My Mother Vanished For A Week Every Month— I Followed Her And Discovered A Heartbreaking Truth

I always thought I knew my mother better than anyone, but there was one strange thing that puzzled me: every month, my mother would disappear for a week. One day, I decided to follow her, and what I discovered left me speechless.

I’m Lucas, a martial arts trainer, living with my mother, Anna. I grew up without a father. My parents divorced before I was born. The only thing I knew about my father was a family photo my mom kept in a tin box. He was tall, and muscular, with a cold expression and sharp eyes.

Although I missed out on my father’s love, my mom always took good care of me, so I never really minded. We had always been by each other’s side, so I thought I knew her better than anyone. But there was one strange habit of hers I couldn’t explain.

Every month, she would disappear for a week. This had been happening since I was twelve, and now I’m twenty-two. When I was younger, she told me she was sent by her company for professional training. She kept in touch by phone, so neither I nor my grandparents ever suspected anything.

But as I grew older, I started noticing things were off. Even though we moved houses and my mom changed jobs, she still disappeared every month. She worked as a regular office worker, so there couldn’t have been any reason to be away for so long. Whenever I asked, she would avoid the topic, which only made me more curious.

One day, while cleaning the house during one of her absences, I happened to find a box under her bed. It seemed like she had just placed it there recently because I’d never seen it before. The shiny lock indicated it was frequently opened.

Something urged me to open the box. What I found inside startled me: a cross, some half-burned candles, a string of prayer beads, and a thick book. My mother had never mentioned anything about being involved in any religion. With recent news reports about cults being active nearby, I felt uneasy. I decided to do something I had never done before: the next time she left, I would follow her.

The day my mother left the house came quickly. That morning, I had everything prepared. I rented a car, parked it far from home, and walked to the spot early to avoid being noticed. My mom always left quietly, so I knew she wouldn’t suspect anything. As soon as I saw her familiar car drive by, I immediately followed her.

After about an hour of driving, the road led to a peaceful rural area. My mother stopped in front of a small inn, parked the car, and rented a room. I hesitated for a moment, but in the end, I followed her inside. I rented a room on a different floor to avoid being seen. After checking in, I went outside, hid behind a sign, and patiently waited.

My mother appeared shortly after, walking down a small street. I followed her from a distance. After a while, a middle-aged woman approached my mother. They started talking. My mother seemed anxious, and the woman patted her on the back, as if comforting her. They went into a nearby café together. I didn’t dare enter, so I couldn’t hear their conversation.

They sat in the café for almost an hour, but nothing unusual happened. After they left, the woman accompanied my mother back to the inn and then left. I bought two burgers from a fast-food restaurant, returned to my car, and continued watching from afar. My mother didn’t leave the inn again that day.

In the following days, I continued to follow her. I would wake up early and wait outside. Since my mother only walked, sometimes I would take a detour to a nearby neighborhood and pretend to casually walk along the same route to avoid raising suspicion.

The middle-aged woman came every day, but at varying times. Whenever she arrived, they would talk in the café for quite a while. The more I watched, the more I saw how much my mother trusted her.

Overall, nothing seemed related to religion. I began to think that maybe my mother just needed time to rest. But I still didn’t understand why there were items like a cross or prayer beads in her room. I had read about cults that gently manipulated and subtly changed people’s thoughts, making them hard to detect. So, I decided to keep observing.

On the sixth day, my mother went out but didn’t meet the middle-aged woman. On her way back to the inn, I suddenly saw a man appear. He was tall, with graying hair, and seemed to be following her. To get to the inn, they had to pass through a quiet alley, but my mother didn’t seem to notice that the man was following her.

I felt a bit anxious. For the first time in all these days of watching, I decided to approach more closely. When the man saw me walking toward him, he glanced at me, hesitated for a moment, and then walked away. He seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

Just then, my mother suddenly stopped, as if she sensed something. My heart skipped a beat. Luckily, there was a bakery beside me. I quickly turned into it. My mother turned around but didn’t see anyone. When she walked out of sight, I sighed in relief, but I still couldn’t stop thinking about the man I had seen.

