The officer gave me a sympathetic smile. “We’ll file a report, ma’am.”
But I could tell he thought I was another panicked parent who didn’t know her own kid.
I never could’ve imagined how right he was.
***
The next morning, I went to Daniel’s school.
The principal was kind. She let me watch the security footage from the cameras that covered the main gate.
He thought I was another panicked parent who didn’t know her own kid.
I sat in a small office and watched the video from the previous afternoon.
Groups of teenagers poured out of the building in clusters, laughing, pushing each other, checking their phones.
Then I saw Daniel walking beside a girl. For a moment, I didn’t recognize her. Then she glanced over her shoulder, and I got a clearer look at her face.
“Maya,” I whispered.
Maya had visited Daniel a handful of times. Quiet girl. Polite in a way that seemed careful.
I saw Daniel walking beside a girl.
In the video, they walked through the gate and toward the bus stop. They got on a city bus together, and then they were gone.
“I need to speak to Maya.” I turned to the principal. “Can I?”
“Maya doesn’t attend this school anymore.” She gestured to the video. “She transferred suddenly. That was her last day here.”
I drove straight to Maya’s house.
A man answered the door.
“That was her last day here.”
“Can I please see Maya? She was with my son the day he went missing. I need to know if he said anything to her.”
He frowned at me for a long moment. Then something in his face seemed to close off.
“Maya isn’t here. She’s living with her grandparents for a while.” He started to close the door, then paused. “I’ll ask her if she knows anything, okay?”
I stood there, unsure what to say, some instinct telling me to push harder — but I didn’t know how.
Then he closed the door.
Something in his face seemed to close off.
***
The weeks that followed were the worst of my life.
We put up flyers and posted on every local Facebook group and community board we could find.
The police searched too, but as the months went by, the search slowed down. Eventually, everyone started calling Daniel a runaway.
I knew my son. Daniel wasn’t the kind of boy who just vanished without a word.
And I would never stop looking for him, no matter how long it took.
Everyone started calling Daniel a runaway.
***
Almost a year later, I was in another city for a business meeting. I’d eventually forced myself back into some facsimile of normal life — work, grocery shopping, phone calls with my sister on Sunday evenings.
After my meeting wrapped up, I stopped at a small café. I ordered a coffee and waited at the counter.
Suddenly, the door opened behind me, and I turned around. An elderly man had walked in. He was moving slowly, counting coins in his palm, bundled up against the cold. He looked like he might be homeless.
And he was wearing my son’s jacket.
Almost a year later, I was in another city for a business meeting.
