Grief doesn’t always hit you all at once. For nearly a year after my sixteen-year-old son, Daniel, vanished, it settled into my life like a permanent shadow. I still went to work. I still answered questions. I still walked past his empty room every day, pretending the silence wasn’t changing me.
His last morning was ordinary—too ordinary. He tied his shoes, kissed my cheek, and walked out the door like any other school day. I watched him turn the corner, thinking nothing of it. I didn’t know that would be the last time I’d see him as I knew him.
At first, I told myself he’d come back. Then I searched—calls, schools, police, anything that might explain where he went. The only lead was a girl named Maya, who had been seen with him before he disappeared. Soon, Daniel’s case was labeled a “possible runaway.” But I knew my son. He wouldn’t vanish without a reason. Something had pulled him into a story I wasn’t part of, and I was determined to find it.....