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I thought I had married a dependable man. Someone I could trust with my home, my life, and most importantly, my child. That belief shattered the day I returned early from a work assignment in Germany. The house was loud, messy, unfamiliar. But the silence that mattered most was my son’s. My 17-year-old, Caleb, was gone.
At first, Travis brushed it off. “He left,” he said casually. Something in his tone felt wrong. Hours later, panic set in. I searched the neighborhood until I found Caleb three blocks away, digging through trash behind a convenience store. He looked thin, exhausted, and scared. Seeing him like that broke something inside me.
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