Three days. That’s how long my mother, Edith, had been missing. My heart sank when Nate, my husband, called to say she had wandered off while I was at summer camp with the kids. Trusting him to care for her had shattered the moment I heard his frantic voice.

Returning home, I was consumed by guilt. The police were involved, but it felt like she had vanished into thin air. Relief washed over me when the officers finally returned her. But Nate’s nervousness raised alarm bells.

“Mom, where did you go?” I asked, hugging her tightly. She stared past me, pointing at Nate with trembling hands.

“You need to arrest him,” she said, her voice steady. The room fell silent, shock settling in.

“Mom? What are you talking about?” I asked, panic rising.

“Three days ago, I saw him,” she began. “He was in your bedroom with a woman.”

“What?” I whispered.

“I heard voices. I thought it was the kids,” she continued. “He told me to leave, that I didn’t live there.”

Nate shifted uncomfortably, denying her words, but Mom was lucid.

“Claire, she’s confused,” he said, but Mom shook her head. “He lied to me.”

The police exchanged glances, and I turned to Nate, my heart racing. “Tell me it’s not true!”

He admitted to having a visitor but downplayed it.

“I trusted you,” I said, tears spilling down my cheeks. “Now get out.”

Mom took my hand. “Let’s make some tea,” she said, and I followed her, feeling lost.