It was a typical Tuesday until I got a call that shattered my sense of normal. My 5-year-old daughter, Alice, was on the line—her voice trembling.

“Daddy? Mommy left. She took her suitcase and told me to wait for you.” My heart dropped. I raced home to find Laurel gone and Alice curled up on the couch, confused and alone.

On the kitchen counter, a single white envelope waited. Inside was a note that read, “Kevin, I can’t live like this anymore. By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. But you’ll find out what happened to me in a week.”