The last time I saw my husband was on March 23, 2012. I've talked to the police more times than I care to remember. They obviously think I've got a few screws loose. Even my friends thought I'd lost my mind when I took him into my home the previous fall. But the Bible clearly tells us: "Don't forget to show hospitality to strangers, for in doing so, some have entertained angels without knowing it."

My name is Daphne Allen, and my husband has been missing for 8 months. It's officially a cold case. It didn't help that I waited a whole week to call the sheriff, and I didn't even have a good description of the man he left with, or any idea where they were headed.

I kept my faith, even after the detective stopped returning my phone calls. I just couldn't believe that Emmanuel could be dead. He was special, he had a gift. I knew in my heart that he was still out there somewhere. As the months dragged by, I started to doubt I would ever see him again. I wondered if he had experienced another memory loss, and he had forgotten me. I imagined all sorts of terrible things that might have happened to him. I couldn't imagine what kind of person could hurt someone like him.

My absolute lowest moment was right before our anniversary. It was almost one year since our wedding, and I dreaded having to spend it without him. Then I got the strangest phone call. I never did believe in coincidences.

The home phone rang at half past two in the afternoon. I had been very busy, sitting on the living room floor, photos scattered around me. The ringing phone startled me out of my self pity. A young woman was on the other end. She asked if I was the same Daphne who had posted on the National Missing Persons Database website. My heart skidded up into my throat, I don't remember what I said to her. She asked if we could meet in person to talk. I told her where I lived, and she looked at maps on her computer. The halfway point between us just happened to be near a college she'd wanted to visit anyway. We agreed on a place and time.

It wasn't until after I hung up the phone that I realized what had just happened. I couldn't decide if I wanted to laugh, or cry, or cheer. I laid down right on top of the photos and let the tears flow. She might know something. She wouldn't have called if she wasn't at least fairly certain. I looked down at the scribbled note in my hand; I barely remembered writing it.

Saturday 7th 12 noon

University Kansas

Jayhawk Blvd. Chick-fil-A

Claire Novak

309-601-9799