Forty years ago, my husband Michael left to buy milk and never returned. Left with two young children and no answers, I eventually gave up hope. Then, a mysterious letter arrived: “Hurry to the railway station.”
I rushed to the station, unsure of what to expect. There, I found him—older, but unmistakably Michael. Tears filled his eyes as he explained he’d been abducted, forced into servitude by men demanding repayment for a secret gambling debt. For years, he couldn’t contact me, afraid they’d harm us. Only recently had federal agents dismantled the criminal group, freeing him.
A federal agent confirmed Michael’s role in taking down a major cartel. Still, I was overwhelmed with emotions. “You should have told me,” I whispered.
“I couldn’t,” he replied. “I did it for you.”
As we walked home that evening, I realized that, after forty years of pain and unanswered questions, we were finally reunited. Together, we would face whatever came next.