He left one morning and never came back. No note, no explanation.
I thought I’d moved on.
But last weekend, I helped my cousin move and found an old duffel bag that belonged to my dad. Inside was a hotel keycard, with a note saying: Room 308, ask for Marcel. Tell him you’re my kid.
I must’ve stared at that card for ten minutes, my thumb rubbing the faded edges. The duffel smelled like him—cologne and cigarettes—and for a second, it was like he was still around. My cousin, Jaya, didn’t even remember having the bag. Said it had been stuffed in her garage for years, mixed in with old camping gear.
I hadn’t said Dad’s name out loud in forever. Didn’t talk about him much. When someone ghosts your entire family, you learn to fold the pain small and tuck it away.
I was eleven the day he left. One minute he was drinking coffee in the kitchen, the next he was gone. Ma tried to act like she wasn’t panicking, but I heard her crying in the laundry room. He didn’t take much—just a jacket, his wallet, and, apparently, this duffel.
The keycard was for the Westmont Inn, two towns over. Not exactly Vegas, but far enough to feel like a choice. I sat with it for a week. Told myself I was too busy to chase ghosts. But honestly, I was scared of what I’d find.
Or worse—what I wouldn’t.
Last Saturday, I drove down. The place looked like it hadn’t had a decent visitor since 2005. Dusty sign, cracked paint, but still standing. The woman at the front desk barely glanced at the keycard before saying, “You want Marcel? He’s usually here on Sundays, does the vending machines.”
It was Sunday.
I waited in the lobby, my heart thudding like I’d swallowed a drum. Marcel came through the back door twenty minutes later, pushing a cart of snacks and soda bottles. He looked maybe sixty, big mustache, wearing one of those tan vests with too many pockets.
I showed him the note. Watched the color drain from his face.
He blinked a few times, then motioned me to follow him. We walked past the elevators and down a hallway that smelled like lemon cleaner and old carpet. He stopped outside Room 308 and pulled a ring of keys from his belt.
“You sure you wanna do this?” he asked.