5. Stefan
— ? —
Stefan
Four Years Later
I still couldn’t throw away the fucking photograph.
The office was dark except for the lamp on my desk. The building had emptied hours ago, but I was still here. Whiskey in hand. Her face staring up at me from the frame.
Layla. Mid-laugh. Looking at me like I was her whole world.
I traced the edge of the frame with my thumb.
Four years since she left. I still woke up reaching for her side of the bed. Still couldn’t set foot in the house we’d shared; it felt hollow without her in it. Still had no fucking clue what I did wrong.
I remembered the night she left with perfect clarity. I’d walked through the door with flowers in my hand, calling her name. We were supposed to have dinner. I’d made reservations at that place she loved, the one with the pasta that made her moan.
But the house was silent. Dead silent. Wrong. My gut knew before my brain caught up.
Her closet was empty. Her toothbrush was gone. Her rings sat on the bathroom counter, side by side. No note. No explanation. Just the absence of her, filling every room.
I’d called her a hundred times. A thousand. Left voicemails until her inbox was full. Texted until my fingers ached.
Nothing.
I’d driven to her parents’ house at two in the morning, pounding on the door until the porch light flickered on.
Rick had opened the door in his bathrobe, Ella hovering behind him in her nightgown.
“Stefan?” Rick had squinted at me. “What the hell? It’s two in the morning.”
“Where is she?” I’d pushed past him into the foyer. “Where’s Layla?”
Why was I asking them? Why hadn’t she come to me first?
“Slow down.” Rick had grabbed my arm. “What are you talking about?”
“Layla. She’s gone.” I’d pulled free, pacing their entryway. “I came home and she was just... gone. Her clothes, her things, everything.”
Ella had pressed her hand to her mouth. “What do you mean, gone?”
“I mean gone.” My voice cracked on the word. “Her closet is empty. She won’t answer her phone. I’ve called her fifty times.”
Rick and Ella had exchanged a look. Genuine confusion, not the kind people fake when they’re covering for someone.
“We haven’t heard from her.” Rick’s voice was tight with worry. “Not today. Not since Sunday dinner last week.”
“She didn’t call you?” I’d stopped pacing. “She didn’t tell you she was leaving?”
“No.” Ella’s face had gone pale. “Stefan, what’s happening? Where would she go?”
“I don’t know.” The words felt like glass in my throat. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
“We don’t know anything.” Rick had spread his hands, helpless. “She seemed fine on Sunday. Happy, even. She was talking about the anniversary party, about some dress she wanted to buy.”
“Did she seem upset? Did she say anything about us? About our marriage?”
“Nothing.” Ella had started crying. “She was laughing at dinner. Teasing you about something. I don’t understand. Why would she just leave?”
“I don’t know.” I’d grabbed my hair, pulling hard. “I don’t fucking know.”
“Have you called Pippa?” Rick had asked. “Maybe she knows something.”
“I’m going there next.”
“Call us.” Ella had grabbed my arm, her fingers digging in. “The moment you hear anything. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
I’d driven to Pippa’s apartment with my hands shaking on the wheel. Every red light felt like an eternity. Every mile marker was another minute my wife was missing.
Her building was dark except for a few scattered windows. I’d parked illegally and sprinted to the entrance, jabbing the buzzer until she answered.
“Who is it?” Her voice was groggy through the intercom. Sleepy.
“It’s Stefan. Let me up.”
“Stefan?” Confusion in her voice. “It’s almost three in the morning.”
“I know. Please, Pippa. It’s about Layla.”
The door buzzed open.
I took the stairs two at a time. Pippa was waiting in her doorway when I reached her floor, wearing sweatpants and a tank top, her hair mussed from sleep.
“What’s going on?” She rubbed her eyes. “Is Layla okay?”
“Have you seen her?” I stopped in front of her, breathing hard. “Have you talked to her today?”
“No.” Pippa frowned. “I haven’t talked to her since the weekend. Why?”
“She’s gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
I pushed past her into the apartment. “I came home tonight and she was just gone.”
Pippa’s face went white. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“I know it doesn’t make sense.” I was pacing her living room now, unable to stand still. “Nothing makes sense.”
“Did you two have a fight?”
“No.” I spun to face her. “We were fine. Better than fine. We had the most amazing night yesterday. I was planning our anniversary surprise. She was happy, Pippa. She was so fucking happy.”
“Then why would she leave?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” I grabbed her shoulders. “Think. Did she say anything to you? Anything at all that might explain this?”
“No.” Pippa shook her head slowly. “The last time I talked to her was Saturday.”
I pulled out my phone and dialed Layla’s number again. Straight to voicemail. Again.
