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.

That evening, Daniel didn’t come home.

The last time I saw Daniel, he was standing in the hallway.

I didn’t worry at first.

Daniel sometimes stayed late at school to play guitar with friends, or drifted over to the park to hang out until dark. He always texted me when he did that, but maybe his phone had died.

I told myself that while I made dinner, while I ate it alone, while I washed up, and left his plate in the oven.

But when the sun went down, and his room was still empty, I could no longer ignore the feeling that something was wrong.

I called his phone. It went straight to voicemail.

I didn’t worry at first.

By ten o’clock, I was driving through the neighborhood, searching for him.

By midnight, I was sitting in a police station to report him missing.

The police officer asked questions, took notes, and eventually told me, “Sometimes teenagers leave for a couple of days. Arguments with parents, that sort of thing.”