When I got home after a long day, I expected to find my wife, Elise, in the kitchen, maybe painting.
But the house was eerily silent. I found her closet empty, as though she’d vanished. On the dining table was a bottle of floor cleaner with a note: *“Keep it shiny for the next one! Goodbye.”*
I called her sister Caroline, who admitted Elise had been planning this for months. Shocked and hurt, I replayed our life together—20 years of shared memories. How could I have missed it?
