“Something strange is happening to your mom. You have to save her.” An urgent call from her dad sends Kimberley racing to her childhood home.
Fear grips her as her mind spirals through horrifying possibilities, but nothing prepares her for the shocking truth waiting inside.
The moment I saw Dad’s name flash across my phone screen, my stomach twisted into knots.
Dad never called me directly — that was Mom’s job, and always had been. So right away, I knew something was wrong.
Really wrong.
“Kimberly…” Dad’s voice trembled with panic “…you need to get your brother and come NOW! Something strange is happening to your mom. You have to save her!”
He hung up before I could ask questions.
I sat at my desk, staring at my phone as dread gripped me.
Mom was a Wonder Woman who could do anything, and achieve anything, no matter what obstacles lay in her path. Now…
Now I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d just gotten the call everyone dreads.
What had happened to Mom? Heart attack?
Stroke? Car accident? I snatched up my purse and leaped to my feet.
I snapped out a voice command to my phone to call Matthew, my brother, as I raced out of my office.
It rang, and rang, and rang, then went to voicemail.
I told my boss I had to leave, then hurried to my car. Matt finally picked up as I started the engine.
“Matt, something’s wrong with Mom. Dad’s freaking out.
Meet me at their house?”
“On my way,” he replied, his usual laid-back tone replaced with urgency.
Time stretched into forever as I headed across town. Every red light was an eternity. Every slow driver in front of me might as well have been parked.
I swear I aged 10 years in the 25 minutes it took to reach my childhood home in the suburbs.
My hands shook as I turned off the ignition, making my keys jangle tunelessly.
Now I was here, but a part of me couldn’t bear walking through the front door to face whatever had happened to Mom.
But I had no choice.
I burst through the front door, nearly face-planting as my heel caught on the welcome mat.
“Dad? Mom?” I called.
The smell of stale takeout hit me first, followed by the sight of absolute chaos. Dirty dishes towered in the sink like a game of kitchen Jenga.
Empty Chinese food containers littered the coffee table. And there, in the middle of it all, sat my father — crying.
Let me repeat that, because even now it seems surreal: my father was crying. In forty years, I’d never seen him shed a single tear.
Matthew appeared behind me, slightly out of breath.
“Kim! Where’s Mom? What’s happened?”
He stopped dead as he, too, noticed our sobbing father.
We exchanged a look that said more about the terror we shared at that moment than words ever could.
“Dad?” I moved closer, stepping over takeout containers as I approached the sofa. “What happened? Is Mom in hospital?”
Dad looked up at me, his face red and blotchy.
“Hospital?
No, your mother has gone crazy!”
Matthew and I exchanged confused glances. I’m sure we were thinking the same thing: had Dad finally lost it?
“Crazy how?” my brother asked carefully, using the same tone he used to use with his toddler during tantrums.
Dad gestured wildly at the mess around him. “She packed her bags and left!
With Janet! On vacation!”
The silence that followed was deafening. You could have heard a dust bunny sneeze — and given the state of the house, there were probably quite a few of those around.
My racing heart slowly settled as understanding dawned.
Would it be inappropriate to laugh? Because suddenly, I really wanted to.
“So…” I said slowly, choosing my words carefully, “she’s not in the hospital?”
“No!”
“She’s not in danger?”
“No!”
Dad jumped up, pacing the cluttered living room like a caged animal. “But this isn’t normal!
She’s always here! Cooking, cleaning, taking care of everything. She doesn’t just leave.
This isn’t like her. She’s acting crazy!”
Something clicked inside me then; not anger, exactly, but a sudden, crystal-clear understanding. You know those moments when everything just makes sense?
When all the little pieces you’ve been seeing for years finally form a complete picture?
“Dad,” I said quietly, “Mom isn’t the one acting crazy. You are. She’s just gone on holiday, and a well-earned one at that.
She’s not just your unpaid housekeeper, you know.”
“What are you talking about?” He stopped pacing to stare at me. “She loves taking care of me!”
Matthew stepped forward, his voice unusually firm. “No, Dad.
She loves YOU, not cleaning up after you.”
Dad’s mouth fell open. “But she never complained!”
“Because she thought she had no choice,” I replied, pulling out my phone. Now I knew exactly what was going on, I realized there was only one way to settle it.
I dialed Mom’s number and put it on speaker.
I caught Matthew’s eye and saw my own mixed emotions reflected there: amusement, concern, and just a touch of guilt for enjoying this a little too much.
She answered on the third ring, and I could hear the smile in her voice.
“Kimberly! Are you calling to yell at me? Is your father losing his mind?”
A grin spread across my face.
“Oh, he’s completely spiraling.”
Mom sighed, but it wasn’t her usual tired sigh. “I thought so.”
I could hear waves crashing in the background and seagulls calling.
Her voice had a lightness I hadn’t heard since I was a kid. Remember how your mom sounded when you were little, before life piled all its responsibilities on her shoulders?
That’s how she sounded now.
“You know what?” I looked at Matthew, who nodded in understanding. “Matthew and I are paying for another week. Stay longer.”
“Really?” Mom gasped.
“NO!” Dad sputtered.
“YES,” Matthew and I said in unison.
Mom’s laugh (her real laugh, not the polite one she used at church socials) rang through the speaker.
“You kids are my favorites.”
“Enjoy the sunshine, Mom. We’ll see you when you get back.”
I hung up as Dad stared at us, betrayal written across his face. “What did you do?!”
“We set her free,” I said simply.
Matthew patted Dad’s shoulder.
“Time for you to finally learn how to use a washing machine.”
Have you ever watched someone try to figure out basic life skills in their sixties? The next two weeks were… educational, to say the least.
Dad burned his eggs. He turned his white shirts pink in the laundry.
He nearly started a fire trying to heat leftover pasta in a metal container in the microwave.
Each time he called Mom for help, she responded with a new photo: her lounging by the pool, walking on the beach, holding up a fruity drink with a tiny umbrella.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page. Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
