Eighteen years ago, my wife disappeared before sunrise — walking out on me and our newborn twin daughters without even bothering to close the door behind her. My name is Mark, and I’m 42. I thought I understood abandonment. I thought I understood resilience. But nothing prepared me for what happened last Thursday. It started the same way her disappearance did: with silence. Back then, I woke to an empty bed, two crying babies, and a single slip of paper on the kitchen counter:…CONTINUE READING IN BELOW
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