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.

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.