Chapter 4

Ethan swallowed, forcing a casual expression onto his face. "My wife? Oh, she's around here somewhere." He made a vague gesture toward the back of the lodge. "Probably went to our room to lie down. She was feeling a little tired."

The ranger did not look convinced. "My partner just checked all the guest rooms. They're all empty. We're doing a full sweep of the building. So I'll ask you again, Mr. Miller. Do you know the whereabouts of Chloe Davis?"

"Look," Ethan said, his voice taking on an edge of frustration. He was used to being admired, not questioned. "I told you, she's independent. She likes to do her own thing. When the storm hit, she got separated from us. She knows how to take care of herself."

He then proceeded to paint a picture of me that was both cruel and utterly false.

"To be honest, she can be a bit... difficult," he said, lowering his voice as if sharing a painful secret. "She has a temper. She probably got mad about something and stormed off. It's not the first time."

My ethereal form trembled with a rage that had no outlet. Difficult? I screamed into the silent space around me. I remembered the nights I stayed up late, helping him prep his gear for expeditions he claimed were for work but were really just adventures with Sarah. I remembered canceling my own important client meetings because Sarah had a "crisis" and Ethan needed to rush to her side. I remembered biting my tongue a thousand times when he belittled my work, my friends, my life, all to make himself feel bigger. I had sacrificed pieces of myself for this man, piece by piece, until there was almost nothing left. And this was his gratitude. This was how he remembered me.

"She always complains that I spend too much time with Sarah," Ethan continued, glancing at Sarah with a look of pained loyalty. "She's jealous. She doesn't understand that we've known each other since we were kids." He made it sound like my valid concerns were a character flaw, a sickness of the mind.

His words were poison, twisting our entire history into a narrative that made him the long-suffering husband and me the unstable, jealous wife. He had completely abandoned any pretense of looking for me. In his mind, I was already a problem that had conveniently solved itself. His focus was entirely on shielding Sarah, on making sure she was comfortable and undisturbed by this inconvenient mess.

Just then, the other ranger returned, holding a small, snow-dusted backpack. My backpack.

"Found this about a quarter-mile up the trail, near a large rock formation," the ranger said, his voice flat. He handed it to his partner.

The lead ranger unzipped the main compartment. He pulled out my wallet, a spare pair of gloves, and then he paused. He reached back in and drew out a small, folded pamphlet from a local obstetrics clinic. Tucked inside it were my prenatal vitamins.

The room fell silent. The ranger looked from the pamphlet to Ethan, his eyes hard. "Mr. Miller, was your wife pregnant?"

Ethan stared at the items as if they were venomous snakes. I saw his mind working, the gears of denial grinding. Sarah, from her spot on the sofa, let out a small, theatrical gasp.

"That's not possible," Ethan said, his voice a hoarse whisper. Then, louder, with forced confidence, "No. Absolutely not. She would have told me."

"Are you sure?" the ranger pressed.

"Yes, I'm sure!" Ethan snapped. He looked at Sarah, who was shaking her head slowly, a look of profound pity on her face. "Chloe was always... imaginative. She probably picked that up for a friend. She was always getting involved in other people's drama."

He reached out, took the pamphlet from the ranger' s hand, and without a second glance, crumpled it into a ball. He tossed it into the fireplace, where it was instantly consumed by the flames. "It's irrelevant," he said, dusting his hands. "A distraction. We should be focusing on finding her, not on this nonsense."

He walked back to Sarah and knelt before her, taking her hands in his. "I'm so sorry you have to go through this," he murmured, his back to the entire room, his back to the memory of me. "Let's get you some more tea." It was a grotesque parody of a family scene, a man comforting his true love while his wife's existence was being systematically erased.

The lodge doors opened again. This time, it wasn't a ranger. It was a small, older man, leaning heavily on a cane. His face was weathered, his eyes a pale, watery blue. He wore a simple flannel shirt and worn-out jeans, completely out of place in the expensive ski lodge. It was my father.

Mr. Davis.

He scanned the room, his gaze passing over the nervous faces until it landed on Ethan. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his limp more pronounced in the tense silence. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. He raised a trembling hand and began to make a series of small, precise movements.

Where, his hands asked, the single word a silent shout in the quiet room, is my daughter?

Ethan stared at my father's hands, his expression shifting from confusion to outright contempt. He didn't understand sign language. He had never bothered to learn, not in all the years he' d been my husband.

"What is this?" Ethan said, standing up. "Who let this old man in here? Can someone get him out? He's upsetting Sarah." He actually tried to wave my father away, as if he were a stray dog that had wandered in from the cold.