I had just been discharged from the hospital after giving birth to my twin girls, Ella and Sophie. My husband, Derek, was supposed to pick us up. But at the last minute, he called.

“Mom’s really unwell. I need to take her to the hospital. I can’t pick you up,” he said, sounding rushed.

Disappointed but trying to stay calm, I called a taxi.

When I got home, I froze. My suitcases and bags were dumped on the doorstep. I approached the door, calling, “Derek?” but there was no answer.

I tried my key—it didn’t work. The locks had been changed. My stomach dropped. That’s when I saw the NOTE taped to one of the bags.

I was so stunned that for a moment I didn’t even register how cold the wind was against my skin, or how Ella and Sophie, bundled in their blankets, began whimpering. I pulled the blankets more snugly around them and bent to read the note:

“Sorry. I can’t do this anymore. I’ve left. Stay with a friend or family until you figure things out.”

My head spun. What did this even mean? Did Derek suddenly decide he wanted out of our marriage and our home? We’d been married for only three years—and we had just had two beautiful girls. Sure, our finances had been tight. Sure, we had arguments, like all couples do. But to do something this drastic, on the day I got home from the hospital? It felt surreal.

I dug my phone out of my purse, heart hammering. I dialed Derek’s number—straight to voicemail. I tried again. Voicemail. My hands began to shake. The only person I could think to call next was my closest friend, Marisol. She answered on the first ring.

“Hey, I need help,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, but tears were already choking me.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” Her concern was immediate.