Day Two hundred and seventy six - You are not the one who loves me

There was a part of me that was always afraid of Damaris leaving. When I first moved in her, I'd sometimes wake up during the night, and she wouldn't be in bed - sometimes she wouldn't even be in the house, and I'd have to call her to find out where she was. Every time that happened, I always felt a sickening despair in the pit of my stomach, thinking that she'd gone. I guess, then, that when she did leave, it really didn't take me by surprise. But I'll get to that bit later. First, some context is necessary : our life together didn't really work out the way she imagined. I suppose she expected that all the pieces would fall into place, but as it turns out we really were more of a square peg in a round hole kind of thing. Oh, we tried, and we loved each other... well, I know I did, I was never too sure about her feelings. She never opened up to me or came clean. And sometimes things were good, but most often I just felt like she was going through the motions with me. It didn't come as a surprise when she started to have some talks with me about our future. I imagined she wanted a divorce, to which I wasn't opposed, because I wasn't happy. But it wasn't that simple, she wanted more. She wanted me to waive my claims to the children, and to give her full custody, and I thought her mad for that. But no - this was her being at her utmost rational. If she couldn't - and she hadn't been able to - fashion me into something useful, she would rather just do everything by herself. I always refused, even though on occasion she would put some papers in front of me, asking me to sign them. The first time I read them, I was dumbstruck. She really had them prepared. I tore the papers to pieces, told her I'd sign the divorce papers, but goddamn it - they were my kids too.

 A few weeks prior to the Christmas just before the twins turn two, I fell violently ill. I was hospitalized for a little bit, then got discharged, and I had to stay at home recuperating. We were supposed to on a trip up north, the very first time I'd be meeting her family. But I wasn't feeling well enough to travel, so I told her to go on ahead and I'd meet her there. She told me not to be silly, who would take care of me? And then she said, why don't I go, leave the kids with my mom, and then come back and stay with you for a couple of days until you're ready to go? I was feverish still, and not thinking clearly, and I said sure, why not, let's do that. The following day I kiss her and the kids goodbye, tell them I'm going to miss them, but I'd be with them soon. I hold the twins, one on each arm, and they cover my face with kisses. When she kissed me, it felt like an almost lifeless kiss, no emotion, no passion, like kissing the lips of some marble statue. Should I have picked up on that, and done something, whatever it may have been? A question I've asked myself, many many times. I didn't know it yet, but I would not see them again for a long time.

So what happened next? I realized that she'd been planning this for a long time now. It begins when I don't get a call or a text from her saying that they've arrived and everyone's well. I call her, she doesn't pick up, and soon enough the phone's not connected anymore. I realize that I don't even know the address where her family lives. As soon as twenty-four hours are up, I go to the police and make a missing person report. To say that it was the most bizarre, kafkaesque situation I'd ever encountered was an understatement. Of course I understand the need for certain questions, and I still wasn't feeling very well, so it sort of felt as it was something that was happening to someone else... not me. There was an investigation, though I couldn't provide any clear details because I didn't know them in the first place. Eventually, her car is found, some miles away in the next town. There's video footage of her parking the car, leaving with the children, and then getting into another car - though the plate number can't be clearly figures out. Turns out it was a girl from work she'd called to give her a life to the airport. She said her car had broken down, and needed to get to the airport so she could visit her family. She got on a plane with the kids, and somewhere in the Netherlands, all traces of her disappear. She goes off the grid. But that's not the only thing that happened - some days after I first went to the police, I receive a letter from her, postmarked the day she'd left. There was only one line of text in the letter. 'I will take care of the children and love them.' Then, some time after that, I get a visit from the landlord - he bangs on the door furiously, and when I open up the door, he demands to know when the rent's going to be paid. I told him there must be a mistake, we always pay rent on time. And he tells me that the rent hasn't been paid for the past three months. He doesn't know about Damaris being missing, and I tell him the story. But that gets me no sympathy, he tells me I have until the end of the week to pay the rent, but I'm screwed - I don't have that kind of money. Eventually, I pack everything up, give him the keys to the house, and go back to my old place - the rent was so low that I kept the lease on it.

 

Outwardly, I might have appeared to be handling things well, but that was just a front. I was breaking, dying on the inside. I never gave up trying to call her, though the call always went directly to her voicemail. In time, paranoia takes a hold of me - where were they? Were they alive? Did they even remember me? I tortured myself to sleep every single night asking these kinds of questions. I spent untold hours on the internet looking for a clue, looking for something... anything! I put whatever savings I had into hiring a private detective, but that gets me nowhere - in fact it only gets me broke. I was taken for a ride, most certainly. And then, about two years later, I see a picture of them online - they were on a houseboat, and I discover that the picture was taken on the Vistula river, wherever that is. Oh, it's in Poland. I reach out to the police with my findings, and they say that it's far beyond their jurisdiction, that they'd have to have federal police look into it, to get in contact with the local police force there. It goes nowhere, nothings seems to go anywhere - they say Polish police ran an investigation, but couldn't find her. I keep that picture of them with me at all times, the kids had grown so much already, and they look so much like their mother. I decide to plunge the rest of my money into going to Poland. I have to know. I have to try.