Five years had passed since the night that changed everything.
Time had dulled nothing. The wounds remained—quiet, invisible, and deep. Ciara still lived in the same house she had shared with Mike, though now it felt more like a shrine than a home. The curtains stayed drawn, his shirts still hung neatly in the closet, and his picture—her favorite one of him smiling on their honeymoon—rested on the dresser beside her bed.
Every morning she would wake up expecting to hear his voice. Every night she would whisper his name into the silence. It had become a ritual, a painful comfort.
Her sister, Naomi, had long given up trying to help her move on. "Ciara," she would say softly, "you can't keep living like this. He's gone."
But Ciara would only shake her head. "No. I'd feel it if he were dead. You don't understand."
And maybe no one did.
She had buried her dreams along with her unborn child, but the love she carried for Mike refused to die. It clung to her like a ghost that would not let go.
---
The morning the police came, Ciara was in the garden, tending to the flowers she had planted for him years ago—white lilies, his favorite. The knock on the door startled her. When she opened it, two men in uniform stood outside. One she recognized immediately: Inspector Gabriel, the same officer who had handled Mike's disappearance.
Her stomach twisted. "Inspector?"
"Mrs. Benson," he said, his tone calm but measured. "We need to talk."
She stepped aside, her heart pounding. They entered the living room, hats in hand.
"What is it?" she asked. "Has there been an update?"
Gabriel exchanged a quick look with the younger officer beside him. Then he spoke. "Mrs. Benson… we've found Mike Generic Benson."
For a moment, the world stopped.
She blinked, unsure if she'd heard right. "You—what?"
"We found him early this morning," Gabriel continued carefully. "A few hikers discovered a man in the northern woods, about thirty miles from here. He was disoriented, malnourished… but alive. We brought him in for questioning. When asked for his name, he said—"
"Mike Benson," she finished, her voice barely a whisper.
"Yes, ma'am."
Ciara's breath caught in her throat. Her knees felt weak. "That's impossible."
"I understand this is shocking," Gabriel said. "We'd like you to come with us to the station. To confirm his identity."
---
The ride to the station was a blur. Ciara's hands trembled on her lap, her thoughts spinning in every direction. Alive. The word didn't feel real. For years, she had prayed for this moment, imagined it, dreamed of it. And yet, now that it was here, fear settled in alongside the hope.
If he was alive all this time… why didn't he come home?
When they arrived, Gabriel led her down a quiet hallway to a small interrogation room.
He opened the door.
Inside, a man sat hunched at the table, his face hidden behind a mess of tangled hair and a rough beard. His clothes were torn, his skin tanned and marked by the sun. He looked more like a wanderer than the man she once knew.
"Mike?" she whispered.
He lifted his head slowly.
Her breath hitched. Beneath the exhaustion and the wildness, it was him. The same gray-blue eyes, though now hollow. The same mouth that had once smiled so easily.
"Mike," she said again, tears gathering in her eyes. "It's really you."
He didn't answer. He only looked at her, his expression unreadable.
Ciara stepped closer. "Why? Why did you leave me? I searched for you. I almost died looking for you. I—" her voice broke, "—I lost our baby."
Still, nothing.
"Mike, say something!" she pleaded. "Do you even know what you did to me?"
Finally, he spoke—his voice rough, low, almost foreign. "The world," he said slowly, "is sick."
She blinked. "What?"
"The world is dying, Ciara. Poisoned by machines, by greed, by everything humanity has become. I had to get away from it. From all of it."
She stared at him, disbelief twisting her features. "You left me—for that?"
He turned his gaze downward. "I couldn't breathe anymore. Every sound, every screen, every device—it was killing me. I went to the mountains to live as man was meant to. To be free."
Ciara's voice rose with anger. "Free? You call abandoning your wife freedom? You call disappearing—making me mourn you—freedom?"
"I'm sorry about the baby," he said quietly. "But I'm not sorry for leaving."
The words hit her like a slap.
She took a step back, tears spilling down her cheeks. "You're not sorry," she whispered. "Not even after everything?"
He didn't answer. His eyes were distant, as if he was already somewhere else.
Ciara turned away, her chest heaving. "You weren't supposed to disappear. You were supposed to fight for us. For me."
But he remained silent, staring blankly at the wall.
---
When she finally left the station, the air outside felt cold and heavy. The sky was darkening, the first drops of rain beginning to fall.
She stood by her car, staring at her reflection in the window. The woman who looked back at her was not the same one who had fallen in love with Mike Benson years ago. That woman had believed in forever.
This one had learned that love could die long before a heartbeat stopped.
Ciara took a shaky breath and got into the car. As the engine started, she whispered to herself, "He may have left me for the world—but I'll never let the world take me too."
She drove home through the rain, each drop on the windshield blurring the line between grief and release.
For love, she had waited.
For love, she had endured.
And now, for love—she would finally let go.