Swamp Murder

Swamp Murder. 56

Wang's Pov.

"Have you made any progress?" my dad asked, sipping slowly from his glass.

I stared into mine, the amber liquid still untouched.

"Nothing yet," I said, the sadness creeping back into my voice. "It's been five years... and still nothing."

He didn't say anything—just waited, the way only someone who's seen enough of life learns to do.

"You let me use the military database," I continued, voice quieter now, "face recognition, every entry log at the Canadian border. It all stopped the moment he got there. It was like... he vanished."

I ran a hand through my hair, the weight of that silence pressing down again.

"I sent someone to check the house," I added. "The one we were supposed to live in together. The one he picked."

I looked up, meeting my dad's eyes. "It was sold two days after he arrived in Canada. No forwarding address. No trace. Not even a receipt left behind."

He nodded slowly, listening.

"No sign of his grandmother. No Ji Li. No Mia. It's like they all just... evaporated. Like they never existed."

My dad finally spoke. "Maybe someone helped him disappear."

I sighed, bitter. "Maybe. Or maybe he just didn't want to be found."

That truth always sat like broken glass in my chest.

"If it were me," my dad said, setting his glass down, "and I'd been betrayed, used, and discarded the way Zhan was made to feel... I'd disappear too."

I looked away.

"But," he added, "if he's gone this far, then it means you meant everything to him. You don't run like that for someone you didn't love."

I closed my eyes.

Love wasn't the problem.

It was what I did with it that ruined everything.

I hated parties.

And today, we are here—at this loud, glittering event with everyone, including my five-year-old daughter tugging at the sleeve of my suit jacket, her eyes wide with curiosity and exhaustion. She doesn't understand why we're here. Honestly, neither do I.

I waited until she was born before I started looking for Zhan.

Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was a shame. Or maybe, deep down, I needed proof that something good could come out of the wreckage before I dared to face what I lost.

And here we are.

Five years later.

No trace. No whisper. No flicker of him anywhere.

"Why do we come to these boring places, Daddy?" she asked, hugging her stuffed wolf closer to her chest.

I gave her a tired smile. "Because sometimes, sweetheart, being an adult means doing things we hate."

She gave me a disapproving look—her mother's attitude, my eyes. I  brushed a strand of hair out of her face, letting my fingers linger for a moment on her cheek and she went to the cake table.

She didn't know it, but every part of me had been waiting for Zhan to come back—if not to me, then maybe to see her. Maybe to know her.

But nothing.