Chapter 1 - The Return and the Empty Room
“Your wife left because she refused to cook for your brother, and if she comes back, I will kick her out myself.”
Those were my mother’s first words when I returned early from a business trip and asked about Kristin, my wife, who was four months pregnant.
My name is Elias Minton, I am thirty-one years old, and I supervise construction projects in Phoenix. For years I believed that being a good son meant avoiding arguments with my mother, Georgia, even if it meant my wife had to swallow every humiliation to achieve that.
Kristin was an elementary school teacher who was quiet and incredibly patient. Since we got married, we lived in the house I had bought in the Sun Valley neighborhood, along with my mother and my younger brother, Zachary, who was twenty-five. My father died when we were teenagers, and Georgia always remembered his sacrifices.
When I criticized Kristin’s cooking or let Zachary throw dirty clothes at her, I would repeat the most cowardly phrase.
“Be patient, my love, because you already know how my mother acts.”
That Thursday I was supposed to stay in Salt Lake City, but the construction inspection finished early. I changed my flight and arrived home around six in the evening, right in the middle of a heavy rainstorm. I brought the saltine crackers that Kristin could eat without throwing up.
The house was almost dark when I walked inside. My mother was watching a soap opera while reclining on the sofa, eating sunflower seeds as if she did not have a single worry in the world.
“Where is Kristin?” I asked as soon as I walked into the living room.
She jumped in surprise before she lifted her chin sharply.
“She left on Tuesday after I asked her to make beef stew for Zachary because he came home tired from playing soccer. The young lady said the smell made her nauseous, so I told her off and she left with her bag to play the victim with her parents.”
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Her explanation made no sense at all. Kristin was at high risk of a miscarriage, and the doctor had explicitly told her to avoid any strenuous activity. Besides, she would never have left the house without telling me first.
I ran straight to our bedroom to look for her. Her phone was dead on the nightstand, and right next to it were her wallet, her driver’s license, her prenatal care card, and her cash. In the entryway, I found her favorite shoes, her sandals, and her yellow raincoat.