The next day was the day my mother was leaving. That night, I checked out early and returned before she did. But I knew the time had come for me to have a conversation with her.

When my mother came home, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Mom,” I began, my voice serious, “I think we need to talk about you disappearing every month. I found some strange things in your room, and last week… I followed you. I saw you meet with a middle-aged woman. What are you hiding from me?”

My mother froze, looking stunned. But then her gaze shifted to anger. “What did you say, Lucas? You went through my things and followed me? Do you even realize how wrong that is? I can’t believe you did that!”

“Wrong?” I couldn’t hold back anymore. “So how long were you planning on hiding this from me? You’ve always known I care about you. Besides the strange items, you’ve been meeting someone I had no idea about! How were you planning to hide that from me?”

My mother grew even angrier. “Lucas, you don’t understand! I have my own reasons. I don’t need you interfering!”

“Don’t need me interfering?” I raised my voice, the worry and anxiety in me boiling over. “You act like I don’t deserve to know! Do you even realize I saw… a strange man following you? I’m worried about you!”

My words made my mother stop in her tracks, her face turning pale. “What did you say? A man?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Yes. He was tall, with graying hair, and he… didn’t look like a good person.” I hesitated, noticing my mother’s strange reaction.

She staggered and collapsed into a chair, her eyes filled with fear. After a moment of silence, she spoke in a choked voice, “Lucas, you shouldn’t have found out about this. I just wanted what was best for you.”

Seeing her like that made my heart ache. I sat beside her. “Mom, I’m grown up now. Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”
She stayed quiet for a moment, as if struggling with her thoughts. After a long pause, she sighed. “The man you saw… is your biological father.”

“My biological father?” I was shocked. “But you and Dad divorced a long time ago. Why is he still following you?”
My mother began to tell me a story I had never known.

“Your father and I… had an unhappy marriage. When I was pregnant with you, he didn’t just control me, he also beat me regularly. The worst came when I was seven months pregnant. One time, he shoved me, and I had to go to the hospital. The doctors said I might have lost you. Thankfully, you were still with me.”

She paused, her eyes filled with tears. “After that, I knew I had to leave. I divorced him before you were born. But he wouldn’t let me go. He kept following me, making me anxious and fearful. I had to go for psychological treatment every month. I didn’t want it to affect you, so I kept it all a secret.”

“The woman you saw is my therapist. Things like the cross, the candles, the book… are all just tools to help me stay calm. They’re part of my therapy.”
I remembered the religious items I had found in her room. “Then why didn’t you go to the police?”

“I tried. But he’s too clever. He never left clear evidence and would only show up intermittently, so the police couldn’t do anything.” My mother’s voice broke.

I sat there, speechless. I felt both sorrow and anger. Sorrow for everything my mother had gone through, but also anger because she had suffered for so long without giving me a chance to share the burden, to help. But above all, I felt fury toward the man who had ruined her life. I made up my mind. “Mom, from now on, I won’t leave you alone.”

After learning the truth, the next time my mother went to see her therapist, I went with her. I knew Peter would show up again because I had seen the unwillingness in his eyes.

Sure enough, Peter appeared again on Thursday afternoon. When I saw him, I felt no fear. I walked straight toward him.
“What do you want from my mother?” I asked, unable to hide my anger.

Peter scoffed. “So you’re the brat, huh? I don’t want anything, I just want her to suffer for her guilt. If she had listened, things would have been different.”
His words made me lose my composure. “Listen? You tortured her, and now you’re blaming her?”

Peter sneered at me. “You think your mother is innocent? She’s ungrateful, and she only has herself to blame. I’ve been gentle with her compared to what she deserves.”

My anger surged, and I couldn’t hold back. Every word he spoke only deepened my sympathy for my mother. Clearly, Peter was a cold-blooded man who used power to control and manipulate others.