“Layla, please.” My voice broke on the words. “Whatever I did, whatever’s wrong, just call me. I love you. I need to know you’re okay.”
I hung up and stared at the screen, willing it to light up with her name.
Nothing.
“Stefan.” Pippa’s voice was soft. “When’s the last time you actually saw her?”
“This morning.” I closed my eyes, trying to remember. “She was still in bed when I left for work. She looked tired. I kissed her forehead and told her I loved her.”
“And she said it back?”
“She always says it back.”
“Did anything seem off? Anything at all?”
“No.” I opened my eyes. “She was perfect. We were perfect. I don’t understand what could have happened between this morning and now that would make her just disappear. All she said was that my mom invited her out.”
“The shopping trip.” Pippa crossed her arms. “That’s the only thing that’s different. She went shopping with Stella, and now she’s gone.”
“What could my mother have possibly said that would make Layla leave me?”
“You know your mother better than I do.” Pippa’s voice was careful. “She’s never exactly been welcoming to Layla.”
“She’s a snob, not a monster. She wouldn’t deliberately try to destroy my marriage.”
Pippa didn’t say anything. The silence spoke louder than words.
“Would she?” My voice came out strangled.
“I don’t know, Stefan.” Pippa sat down on her couch, looking exhausted. “All I know is that my sister was happy yesterday, she went shopping with your mother today, and now she’s vanished without a trace. You tell me what that means.”
I sank into the chair across from her, my head in my hands.
“I need to talk to my mother.”
“It’s three in the morning.”
“I don’t care.” I stood up. “If she knows anything about why Layla left, I need to know.”
“Stefan, wait.” Pippa grabbed my arm before I could reach the door. “Don’t go in there guns blazing. If Stella did do something, she’s not going to admit it if you attack her.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I don’t know.” She released my arm. “But losing your temper isn’t going to help anyone. Especially not Layla.”
“I can’t just do nothing.”
“I’m not saying do nothing. I’m saying be smart.” Pippa met my eyes.
“You think Stella drove her away.” It wasn’t a question.
“I think Stella has been trying to drive her away since the day you met.” Pippa’s jaw tightened. “And I think today might have been the day she finally succeeded.”
“But how? What could she have said that would make Layla just leave? Without talking to me? Without even trying to work it out?”
“I don’t know.” Pippa shook her head. “But whatever it was, it must have been devastating. Layla loves you, Stefan. She wouldn’t walk away from her marriage without a damn good reason.”
“I have to find her.” My voice came out rough. “I have to find her and make this right.”
“How? You don’t even know where she went.”
“Then I’ll look everywhere.” I headed for the door. “I’ll search every city, every state, every country if I have to. I’m not giving up on her, even if it takes the rest of my life.”
Pippa didn’t respond. She just stood there, arms wrapped around herself, tears streaming down her face.
I walked out and closed the door behind me.
***
I called my mother at seven the next morning.
She answered on the second ring, her voice smooth and composed despite the early hour.
“Stefan, darling. I was wondering when you’d call.”
“Where is she?” I didn’t bother with pleasantries. “What did you say to her?”
“I assume you’re talking about Layla.” A pause. “Why don’t you come over? This isn’t a conversation for the phone.”
“Just tell me what happened.”
“Come over, Stefan.” Her voice hardened slightly. “I’ll explain everything.”
I drove to her house in fifteen minutes. She was waiting in the study, a pot of tea on the desk beside her, two cups already poured.
“Sit down.” She gestured to the chair across from her.
“I don’t want to sit. I want to know where my wife is.”
“I don’t know where she is.” My mother folded her hands on the desk. “I only know what she told me yesterday.”
“Then tell me.”
“Sit down first.”
I dropped into the chair, my leg bouncing with agitation. My mother watched me with that calm, composed expression she always wore. Nothing ever rattled her.
“Layla and I went shopping yesterday,” she began. “I thought it might be nice to spend some time together. Get to know each other better.”
“And?”
“And she opened up to me.” My mother picked up her teacup and took a delicate sip. “More than I expected, honestly. More than she’s ever opened up before.”
“Opened up about what?”
“The pressure, Stefan.” She set down the cup. “The constant pressure of being a Graham. Of living in our world, attending our functions, meeting our expectations. She said she felt like she was drowning.”
“That doesn’t sound like Layla.”
“Doesn’t it?” My mother raised an eyebrow. “Think about it, darling. She comes from a working-class family. She was a caterer when you met her. And then suddenly she’s thrust into our world, with all its demands and scrutiny. Is it really so surprising that she might be struggling?”
“She would have told me if she was struggling.”