After a draining five-day business trip, all I wanted was a quiet evening on my couch, maybe a glass of wine and a long exhale. Instead, I walked into my home and felt like I’d stepped into a stranger’s life—or rather, a life that had vanished without a trace.
Every room was empty. The furniture, the photos, the dishes, my clothes—gone. It wasn’t just a theft. It was as if someone had reached in and scooped out my entire existence.
Panic surged through me as I called Greg, my husband of two years. Voicemail. Again. Still nothing.
Thinking we’d been robbed, I dialed the police. But as I waited in the hollow quiet of my home, something on the floor caught my eye: a muddy footprint near the doorway. And not just any footprint Read more below