“You don’t deserve to even say the word ‘guilt’!” I shouted. “My mother never did anything wrong! You were the one who stole the happy marriage she should have had!”

Peter’s face hardened. “Who do you think you are? A justice warrior? I took care of your mother, and she betrayed me! I won’t let her live in peace, not ever!”
“Try me,” I said coldly. “But I will kill you.”

Peter stopped for a moment, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He looked at me as if trying to figure out if I was serious. Finally, he sneered. “Then I’ll make sure you and your mother lose everything.”

He turned and walked away. I felt uneasy. His words made me sense that this wasn’t over yet.

One night, I suddenly heard a crashing sound coming from the living room. I rushed downstairs. Peter was standing across from my mother, holding a knife in his hand, his eyes wild with madness. Next to his feet was the shattered glass vase.
I heard his voice ring out, “All these years, I’ve gone easy on you. Now, you’ll pay the price!”

“Mom!” I only managed to scream before he lunged at her. Before I could react, I charged at him, stepping in front of my mother, grabbing the knife. The pain hit me immediately, and blood started flowing. I knew the cut was deep, but I couldn’t let go—I knew he wouldn’t stop.

Peter looked at me with contempt, yanking the knife back, deepening the wound in my hand. He threw the knife aside, took a step back for momentum, and lunged at me like a wild animal. We collided. Since I was injured, he quickly overpowered me, pinning me to the ground. My back slammed hard against the cold floor. He climbed on top of me, his fists raining down on my face like a storm. My head spun.

In that moment, I caught a glimpse of something shiny. It was a shard from the glass vase. Despite the dizziness clouding my mind, I recognized that this was my only chance. I reached out with my left hand, straining to grab the shard.

Finally, just as his next punch was coming down, I managed to grab the shard.
“Ah!” His scream of pain echoed as he fell backward. I had stabbed him in the shoulder. Seizing the moment, I used all my remaining strength to push him down, pinning him. My body felt heavy, but I knew I couldn’t let him get back up. If I did, all my efforts would be in vain.

Suddenly, I heard a siren blare. Thank God, my mother had called for help in time. The police stormed in, pulling us apart and quickly arresting Peter.
One of the officers came over to me. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, gritting my teeth, and asked, “Mom… is she okay?”

The officer shook his head, glancing at my mother. She was standing, giving a statement to another officer, her face pale but with no visible injuries. Every now and then, she would look at me with a worried expression.
I smiled back at her. Finally, I had done it. Peter couldn’t hurt my mom anymore. That was all that mattered.

Peter was sentenced to prison. The evidence the police found in his car left him with no way to deny it. His notebook containing details about my mother, the dangerous weapons in his vehicle, and especially my testimony all pointed to the fact that he had planned to attack her for a long time. When the court issued its verdict, my mother and I could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

After the trial, we decided to move to another city to start fresh. We also adopted a Labrador puppy, which we named Max. Max quickly became an inseparable companion. He was like an invisible shield, providing my mother with a sense of security.

But I knew that her worries hadn’t completely faded. There were nights when I’d find her awake in the living room, staring into the distance. So, I tried to stay with her as much as possible. I took her to therapy sessions, and when she asked me to sit with her, I always listened closely. I could feel the deep scars inside her, but at least she was trying to heal.

Some nights, I stayed up with her to comfort her, reminding her that she wasn’t alone anymore. I couldn’t deny that a part of me was always anxious about the day Peter would get out of prison.

But there was one thing I was sure of—no matter what happened, whether Peter got out and came back, Max and I would always be here, ready to protect my mother. No matter what the future held, I wouldn’t let her face her fears alone. Together, we would move forward, searching for peace in a world full of scars.

This story draws inspiration from real-life events and individuals, but it has been adapted and fictionalized for creative expression. Names, characters, and specific details have been altered to protect individuals’ privacy and to enhance the storyline. Any similarity to real persons, living or deceased, or actual events is coincidental and unintentional.