“She’s gone, Ma,” I muttered, feeling a chill run down my spine as I spoke the words. The gravity of the situation hung heavily in the air.

My mother’s face hardened, and she pursed her lips. “Good riddance, then. If she can’t respect her elders—”

But I couldn’t hear it. My mind was racing. Where could Anita have gone? How far could she have possibly traveled with our son in such a short span?

The day turned into a haze of phone calls and desperate attempts to reach out to Anita’s family. They hadn’t heard from her either. Panic had settled in now, a relentless throb at the back of my mind.

As the hours dragged on, the silence in the house became oppressive. My mother’s presence, once a source of comfort, felt stifling. I replayed the events of the past weeks over and over in my mind—every argument, every word, every choice where I had sided with my mother instead of my wife.