The night Noah Delmore didn’t come home, something inside me refused to settle. While everyone else—especially Daniel—kept insisting it was just a teenager being careless, I felt the kind of certainty that doesn’t come from logic. It comes from knowing your child.
Noah wasn’t reckless. He was precise. Thoughtful. The kind of boy who checked in, even when he didn’t have to.
So when hours turned into days, and days into a week, the quiet dread became unbearable. The house felt wrong. His plate stayed untouched. His room remained exactly as he had left it, frozen in time, while my mind spiraled through every possibility.
