Chapter 6: The Haunting Realization

The room was silent, the air thick with tension as the news of a missing pregnant woman named Samara Anderson sank in. Jayden's heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of dread and disbelief swirling in his gut. A week missing? How could he have missed this?

"Jayden, are you alright?" Zac's voice cut through the silence, concern etched on his face as he watched his friend closely.

Jayden shook his head, trying to clear the fog that had settled in his mind. "I... I need to see her." His voice was barely a whisper, the words catching in his throat.

Without another word, he strode out of the station, his steps quick and determined. The drive to Samara's apartment was a blur, his mind racing with a million thoughts and questions. How could he have been so blind? So callous?

The apartment was a small, cozy space on the outskirts of the city. It was a place he knew well, or at least, he thought he did. Now, as he stood in the doorway, he couldn't help but feel like a stranger in a familiar land.

The door was slightly ajar, a sign that something was amiss. Jayden's heart sank as he pushed it open, revealing the quiet stillness within. The apartment was neat, almost too neat, as if it had been untouched for days.

He moved through the rooms, his eyes scanning for any signs of life, any clues that might lead him to his wife. But there was nothing, only an eerie silence that seemed to echo the emptiness in his heart.

In the bedroom, he found it. A small, white nightgown lay crumpled on the floor, a stark contrast against the dark hardwood. It was the same one Samara had worn the last time they spoke, the memory of her wearing it haunting him now.

He picked it up gently, the soft fabric brushing against his fingertips. It smelled of her, a faint hint of lavender that was uniquely Samara. His heart ached at the scent, a physical pain that radiated through his chest.

On the bedside table, he found a book, its pages dog-eared and worn. It was a novel about a detective who solves a case that hits too close to home. He remembered buying it for her, a small gesture of affection that now seemed so insignificant.

As he flipped through the pages, a note fell out, landing softly on the floor. Jayden's breath caught as he saw Samara's handwriting, the elegant loops and curves that were so familiar.

"Jayden," it read, "I know you don't believe me, but I'm telling the truth. I'm pregnant, and I'm scared. I need you, but I know you're busy. I'll wait for you, always."

His hands shook as he read the words, the reality of the situation crashing down on him. She had been telling the truth, and he had dismissed her, pushed her away. He had failed her, failed to protect her when she needed him the most.

A sob caught in his throat, the weight of his guilt threatening to crush him. He collapsed onto the bed, the nightgown still clutched in his hands, the note a heavy weight in his heart.

"Samara," he whispered, her name a plea, a prayer. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

But there was no one to hear him, no one to offer comfort or forgiveness. He was alone, haunted by the ghost of his wife and the life they could have had.