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.

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.

Not like my son’s jacket, but the exact jacket he’d taken before leaving for school that day.

I knew it wasn’t just a similar coat because of the guitar-shaped patch over the torn sleeve. I’d sewn that on myself, by hand. I also recognized the paint stain on the back when the man turned toward the counter and asked for tea.

I pointed at him. “Add that man’s tea and a bun to my order.”