John passed away three months ago. The funeral is to be held next week.”
Almost instantly, his so-called buddies started flooding me with messages.
“He’s not even found yet. How can you hold a funeral?”
“Wennie Castillo, are you insane? John’s not dead!”
“If he comes back and sees his own funeral, he’ll blow up! Are you sure you want to make him mad?”
I ignored the first few and only replied to the last one.
“He’s dead. What’s there to be mad about?”
I put down my phone and started packing up John’s things.
For the past three months, I’d barely been home-most of my time was spent searching for him in that snowy moun- tain town.
The bedroom looked pretty much the same.
But when I opened the closet, I froze.
More than half his clothes were gone. The ones left were for the wrong season.
My tears fell instantly, and I let out a bitter laugh.
I’d been living up on that mountain, desperate to find him. Only came home when I really couldn’t take it anymore.
But during those same days—while I was falling apart-John had quietly come home more than once just to take his
