Desperate for Answers
I paced the living room, the letter still clutched in my hand, the weight of it anchoring my thoughts. “Leo,” I called, trying to keep my voice steady. “We need to talk.”
He appeared from his room, his face an open book of confusion. “Is everything okay, Dad?”
“Not really. It’s about your mom.” I gestured towards the envelope. “This letter… it changes everything.”
Leo’s brows knit together, but he held his ground. “You mean Goldi? I… I don’t know what to think.”
“I need to understand why she left. I thought I knew her, but this…” I trailed off, the memories swirling like a storm. “Did you ever feel something was off?”
“Yeah,” he admitted slowly, his eyes locking onto mine. “There were times when she seemed distant, like she was somewhere else.”
I nodded, recalling the empty stares and the forced smiles. “I wish I had known. I wish I had… tried harder.”
“You didn’t force her to leave, Dad. It was her choice.”
Just as we were starting to connect, his phone buzzed violently on the table. Leo’s expression shifted, a panic settling in. “What is it?”
He picked up the device, eyes trembling as they scanned the screen. “It’s a text from Goldi… she’s gone.”
The room spun. “Gone? What do you mean gone?”
“She vanished,” he stammered, his voice rising. “No one can find her. She just… disappeared.”
A Frantic Search
My heart raced as I grasped the gravity of Leo’s words. “We need to find her. She can’t just leave like this.”
Our search felt frantic and disorganized, every room a reminder of what we’d lost. “Where would she go?” I shouted into the void.
Then, out of desperation, I rifled through the drawers in her old writing desk, hoping to find a clue. That’s when I stumbled upon a small, leather-bound diary.
My fingers trembled as I opened it, the pages filled with Goldi’s neat handwriting. Each entry struck me like a dagger, revealing her inner struggles — the weight of her mental health, the silent battles, and the guilt over leaving Leo.
Then I found the last entry. My breath caught. “I need to reach out to him,” it read. “He has a right to know about Leo. It’s time to confront my past.”
A family member? Who? My mind raced through the memories of my own estranged family.
Then the gut punch hit me — a name, a shadow from my own childhood. My father. “Why would she contact him?”
My heart sank as I reread her words: “I’m scared, but I can’t hide anymore. He’s been so close to us. He has a right to know my son.”
“No way,” I whispered in disbelief, a cold sweat breaking out across my brow.
“What’s wrong, Dad?” Leo asked, peering over my shoulder.
“It’s my father,” I stammered, bile rising in my throat. “Goldi has been in contact with my father. He’s known about you all along…”
“What?” Leo’s voice cracked. “Why would she do that?”
My mind raced, piecing together memories, the unanswered questions from my own past, and Goldi’s slip into silence. “I have to find her, Leo. We need answers.”