It was early evening actually and in December, that meant it really was dark.

I arrive home. Though I have a wife and three children, my home is dark.
There is a white piece of paper in the aluminum frame of my screen door. Absently, I take it.
I open the screen and house door, attempt to turn on the living room light and am still in the dark.

I cautiously walk across the living room floor tripping over something that sounds like broken wood. My steps make a hollow echo
I reach the hall and turn on the light. I return my gaze to the living room to find the only thing there is the remains of my broken coffee table.
To the left, the entry way to my kitchen, I see the same nothingness.
I run down the hall, push open my bedroom door and see only my desk, computer, and the mattresses to my bed.
Further down the hall, from whence I would normally hear a cacophony of giggles and screeching, is the open door of my children’s room, the frame of their bunk bed as empty as the rest of the room.

I fall back against the wall and slide to the floor. I begin to quake with tears. I feel arms reach around me from within the wall and a soft voice whispers,

“She left me too, but I will never leave you or forsake you.”

I read the piece of paper…