Hidden Desires - Family Secrets-Chapter 161 Mom, should we call the police? Part 1

Betty kicked off her shoes, her usually pristine appearance now marred by a lack of grooming and makeup, and slumped onto the couch as if her soul had vacated her body.

She sat in silence, the fruitless search of the night weighing heavily on her.

After a moment of contemplation, she picked up her phone and dialed again, only to be greeted by the familiar tone of a powered-off device.

It seemed she was trying to reach me again, perhaps thinking I had turned off my phone in a huff.

In reality, I had thrown the phone she bought me into the rushing river waters, lost forever.

Time ticked by slowly, and when it was time for Betty to go to work, she remained motionless, her mind clearly elsewhere.

"Mom, should we call the police?" Michael finally broke his two-hour silence, now fully dressed, his expression one of fear and anxiety, lacking Betty’s worried demeanor.

Perhaps deep down, he hoped I would never return, removing what he saw as an obstacle.

Betty didn’t respond, as if she hadn’t heard Michael’s suggestion, just sitting there, lost in her thoughts.

Michael glanced at the clock, perhaps contemplating whether it was time to head to school, his young mind unable to grasp the depth of the situation.

"Mom, I should go to school..." he ventured, either trying to divert Betty’s attention or to steer their lives back to some semblance of normalcy.

"You go to school. Until he’s found, you need to keep going on your own. Let me have some peace," Betty said, glancing at the clock, her voice cold and detached.

Michael didn’t dare say more, perhaps eager to escape the tense atmosphere.

He left for school, backpack in tow, and for the first time, Betty hadn’t prepared breakfast for him.

Once the door closed, Betty called her workplace to take a leave of absence.

She continued to sit on the couch, eventually breaking down into loud, uncontrollable sobs.

It was the first time I had seen Betty cry so heartbreakingly, her cries echoing a profound sense of helplessness.

Watching her break down on the video feed, my heart softened momentarily.

After about 14 minutes, Betty composed herself, checked the time, and dialed my number again, a flicker of hope in her eyes before each call, which faded as soon as the call went unanswered.

It hadn’t been 24 hours since my disappearance; too soon for the police to file a missing person report.

Betty hadn’t eaten anything.

By 8 AM, she dragged herself out of the house, the door closing behind her plunging the room into silence.

I guessed she was heading to our office, her constant glances at the clock not for her own work schedule but to check on mine, certain she was searching for me there.

I fast-forwarded the video to 3:40 PM when Betty returned home, her eyes swollen, her demeanor one of utter despair.

It seemed she had indeed gone to our office, and even if she hadn’t found me, she likely learned from my colleagues that I had returned from my business trip.

This confirmed her worst fears about what she had come home to find, extinguishing her last flicker of hope.

Now, Betty sat on the couch, devoid of any energy, her gaze empty, as if on the verge of a breakdown.

Time continued its relentless march.

Michael returned home about 40 minutes later than usual, likely having waited outside, fearful of encountering me or facing Betty’s potential reproach.

He cautiously glanced at Betty before retreating to his room to do his homework, suddenly much more subdued than usual.

Michael had just taken off his shoes when his stomach growled loudly; he hadn’t eaten breakfast or dinner, and probably only had a few bites at the school cafeteria for lunch.

It seemed Betty hadn’t given him any money for meals that morning either.

"Go buy yourself something to eat..." Betty, awakened by the sound of Michael’s stomach, emotionlessly placed a hundred-dollar bill on the coffee table.

Even now, she was thinking of Michael.

Although the initial mistake was his, Betty would never blame him; she always took the blame upon herself.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

Truly hungry, Michael grabbed the money and headed out, returning 23 minutes later with bags of takeout.

He placed a meal in front of Betty, but she didn’t even glance at it.

That evening, Betty left the house again, leaving Michael alone with the untouched takeout.

Before leaving, she only drank a glass of water.

The next morning, Michael went to school alone as Betty hadn’t returned.

Around 9:20 AM, Betty came back followed by several police officers.

After they collected data and took her statement, they left, and Betty slowly drifted off to sleep on the couch.

"Husband... don’t go... listen to my explanation... I was wrong..." In her sleep, Betty murmured these words, lifting one hand as tears slowly streamed down her cheeks.

When she woke around 2:10 PM, she looked around the familiar room, saw our wedding photo on the wall, and burst into tears again, crying for about eight minutes before drying her eyes and leaving the house once more.

I fast-forwarded the video.

Each day, Michael went to and from school, no longer misbehaving, always on his best behavior, especially in front of Betty.

Betty continued her daily searches, calling the police for updates upon returning home.

Her condition deteriorated day by day; she stopped grooming and applying makeup, looking more like a vagrant than the woman my colleagues jokingly called crazy.

Then one evening, it was already 7 PM, and Michael hadn’t returned from school.

Betty, lost in thought on the couch, had lost track of time and hadn’t noticed Michael’s absence.

At 7:15 PM, Betty received a phone call that immediately tensed me up...

Betty was still sitting on the couch, lost in thought, unaware of Michael’s late return, though he had started coming home on time in recent days.

She hadn’t scolded him, which reassured him quite a bit.

At 7:50 PM, Betty’s phone rang, snapping her out of her stupor.

Her nerves were on edge, especially sensitive to the sound of the phone ringing.

Each call made her incredibly anxious, as she hoped it would be me or the police with news about me.

She was desperate for any information.