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.

He stopped outside an old, abandoned house.

I peeked around the tree.

When I saw who was standing in the doorway of that decrepit old house, I thought I might faint.

“Daniel!” I stumbled toward the door.

My son looked up. His eyes widened with fear.

A shadow moved behind Daniel. He glanced over his shoulder, back at me, then did the last thing I ever would’ve expected. He ran.

“Daniel, wait!” I picked up speed, sprinting past the old man and into the house.

A shadow moved behind Daniel.

A door slammed. I raced down the hall and skidded into the kitchen. I tugged the back door open just in time to watch Daniel and a girl race into the woods.

I raced after them, screaming his name, but they were too fast.

I lost them.

***

I drove straight to the nearest police station and told the desk officer everything.