My husband vanished like Nicola Bulley just weeks before & his phone was found by a river too… the echoes are chilling | The Sun

But unlike most, I know exactly how you're feeling – because a month earlier, it was my husband who vanished into thin air.

Just like your family, we had a happy home life. We'd spent Christmas laughing, seeing family, spending time with our grown up children and five-year-old granddaughter.

But then, on December 28, my husband Peter went out for a walk – just like Nicola, on a route he knew and walked almost every day – and never came back.

It's been seven weeks since Pete vanished and it seems as though time has stood still. I can't say we're living in a nightmare, it doesn't feel like living at all. We're trapped in a horrible bubble.

It's been seven weeks since Pete vanished and it seems as though time has stood still. I can't say we're living in a nightmare, it doesn't feel like living at all

You know how we feel because you too have now become part of this exclusive club – families of the missing. It is hell on earth.

You know, too, what it's like to wake up every morning and be greeted by the sight of an empty pillow, and remember all over again that your world has been turned upside down, and wonder how this has happened to you and your family – being catapulted into what feels like a TV drama.

Our home is only about 35 miles from yours, in Worsley, Greater Manchester.

We'd spent the day Peter disappeared with our son Adam, 20, and he'd been to Screwfix to get a part to fix our downstairs loo. Just a normal family, having a completely normal day.

Pete had the day off from his job as an NHS hospital porter.

He spent the night doing DIY and, after a while, decided to have a break and go for a walk.

He went out nearly every night, so I didn't think anything of it. I didn't know that would be the last time I would see him.

I wonder if you think about the last time you saw Nicola, not knowing she was about to disappear.

After 20 minutes I rang him to see where he was. He picked up, said he was walking along the canal and he'd be home in about 15 minutes. 'Love you, see you in a bit', he said.

But 20 minutes later there was no sign of him. I called and called, but he never picked up.

He's a family man with everything going for him – good job, nice home, loving family who adored him… I am convinced he did not want to disappear

The panic and agony of calling a phone over and over, willing someone to pick up, with a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach is something I know most people will never know – but I know you do, Paul.

When I saw Nicola's case on the news, the first thing I thought was how you would have called and called her, again and again.

Like Nicola, Pete's belongings were found the next day on the side of the canal path he was walking along.

His phone, hat and earphones, which had been a present from our son, Adam. I know he never would have left that on purpose.

We were a happy, loving family, ripped apart in an instant.

Pete had no reason to leave; we'd been making future plans to go and visit his parents and brother Paul in Devon on our next long weekend.

He's a family man with everything going for him – good job, nice home, loving family who adored him.

He'd taken his house key with him so he could let himself back in. I am convinced he did not want to disappear.

I think of what you must say to your devastated children. Our granddaughter is five, she doted on granddad. Telling her that granddad had gone missing was the hardest thing my daughter has probably had to do.

I try to stay strong for our children, but there are days when I just can't cope, and I lock myself in my room and sob

The other day she saw her friend let go of their mum's hand and run a few metres down the road on the way home from school. She was devastated, telling them not to run away in case they disappear like granddad. It broke my daughter's heart.

Even our grown up children struggle to cope. I try to stay strong for them, but there are days when I just can't cope, and I lock myself in my room and sob, out of earshot.

I've had to go back to my job as an NHS housekeeper, which has broken my heart. It feels as though I have to accept that this is my life now, without knowing where Pete is or if he's ever coming back.

I left our Christmas decorations up for weeks – it felt like I couldn't take them down without him, almost as though we were moving on.

I've only just taken the Christmas wreath off the door. I know it sounds silly, but I thought if he was wandering around with amnesia he might see the door and recognise it how he last saw it. You have to cling to every little thing you can.

I'm sure people will tell you stories about other missing people, as they do me. I want to scream when they do.

I know they are just trying to help, but the stories either end with them finding a body, or with the missing person walking through the door weeks or months later.

Pete hasn't walked through the door. It's well-meaning, but it doesn't help.

Pete was the cook in our house. It feels wrong to say 'was', but it feels wrong to say 'is'. There's a point where you start talking about them in the past tense, even without meaning to.

Every mealtime it's a reminder that he's not there. I try to cook – badly – and we always make an extra portion for Pete, just in case he comes home. Then every night, I have to throw it away, and I fight back tears. I wonder if he's hungry.

I'm sure people will tell you stories about other missing people, as they do me. I want to scream when they do

We wander up and down the canal, searching, asking passers-by if they've seen him. My daughter noticed with horror one day a football, the size of a man's head, floating along a stream that passes under the canal, and disappear down a grate into the sewers.

The police searched the sewers, and nothing was found.

I'm sure you know the rollercoaster of emotions by now. They don't find him, first there's relief, because he could still be alive, but there's still a knot in the pit of your stomach that gets bigger and bigger every day that goes by.

Every night I chat to Pete, because it's what I've done every night for 20-odd years. I just tell him about my day as though he's there.

I'll tell him if I've been poorly, or what the kids are doing – and then I tell him off for not being here and leaving me on my own.

I'll do it every day until he's found. And I firmly believe he is going to be found. Like you, I have to, it's the only thing that keeps us going.

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Our family are hoping and praying every day that Pete comes back safely to us. And we'll do the same for yours, too.

Michelle.

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