As I drove to the hospital, I was happy. My smile was unstoppable. Today, I was bringing home my girls! But when I entered Suzie’s room, she was gone. Only our sleeping daughters and a note remained: “Goodbye. Take care of them. Ask your mother WHY she did this to me.”

Panicked, I asked the nurse, “Where’s my wife?” She hesitated. “She checked out this morning. She said you knew.” I didn’t.

Back home, my mom, Mandy, met me with a casserole. “What did you do to Suzie?” I demanded. Her face fell. “Ben, I don’t know… she’s always been emotional.” But I remembered those family gatherings—the small barbs my mother would throw Suzie’s way. Suzie had laughed, but they must’ve cut deep.

“You don’t get to decide who’s good enough,” I said. “Get out.” Tears streamed down her face. “You don’t mean that.” “I do.”

The next weeks were hell. Then, a text from an unknown number—Suzie holding our twins, pale but serene. Her message read: “I wish I was the type of mother they deserve. I hope you forgive me.” I cradled my daughters, the note still haunting me. Suzie was gone.