part two

After the woman called me, I decided to go straight to the source — the bar where I first met him. If anyone knew where Houdini was, it would be the people who saw him every day.

I asked one of the servers if he’d seen him. Let’s call him Mike. Mike shook his head, said he hadn’t seen him in a couple days. Then, almost too casually, he said, “But his best friend is here.”

And just my luck — his best friend wasn’t a “he.” It was a woman.

Now imagine me, walking across the room to her table, rehearsing in my head how to sound normal. I opened with, “I swear I’m not a crazy person, but his job keeps calling me and I’m just trying to help.”

Let’s call her Mary.

Mary looked at me, then picked up her phone and called him right there. Straight to voicemail. As if it was turned off. She looked back at Mike and said, “You think he’s back with his baby mama?”

Pause.

This man had told me he didn’t have kids. We’d talked about it. So now I’m sitting here, confused, wondering why his “best friend” is casually throwing baby mama into the conversation like we’re talking about the weather.

Mike just shrugged and said, “Nah, I don’t think so.” Then, before walking away, he dropped the line that sealed it: “You remember when he did this last time?”

They both chuckled. Like this was just a regular Tuesday. Like him disappearing off the map was such a habit, it didn’t even warrant concern.

And that’s when it clicked for me. That’s where Habitual Houdini got his name. Because he didn’t just ghost me — he ghosted everybody. And the people around him were so used to it, they didn’t even care to help find him.

Terrible, right?

But it got worse.

That weekend, I was out with my friends — being “young and turnt,” as they call it. My phone started buzzing, and when I answered, I froze. It was him.

His voice came through the line, calling my name over and over. I didn’t say a word. I just hung up. He called again. And again. I let them all ring out.

Because in that moment, all I could think was: What kind of man lies about his son? His firstborn son.

Finally, he texted me: “I’m sorry for what happened. Can you please let me explain?”

I fired back that I hated him and didn’t want to talk to him. But here’s the truth — I was drunk, and I did want to know what happened.

The next day, sober and curious, I called him back.

And that’s when the real story came out.

He told me he had been arrested for failure to appear in court. And for what, you might ask? Child support.

You see the irony, right?

He said he was leaving work when the police pulled up and arrested him on the spot. His plan was to be out before his next shift, but clearly, that didn’t happen.

That was the night I stopped talking to him. Officially.

Because when I asked him why he lied about having a child in the first place, his answer was: “I knew you didn’t want to date anyone with kids, so I lied because I liked you.”

And I told him straight: “Do you know how dumb that sounds? What was supposed to happen when we kept dating and I eventually found out? That’s not love. That’s manipulation.”

That’s when it hit me. That’s how men can hide whole families, whole lives, and convince themselves it’s “for the best.” And honestly? It’s disturbing.

That was the last disappearing act I let him pull on me.