When my daughter’s late-night insomnia turned into a chilling question about where her dad sneaks off to every night, I brushed it off. But one quiet morning, her innocent curiosity cracked open a secret I thought I’d buried forever. My 6-year-old daughter, Hannah, has sleep problems.
She wakes up at night, stays awake for hours, and then stumbles through the next day like a tiny exhausted boss. We’ve tried everything with a doctor — routines, melatonin, screen limits. Some nights are okay; most aren’t.
And on one of those bad nights, she noticed something that led me to uncover a shocking secret. One morning, I was in the kitchen packing her lunch. Hannah sat at the counter, working on a small mountain of blueberry pancakes.
She’d been up from about 1:00 to 4:30 a.m., but instead of dragging around half-asleep, she was oddly alert. She kept glancing toward the hallway, as if expecting someone to appear there. “Hannah, focus on your pancakes before the syrup soaks everything.”
She set her fork down, looked straight at me, and asked, casual as you please:
What?
For the past ten years, I’d woken up next to my husband, Mark, almost every single morning.
He snored, hogged the blanket, and talked in his sleep. The idea that he “went somewhere” at night didn’t fit anywhere in my brain. “Sweetheart, maybe Dad just got up to drink some water.
Sometimes he does that if he’s thirsty.”
She shook her head. “No, Mom. He left the house.
I saw it.”
I should’ve taken her seriously, but I brushed it off. I assumed she was confusing something she dreamed with reality. When she woke me the following night, I realized how wrong I’d been.
The sensation of a small finger tapping my arm roused me from a deep sleep. I pried one eye open. “Sweetheart, can’t you fall asleep again?”
She leaned close.
The certainty in her voice snapped me fully awake. I reached for my phone: 2:00 a.m. I turned toward Mark’s side of the bed.
Mark wasn’t there. A cold rush went through me. Where was my husband?
“Come here,” I murmured to Hannah, lifting the blanket.
She crawled in, warm and restless. I rubbed her back until she settled down a bit, then walked her back to her room and tucked her in again. Afterward, I sat on the edge of our bed, staring at the red glow of the alarm clock.
At exactly 4:00 a.m., I heard the garage door. A moment later, footsteps in the kitchen. I slid under the covers and shut my eyes, pretending to be asleep.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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