I still remember the day Jason left four years ago. He had been depressed for a couple of months then, and it was the first time in a long while I’d seen him so excited, restless.
He said he needed some time in nature, alone. “Just me and Scout,” he said, scratching the dog’s ears as our kids laughed.
“Are you sure you don’t want company?” I asked, holding our then-toddler son, Benny, while my four-year-old, Emily, clung to my leg.
Jason just smiled and shook his head. “Nah, I’ll be back before you know it. Promise.”
But he never came back.
At first, I thought he’d gotten lost. Maybe hurt. The search teams kept trying to find him. Our friends, our neighbors, all showed up to help, calling his name, searching the mountains. It felt surreal, like a bad dream I couldn’t wake up from.
But days turned to weeks, and the search teams started looking at me with pity, as if they’d already made up their minds.
Eventually, they said, “We’ve done all we can.”
People started saying things like, “You’re strong, Maggie,” and “You’ll be okay.” But every word felt hollow. Jason wasn’t just missing; he was gone. After months, they declared him legally dead. I hated those words, but what could I do? Life had to go on.
Over the years, little things kept Jason alive in our home: his old hiking boots by the door, his coffee mug with a chip on the rim, the wool scarf he loved. The kids sometimes asked about him, and I would tell them stories, trying to keep his memory alive.
Sometimes, late at night, when the house was silent, I let myself remember. I wondered if I could’ve done something different that day, maybe convinced him to stay.
It was a warm fall evening when Scout, our old dog, suddenly appeared at the door. I was sitting outside on the porch when I noticed him standing there, carrying something in his mouth. He walked straight up to me and dropped it at my feet. It was Jason’s jacket—the one he’d worn on that last hike.
I could feel my heart skip a beat. How was this possible? I had to find out. I stood up, and without hesitation, Scout turned and started walking toward the forest. I followed.
The journey felt like a dream. I wasn’t sure what to expect or why I was following him, but somehow, it felt right. As we walked deeper into the woods, the trees seemed to part, as if guiding us to something important. After what seemed like hours, we reached a clearing, and there, beneath an old oak tree, lay the evidence I had been seeking.
Jason’s belongings, and a piece of him, were found in the most unexpected way.
