I never thought I'd be the guy whose wife just... vanished.

But a week ago, that's exactly what happened. And the way I found out? Through my five-year-old daughter.

It was a normal Tuesday. The kind you forget before it's even over. Emails. Meetings. Thinking about dinner — it was Taco Tuesday, and my wife made the best tacos I'd ever eaten.

Then my phone rang. I almost ignored it because I was up to my ears in spreadsheets, but then I saw the caller ID.

Home.

A strange chill prickled at the back of my neck. Laurel never called me at work unless it was serious. She usually just sent me a text asking for the usual things.

Get some bread, please, Kev.

Alice and I feel like waffles. Shall we get some tonight?

I glanced up from my laptop at the call.

I swiped to answer.

"Hey, Laur," I started.

But instead of my wife's voice, I heard something small. Fragile.

"Daddy?"

I took a deep breath, my chair scraping back as I stood.

"Alice? Sweetheart? Why are you calling me? Is everything okay? Where's Mom?"

"She left," my daughter said simply.

My pulse thundered in my ears.

"What do you mean, she left? Alice?"

"She took her big suitcase, you know, the one that Buddy likes to sleep in. And she took some clothes."

Alice paused and sniffed. I could hear Buddy the cat meowing.

"She hugged me really tight and said I should wait for you," she continued.

My grip tightened around the phone.

"Did Mom say where she was going?"

"No," Alice's voice wobbled. "Just that I should be a big girl."

The air in the room felt too thick to breathe.