Sometimes he stayed after school to practice guitar with friends in the music room.
Other days he wandered to the neighborhood park and lost track of time until darkness fell.
He usually sent a quick text when his plans changed, but perhaps his phone battery had died.
Sarah repeated these rational explanations to herself while preparing dinner in the empty kitchen.
She ate alone at the table, trying to ignore the growing unease settling in her stomach.
After washing the dishes, she left Daniel’s plate warming in the oven, still hoping to hear his key in the lock.
But when the sky turned completely dark and his bedroom remained empty, a quiet terror began growing inside her chest.
Sarah called his phone repeatedly, each attempt going straight to voicemail.
By ten o’clock that night, she was driving slowly through the neighborhood, her headlights sweeping across empty sidewalks and darkened parks.
By midnight, she sat in a fluorescent-lit police station, hands trembling as she filled out a missing person report.
The officer behind the desk asked standard questions calmly, writing everything down with professional detachment.
“Sometimes teenagers leave home for a few days,” he said gently, clearly trying to provide reassurance.
“Maybe there was an argument or some kind of misunderstanding.”
“Daniel isn’t like that,” Sarah insisted, her voice shaking with emotion.
The officer looked up from his paperwork.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
