I thought the nightmare was over… but it was just beginning.
My son vanished when he was only ten years old. One day he kissed my cheek, grabbed his backpack, and …
But that day… he never came home.
At first, I wasn’t worried.
Kids wandered. Kids got distracted. Kids stayed too long at a friend’s house.
But when the sun began to sink and the streetlights flickered on… the fear started crawling up my spine.
I called his name.
Once. Twice.
A hundred times.
Nothing.
I walked down the street, heart pounding, checking every corner, every park, every driveway.
No sign of him.
By nightfall, I was shaking so badly I could barely dial the phone.
The police arrived. Questions were asked. Photos were taken. Search teams were called.
I remember standing in my living room, clutching his small jacket, unable to breathe, while strangers walked through my house like my life had turned into a crime scene.
That night, I didn’t sleep.