Fifteen years ago, my wife, Lisa, kissed our newborn son and left to buy diapers, but she never returned. After years of searching for answers, I saw her alive in a supermarket last week. At first, I thought I was imagining things, but when I approached her, it was unmistakably Lisa. She seemed older, but the familiar gestures were still there.
Lisa explained she had run away to Europe, feeling overwhelmed by motherhood and the pressure of our life together. She changed her name, built a career as a business consultant, and now wanted to reconnect with Noah and me, offering financial support. But her sudden return wasn’t a solution for me. I had spent 15 years raising Noah on my own, enduring hardship and heartache, and I couldn’t let her disrupt our lives now. I refused her request to see Noah, telling her we had moved on without her. As she cried, I walked away, realizing that some wounds, no matter how deep, can’t be healed with money or apologies.
