I saw a homeless man wearing my missing son’s jacket — and I decided to follow him. Almost a year ago, on a Monday morning, my 17-year-old son, Daniel, left for school and never came back. My son was always the one who could make everyone laugh. He was kind and sensitive. He would never even leave the house without telling me. That just wasn’t like Daniel. That same evening, I called the police. The officers said teenagers will be teenagers — that he would come back in a couple of days.

“Why would he run from you?” he asked.

I lost them.

“I don’t know,” I said. “But I need you to help me find him before he disappears again.”

“I’ll send out an alert, ma’am.”

I took a seat. Every time the door opened, my whole body went rigid.

I kept asking myself the same questions on a loop: What if he’s already on a bus? What if he’s gone? What if that was my only chance?

Close to midnight, the officer walked over to me.

“I need you to help me find him before he disappears again.”

“We found him. He was near the bus terminal. They’re bringing him in as we speak.”

A wave of relief crashed over me. “And the girl who was with him?”

“He was alone.”

They brought Daniel into a small interview room.

I didn’t realize I was crying until I felt it on my face. “You’re alive. Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? And when I finally found you… Why did you run from me?”