My husband vanished a few weeks after our marriage. I waited for him to knock on the door for 17 years… but once, during my business trip, I went to a church, and I heard a familiar laugh. God… it was his back, his hair. When his eyes met mine, he froze.

It had been 17 years since James disappeared without a trace, leaving me with a life full of questions and a heart full of unresolved pain. The police found no leads, no clues, and no answers. Everyone around me slowly moved on, urging me to do the same, but I couldn’t let go. Every day, I hoped for his return, staring at our wedding photo and wondering why he left.

My business trip to the small town was supposed to be a routine affair. I had no idea it would turn my life upside down. I had a habit of visiting local churches during my travels, seeking solace and peace. That day, as I walked into the quaint, centuries-old church, I felt a strange sense of familiarity. The soft murmur of prayers, the scent of burning candles, and the quiet whispers of parishioners enveloped me.