Two years ago my wife disappeared. No note, no lead-up. I headed off to work in the morning, leaving her cozy and warm in our bed and came back to nothing. The cops had one suspect, me. When that theory didn’t pan out they moved on to the next best thing for their caseload. She’d run away with her lover. I knew better though. I knew there was no way the woman who’d vowed to spend her life with me, who’d only just told me she couldn’t wait to have our first child, could ever just walk away.
For two years I never stopped looking, hoping. Then just as I told myself I had to move on, she returned with no memory of where she’d been or how she got there. Getting her back was just the beginning, now I was in a race against the clock to find out who, and why before the enemy struck again.