My Sick 67 Year Old Mother Disappeared for 3 Days, and When She Returned She Pointed at My Husband

Three days.

That’s how long my mother had been missing—three days filled with frantic phone calls, sleepless nights, and a constant, gnawing fear. My mom, Edith, 67 years old and living with Alzheimer’s, had wandered off in the middle of the night while I was away dropping the kids off at summer camp.

Nate, my husband, couldn’t take off work, so it was up to me to drive the kids to camp. It was four hours away, and I planned to stay overnight in a motel and head back the next day. I left my mother in Nate’s care, trusting that he would look after her while I was gone.

That trust shattered the moment I got his call.

“Claire, she’s gone!” Nate’s voice was frantic. “Edith—your mom—she’s missing! I don’t know what happened. I woke up, and she wasn’t here.”

I froze, the phone slipping slightly in my grip as his words hit me like a freight train. I sat on the motel bed, struggling to breathe. My kids were safely at camp, but my mom—my mom—was missing.

I threw my things into my bag, downed a quick cup of coffee, and raced back home. I had left thinking everything was fine, believing Mom was in good hands. Now, I was filled with guilt, terror, and the desperate need to be back with her.

For three agonizing days, we searched everywhere. The police were involved. Flyers went up, and a hotline was set up. But it was as if she’d disappeared into thin air. I kept replaying it in my mind—why hadn’t I taken her with me? I thought keeping her in her routine would help, that it was what kept her stable. I had no way of knowing this would happen.

On the morning of the fourth day, a police car pulled into the driveway. My heart jumped into my throat as I rushed to the window. There, stepping out of the backseat, was my mother, disheveled but alive.

Relief washed over me, but when I glanced at Nate, his reaction gave me pause. He didn’t look relieved or overjoyed. He looked… nervous.

The feeling of unease that had been growing since his call earlier tightened in my chest, but I pushed it down. He must be feeling guilty, I reasoned—he had been the one watching her, and she had disappeared on his watch. That had to be it.

I opened the door as the officers helped my mother up the steps. Her clothes were rumpled, her hair wild, and she smelled like three days of fear and the outdoors. Tears welled in my eyes as I hugged her tight.

“Claire-bear,” she said, using the nickname she’d called me since I was a child. “Where were you? I was waiting for you, baby.”

“Mom, where did you go?” I whispered, my heart aching as I held her close.

But she didn’t answer. Instead, she looked past me, her gaze fixed on Nate.

“Mom?” I asked, pulling back to see her face. “Talk to me.”

She ignored me, raising a trembling hand to point at Nate.

“You need to arrest him,” she said, her voice thin but firm.

The room went silent, and the officers exchanged uneasy glances.

“What?” I asked, stunned. “Mom, what are you talking about?”

Her eyes locked on mine, and for the first time in days, she looked clear—lucid. The fog of Alzheimer’s seemed to have lifted for a moment.

“Three days ago,” she began, her voice trembling. “I saw him. I saw Nate in your bedroom with a woman.”

I blinked, my brain scrambling to process her words.

“What?”

“I heard voices upstairs,” she continued. “I forgot you and the kids were gone, so I thought it was the children playing. I just wanted to see what they were up to.”

Nate shifted uncomfortably beside me.

“Claire, come on. She’s confused. You know how your mom is. She probably saw something on TV or—”

“No!” Mom cut him off, her voice gaining strength. “I saw you, Nate. I asked you what was going on, and you tried to make me feel stupid. You said the woman was a homeless person you were helping for the night. But who helps a homeless woman wearing red-bottomed shoes?” Her voice cracked, but she pushed on. “You told me to get out.”

I felt cold all over. “What do you mean, he told you to get out?”

Mom’s eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t know where I was, Claire. He said I didn’t live there, that I lived with you and the kids. He told me to leave. And I believed him… I was so scared.”

The living room fell into an unbearable silence. Even the officers looked unsure of how to proceed. One of them cleared his throat awkwardly. “Ma’am, do you remember where you went after that?”

Mom’s brief moment of clarity began to fade. She shook her head, her gaze unfocused. “I just walked away. I walked and walked…”

I felt dizzy, my pulse pounding in my ears. I turned to Nate, my voice trembling. “Tell me she’s wrong. Tell me that didn’t happen.”

He rubbed his face, letting out a long sigh. “Claire… she’s confused. You know how your mom gets.”

“Tell me!” I screamed.

Nate looked at his feet, guilt creeping into his expression. “Fine,” he muttered. “She came into the room, and yes, there was someone with me. But it wasn’t serious, Claire. It didn’t mean anything.”

I felt the ground tilt beneath me. “A visitor?” I repeated, barely able to form the words. “You had a woman in our bedroom?”

“It didn’t mean anything!” he pleaded, stepping toward me. “Claire, I can explain—”

“Shut up,” I snapped, backing away from him. “You had an affair. And you took advantage of the fact that I was away, trusting you. You lied to my mom—my mother—because you knew she couldn’t fight back. You knew she wouldn’t remember.”

Nate’s head dropped. “Claire, it was a mistake.”

A mistake. The words felt hollow and cruel. I looked at him and realized that the man I had built a life with was no longer the man standing before me. He was a coward—someone who had let my mother, a vulnerable woman with Alzheimer’s, walk out into the night just to cover up his lie.

One of the officers cleared his throat again, hesitant. “Ma’am, there doesn’t seem to be any crime here. There’s nothing we can do legally… but it seems like you’ve got bigger problems at home.”

I nodded, fighting back tears. “Thank you for bringing my mother home.”

The officers left, and I turned to Nate.

“I trusted you,” I said quietly. “Now, get out.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

“Get out of this house, Nate. Pack your things and go. I’m done.”

“Claire, let’s talk about this,” he pleaded. “It wasn’t what you think. We can work this out.”

“No,” I said firmly. “We can’t. I’ll explain everything to the kids when I pick them up from camp. You can tell them why you’re not living here anymore.”

He muttered a few curses as he packed a bag, but I didn’t listen. It wasn’t until the front door closed behind him that I allowed the tears to fall.

“Come on, Claire-bear,” my mother said gently, her voice soft. “Let’s go make some tea and chocolate cake.”

I looked at her, realizing her moment of clarity had slipped away. The Alzheimer’s had reclaimed her mind, and she was back to the confused but sweet woman I had known for the past few years.

“Come,” she repeated, taking my hand. “We’ll make it together.”

I followed her into the kitchen, knowing I had two weeks to figure out how to put the pieces of my life back together before the kids returned from camp. Then, the real heartbreak would begin.

What would you have done?