We had a dream. Not just a dream, a promise. Alaska. A fresh start, a clean slate, a chance to rebuild everything after the world had taken so much from us. We’d lost a lot in the last year – not just our savings, but our belief in happy endings. He was my rock through it all. He was the one who said, “Forget this place. Let’s go north. Wilderness. Solitude. Just us.”
It sounded like madness, but it was beautiful madness. A place where the past couldn’t find us, a place where the sun shone for twenty hours a day in summer, fueling new hope. We spent months planning. Sold everything. Our house, my car, sentimental pieces that felt too heavy to carry. Each sale was a small death, but also a liberation. We were shedding our old skin, preparing for rebirth. We told everyone. Family, friends. They thought we were crazy. Some cried, some cheered. We didn’t care. We had each other.
The boxes accumulated. Memories, packed away like secrets, ready for their journey across thousands of miles. We talked about the cabin we’d rent, the jobs we’d find. Simple lives. A new beginning. I pictured us, bundled up, watching the northern lights, finally at peace. He’d hold my hand, and all the pain would fade. He’d always say, “Just hold on, soon we’ll be there. Soon it’ll all be different.” His words were a balm. My protector, my rescuer.
Bruce Dern posing at the Star ceremony honoring him on the Hollywood Walk of Fame on November 1, 2010 | Source: Getty Images
The final week was a blur of goodbyes and last-minute errands. Our lives distilled into a few hundred cubic feet of cardboard and bubble wrap. My closest sibling, always there for me, helped us pack the last few boxes, offering moral support and endless cups of coffee. They hugged me tight, tears in their eyes, wishing us well. “You deserve this,” they’d whispered, “you both do.” It felt like a true send-off. A real severance.
Moving day arrived with a brutal kind of clarity. The house was empty, echoing with the ghosts of our past. The removal truck idled in the driveway, a monstrous beast ready to swallow our future. My stomach was a knot of excitement and terror. This was it. No turning back. He was loading the last few boxes into the truck, whistling. He looked so happy, so relieved. A weight lifted from his shoulders, too. Or so I thought.
I did one last sweep of the empty rooms, checking for anything forgotten. A stray sock, a charger, a final forgotten memory. The air was cold, stale. I walked into the kitchen, a space that used to buzz with life, now utterly barren. And there, tucked behind the old stove, in a spot I knew he used to hide things he didn’t want me to see—small treats, secret stash of candy—was a tiny, unassuming box. A shoebox, wrapped carelessly in brown paper, hastily taped. It wasn’t one of our boxes. It was too small, too light, and hadn’t been packed with everything else.
A cold dread coiled in my gut. Why was it hidden? Why didn’t I see it before? My hands trembled as I picked it up. It felt… wrong. Every fiber of my being screamed to leave it, to just get in the truck and go. But I couldn’t. This was the house of our shared pain, the place we were running from. A final check.
I tore the paper off, my heart thumping against my ribs. Inside, nestled amongst some shredded tissue paper, was a small, ornate silver locket. It wasn’t mine. He’d never given me anything like it. Next to it, a stack of photos. Polaroid pictures. Snapshots. Laughter. Joy. Familiar faces.
I picked up the first photo. It was him. Smiling, a smile I hadn’t seen directed at me in months, holding a baby. A newborn, swaddled tight. My breath hitched. Who was this child? My mind raced, trying to make sense of it. A relative? A friend’s baby? No. The way he was looking down, the tenderness… It was paternal. And the woman next to him, her head resting on his shoulder, eyes closed in what looked like pure contentment… I knew her. I knew her face as well as my own.
IT WAS MY SIBLING.
Diane Ladd, Bruce Dern, and Laura Dern pose together after receiving their Stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame on Hollywood Blvd | Source: Getty Images
My blood ran cold. The next photo was even clearer. My sibling, heavily pregnant, cradling their belly, him kissing their forehead. Another, the three of them—him, my sibling, and the tiny baby—in what looked like a home nursery. A nursery I had never seen. A nursery that was definitely not in our old house.
My hands began to shake violently. I felt lightheaded, like the ground was falling away beneath me. I pulled out another item from the box. A faded sonogram image. Dated six months ago. The same date he’d started pushing for Alaska, pushing for our escape. The same date I’d finally started to hope again. And then, the ultimate punch to the gut: a small, embossed card. A birth announcement. Dated just last month.
“WELCOME TO THE WORLD, OUR SWEET BABY.”
And beneath it, two names. His. And my sibling’s.
My world didn’t just shatter, it evaporated. The dream of Alaska, the fresh start, the shared hope—it was all a lie. A monstrous, calculated lie. He wasn’t running TO a new life with me. He was running AWAY from the one he’d built with my sibling. Or perhaps, running to a new life, and leaving me stranded in the Alaskan wilderness to deal with the fallout, while he returned to his real family.
The noise of the truck idling outside became a roar. His voice, calling my name, cheerful, oblivious. “Honey! You coming? Time to go!”
I stood there, surrounded by empty rooms, clutching the proof of a betrayal so deep, so absolute, it felt like my very soul was being ripped from my body. My partner. My sibling. A baby. A secret family. The “fresh start” in Alaska wasn’t for us. It was a cruel, elaborate stage set.
I could hear his footsteps approaching, echoing in the hallway. My mind screamed. A single, guttural sound threatened to tear from my throat, but it caught, stuck there, a silent, agonizing scream. I looked at the little box in my hand, at the smiling faces, at the tiny, innocent life that had been born of this incredible deception.
Diane Ladd attends the SAG-AFTRA Foundation “Isle of Hope” screening and Q&A in Los Angeles on December 16, 2022 | Source: Getty Images
And I realized, with a sickening clarity that stole all the air from my lungs: I WAS ABOUT TO LEAVE EVERYTHING I KNEW, EVERYTHING I LOVED, EVERYTHING I THOUGHT I HAD, FOR A FUTURE THAT WAS NEVER, EVER REAL.
