Chapter 1

Three months after my wife, Jessica, vanished during a ski trip, I saw her in a bar.

She was laughing, her head resting on her best friend Kevin's shoulder.

"I owe you one for this idea," she chirped. "I'd almost forgotten what freedom felt like."

Her circle of friends kept pouring her drinks, asking when she planned to make her grand reappearance.

She considered it, her eyes half-lidded.

"Maybe in a week. Once he's truly lost his mind looking for me. Then I'll show up."

I stood in the shadows, watching her bask in her newfound freedom.

Then I pulled out my phone and called a friend who works at the vital records office.

"I'm going to have Jessica legally declared dead."

"You're giving up the search?" my friend asked, his voice hesitant.

I lifted my gaze to where Jessica was nestled against Kevin, a bitter taste rising in my throat.

My voice was thick, choked. "There's nothing left to find."

What's the point in finding someone who's determined to stay hidden?

After hanging up, I returned to my own private booth.

My childhood friend, Daniel, saw the thunderous look on my face and pressed a glass into my hand.

"Jacob, it's been three months. The chances of survival are practically zero. You have to start moving on."

I stared down at the amber liquid, a high-proof whiskey, and threw it back in one go.

The burn was immediate, stinging my eyes, forcing back tears.

"Daniel," I asked, my voice strained, "would anyone ever fake their own disappearance just to mess with their husband?"

He looked at me with a mix of pity and frustration.

"What kind of sick question is that? Only a monster would do something like that. They'd be better off actually being dead."

I wiped my eyes and grabbed my coat from the sofa.

"You're right," I said, my voice hollow. "I need to let Jessica go."

I drove home. The house was, as always, silent. For the past three months, I'd dreaded this silence.

I'd get home and turn on every light, make a cup of her favorite coffee, set out her favorite fruit on the counter—anything to pretend she was still here.

I didn't understand. If she didn't want to be with me anymore, she could have just asked for a divorce.

Why stage a skiing accident? Why the elaborate lie?

I sank onto the sofa and picked up the two custom-made bobbleheads of us from the coffee table.

I remembered the day she gave them to me, leaning against me, a playful smile on her face.

"So when I'm not around," she'd said, "these two can keep you company."

Her words from that day merged with the ones I'd overheard tonight.

"Jacob used to be fine, but after we got married, it was like a switch flipped. No drinking, no cold foods… he was always nagging me about something. So annoying. This 'death' of mine will be a good lesson for him. Maybe he'll learn to back off."

Kevin had poured her another drink.

"See? I'm better, right? We've been best friends for years, and I've never been like that."

"Totally. You're the best guy friend a girl could ask for."

They called each other 'best friends,' but under the table, their legs were tangled together.

The memory made my stomach churn.

I tossed the bobbleheads into the trash can, picked up my phone, and sent out a group text.

Jessica passed away in an accident three months ago. A memorial service will be held in one week.

Almost immediately, my phone lit up with a barrage of texts from her friends.

"They haven't found her body! How can you hold a funeral?"

"Jacob, have you lost your mind? What if she's not dead?"

"If Jessica comes back and sees her own funeral, she'll kill you! Are you trying to make her angry, Jacob? You know what happens when she gets angry!"

I ignored the first few messages, replying only to the last one.

"She's dead. How can a dead person get angry?"

With that, I tossed my phone aside and started clearing out her things.

For the past three months, I'd spent most of my time in the mountain town where she'd gone missing, searching. I'd rarely been home. The bedroom was mostly untouched.

I pulled open her closet and froze.

More than half of her clothes were gone. The only things left were out of season.

A bitter, self-mocking laugh escaped my lips as tears streamed down my face.

For three months, while I was living in a hell of hope and despair, sleeping in my car at the base of a frozen mountain, she had been coming back to our home, taking her things, bit by bit.