“Did you finish the history assignment?” I asked.
“Yes, Mom.” He grabbed his jacket, leaned down, and kissed my cheek. “See you tonight.”
Then the door shut behind him, and he walked away. I watched from the window as he headed down the street.
That evening, Daniel never came home.
At first, I didn’t panic.
Daniel sometimes stayed after school to play guitar with friends or wandered over to the park until it got dark. Normally he would text me, but maybe his phone battery had died.
I kept telling myself that while I cooked dinner, while I ate alone, while I cleaned the kitchen and left his portion warm in the oven.
But when night fell and his bedroom remained empty, the uneasy feeling in my chest grew impossible to ignore.
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