When I saw the balloons, my heart felt a wave of joy and anticipation. The nursery at home and even the car were overflowing with them, a colorful celebration waiting to welcome Suzie and our new twin girls, Emily and Grace. The nursery was pristine, a picture of perfection that contrasted sharply with the whirlwind of emotions we had experienced leading up to this moment.

As I prepared to bring Suzie and the babies home, I had her favorite songs playing softly in the background—a well-thought-out mix of melodies designed to make the transition as warm and memorable as possible. The effort felt symbolic, a way to honor all she had endured during her pregnancy. Suzie had faced so many challenges, and I was determined to make her homecoming a moment of love and support.

But when I arrived at her hospital room, the joyous anticipation turned into a chilling silence. The room was eerily quiet. Emily and Grace lay peacefully in their bassinets, their tiny forms wrapped in soft blankets. But Suzie was nowhere to be found.

Confusion gripped me as I looked around. The room was almost too tidy, as if she had deliberately erased her presence. On the bedside table, I noticed a single sheet of paper, stark against the empty space. My hands trembled as I picked it up, a sinking feeling settling in my chest. Suzie’s familiar handwriting filled the page, but the message was anything but comforting:

“Leaving. Make sure that they stay safe and healthy. It would be best for you to look into why your mother did the things she did to me.”

The words hit me like a freight train. Leaving? Why? My mind raced to piece together what could have driven her to such a decision. Suzie had shown no signs of wanting to leave—at least not that I had noticed. The cryptic mention of my mother added another layer of confusion and dread. What had my mother done to her? And why hadn’t I seen this coming?