It’s been six months.

183 days since Jason left me. Six months that feel like a lifetime. The house, once filled with laughter and plans, is now just an empty shell—silent, cold, and void of the warmth it once had. There was no goodbye, no yelling, no closure. He simply vanished, leaving only the faintest trace of his presence. A suitcase left behind, a memory. That’s it.

And no one understands. Everyone—my family, his family, our friends—believes I got exactly what I deserved. I don’t blame them, honestly. What I did… I deserve it all. But understanding doesn’t make it any easier to live with.

My name is Lauren. And I am losing my mind trying to find the man who clearly never wants to be found.

It all started with something so trivial—so easily overlooked. A delivery, just a box, nothing out of the ordinary. I left my laptop open on the kitchen counter while I answered the door. When I came back, Jason was there, standing in front of the screen, his face blank. And I mean blank. Jason was always expressive—his emotions painted clearly across his face. But now? Nothing.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, setting the package down on the counter. He didn’t answer, just closed the laptop and walked upstairs. I followed him, my heart pounding, but he didn’t acknowledge me.

Upstairs, I found him packing a suitcase—methodical, almost robotic. Work clothes, toiletries, his grandfather’s watch. But nothing that we had shared together. No pictures, no mementos. Nothing that had any meaning. “Jason, what are you doing?” I asked, my voice shaking with fear.

Still, no answer. I tried again. “Jason, please talk to me. What did you see?”

He paused then, briefly. For the first time, he looked at me—empty, distant. Like I wasn’t the woman he loved for five years, but a stranger.

“Everything,” he said quietly. Then he went back to folding clothes.

My stomach dropped. I knew what he meant. The messages. Months of explicit texts and photos with Alex, my coworker. The affair had been out in the open for far too long, and now there was no hiding it.

I begged him. I cried. I made every promise I could think of. But Jason didn’t respond. He just zipped up his suitcase, grabbed his keys, and walked out the door. I watched him load his car and drive away.

That was June 15th. A Tuesday. I thought he’d come back. He would—men always did, didn’t they? They stormed out. They needed space. And then they returned for the inevitable confrontation. The accusations. The bargaining. The tears.

But Jason didn’t come back.

I called him—hundreds of times. I texted him, sent him novel-length apologies. Every call went to voicemail. Every text was delivered but never read. I even drove to his work. He’d taken a leave of absence. I went to his brother’s house—no one answered. His parents’ house—his mother looked at me through the window and closed the curtains.

Week after week, I chased him. I posted on his Facebook. Blocked. Instagram? Blocked. LinkedIn? Blocked. It was as if he could feel my digital presence, like he was one step ahead, already erasing me from his life.

I turned to our mutual friends, but they were no help. They’d all picked sides. His side. “Have you heard from Jason?” I asked Madison, who I thought was my best friend.

“Yes,” she said simply.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“He’s fine,” she replied, “and he doesn’t want you to know where he is.”

“Madison, please, I made a mistake. This is insane. He can’t just disappear.”

“Apparently, he can,” she said coldly. “And honestly, Lauren, after what you did, I don’t blame him.”

I was stunned. “What I did? I had an affair. People have affairs all the time. They don’t just—”

“You had an affair with his cousin’s husband, Lauren. At their wedding reception. While Jason was giving the best man’s speech.” Her words hit like a slap.

The shame was suffocating. I had cheated. At a family wedding. With the groom. In the coat room. All the details—every moment—now exposed to the people who meant the most to me.

“Emma found out. She’s filing for divorce. You ruined their marriage, too, by the way.”

The guilt crushed me. Emma—Jason’s cousin—was devastated. And now, Jason? He was gone. He was gone, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t bring him back.

Week two turned to week three. Then month one. By now, panic had set in. This wasn’t normal. People didn’t just vanish because of an affair. They didn’t erase themselves completely. They fought, they yelled, they processed. But Jason had disappeared. No confrontation. No anger. Just… silence.

I hired a private investigator. I felt desperate, even a little stalkerish, but I needed answers. I couldn’t just let him go without trying.

The PI came back empty-handed. “Your husband doesn’t want to be found,” he said. “He’s changed his phone number. Moved out of state. Paid cash for everything. But he filed for divorce. You’ll be getting the papers soon.”

The divorce papers came. Delivered by courier, with a simple request to end our marriage. No drama. No accusations. Just a clean break. His signature already on the dotted line.

I couldn’t sign them. Not yet. I needed closure. I needed to see him. One last time.

Months passed. Jason was gone. Really gone.

I posted vague messages on social media—vague enough not to reveal the affair, but enough for the world to know how sorry I was, how I missed him. I thought maybe someone would tell me where he was. But instead, my life turned into a spectacle. Someone—unknown to me—posted the full story on Reddit. The affair. The wedding. The messages. It went viral.

The comments were brutal. “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.” “She really thought he’d stick around after that level of disrespect?”

The world had spoken. They’d decided I was the villain. And I deserved it.

By month four, I was a shell of who I once was. My job was on the line after HR saw the viral posts. Friends had turned their backs. My family had distanced themselves. Everyone had made their judgments. I was alone. Alone, and trying to find a man who didn’t want to be found.

The fifth month brought unexpected news. My cousin had seen Jason’s sister at a concert. Jason was doing well, she said. He had a new job. And… he was seeing someone.

That was it. I lost it. How could he move on so fast? How could he be dating after everything I’d done? After all I had sacrificed?

I hired another private investigator. A less scrupulous one. This one found Jason in Oregon—working for a tech company, living in a small apartment. He had no social media presence, no phone number listed. But he was alive. Thriving, it seemed.

I flew out to Oregon, desperate to find him. I waited in the parking lot of his office, a stalker. When he walked out, laughing with his co-workers, my heart stopped. He looked… happy. Healthy. Alive.

He saw me before I could approach. The laughter in his eyes died instantly. His face went blank. He said something to his co-workers, and they scattered.

He didn’t look at me as he walked to his car—a new one I didn’t recognize. “Jason, wait,” I called out.

He stopped, but didn’t turn around. “How did you find me?”

“Does it matter?” I asked, desperation creeping into my voice. “We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t,” he said. His voice was cold. Detached.

“Five years, Jason,” I pleaded. “Don’t I deserve—”

“Deserve?” His voice was almost empty, not angry, not sad—just nothing. “You deserve what you gave me. Nothing.”

And then he walked away. With her. Another woman. He drove off, and I stood there, frozen.

Six months. Officially divorced. Officially alone. Jason had removed himself from my life the way he had always lived: quietly, efficiently. He didn’t need to yell. He didn’t need to confront me. He just walked away.

I hired the PI. I posted on social media. I called his family. I did everything I could think of. But nothing worked. The truth? Jason had already left long before I ever knew it.

And now, I am left to pick up the pieces. Alone. With the silence. The absence. The nothing. It’s what I deserve. It’s what I’ve earned.