Chapter 5 - The Ghost of a Life
Daniel Whitmore was exhausted, but it was the good kind of exhaustion.
The European trip had been legendary. Epic parties, beautiful women, and zero responsibilities.
As his Uber pulled up to his house in Portland, he felt a slight twinge of annoyance.
He knew what was waiting for him inside. A nagging wife, crying babies, and a messy house. He braced himself for Claire’s tears and complaints. He already had his speech prepared: I work hard, I needed a break, you need to be more supportive.
He dragged his heavy leather suitcase up the porch steps.
He inserted his key into the lock and turned it.
“Claire! I’m home!” he yelled, dumping his bags in the entryway.
There was no answer.
He frowned. Usually, the dogs would bark, or a baby would be crying.
But there was only silence. A strange, echoing silence.
He walked into the living room and stopped dead in his tracks.
His brain could not process what his eyes were seeing.
The living room was completely empty.
The large sectional sofa was gone. The television was gone. The curtains had been taken down. The large framed wedding portrait that used to hang over the fireplace was missing, leaving only a faded rectangular shadow on the paint.
“Claire?!” he shouted, a spike of genuine panic finally hitting his chest.
He ran down the hallway.
The nursery door was open. He burst inside.
Empty.
The twin bassinets were gone. The changing table, the rocking chair, the clothes, the toys. Gone.
He sprinted to the master bedroom. Claire’s closet was stripped bare. Only his designer suits and expensive shoes remained on his side.
He was breathing heavily now, sweat forming on his forehead.
He stumbled into the kitchen, the only room that seemed untouched.
But as he walked toward the kitchen island, he saw something waiting for him on the pristine marble counter.
A neat, perfectly aligned stack of papers.
On top of the papers was a heavy metal key—his house key.
Daniel’s hands shook as he approached the counter.
He looked down.
The first thing he saw was a glossy, printed photograph.
It was him, in Ibiza, with his hands wrapped around the blonde woman, kissing her passionately under the neon lights.
His face drained of all color.
Beneath the photo was a thick legal document.
The bold black letters at the top screamed at him: PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE.
Next to it was another document: EMERGENCY ORDER FOR SOLE LEGAL AND PHYSICAL CUSTODY.
“No…” Daniel whispered, his voice cracking. “This can’t be happening. This is a joke.”
He scrambled for his phone, his hands trembling so badly he dropped it twice. He finally unlocked it and dialed Claire’s number.
“The number you have dialed is no longer in service.”
He stared at the screen in horror. She had changed her number.
Suddenly, the phone in his hand began to ring.
It was his mother, Beatrice.
He answered it desperately. “Mom! Mom, something is wrong, Claire is—”
“Daniel,” his mother’s voice cut through the line. It wasn't warm. It wasn't comforting. It was colder than ice.
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“Mom?”
“What did you do?” she asked, her voice shaking with rage.
