At my in-laws’ house, I found my son locked in the guest room after two days, and when my father-in-law blocked the hallway saying I had no rights, I made one call, showed one document, and watched his power disappear.

I caught him against my chest.

He grabbed my shirt with both fists.

“You came,” he whispered.

I held the back of his head and looked past him into the room.

A half-empty glass of water sat on the nightstand.

A tray of untouched toast had gone hard.

His backpack was shoved in the corner.

His phone was gone.

“Always,” I said. “I always come.”

Terrence filled the doorway before we could step out.