When my daughter Elena returned after five years, she wasn’t alone — she brought her fiancé, Darren, and his six-month-old daughter, Chloe. The visit caught me off guard. She hadn’t mentioned Darren was a widower, much less a father. Still, I tried to stay welcoming. After all, I was just grateful she came back. That night, something didn’t sit right. Darren was quiet, distant. Elena seemed cheerful — too cheerful — and avoided deeper questions. But nothing could have prepared me for what came next. The next morning,

they were gone. No goodbye. No explanation. Just a baby in a crib and a note beside her: “Sorry.” Shocked, I did what I could — changed Chloe, fed her, and tried calling Elena. Over and over. Straight to voicemail. I was heartbroken and confused. Eventually, I called social services. Days later, the truth emerged. Darren had lied — Chloe’s mother, Jenna, wasn’t dead. She had checked herself into a psychiatric facility,