“Do it again. Now.”
Again and again, I obeyed. Each time they promised it was the last. Each time, nothing.
By nightfall, I had nothing left—only my phone, my grief, and empty promises. We stayed at the park into the night, surrounded by police, reports, and sirens blurring into an unending haze. Silence hurt worse than sound.
By sunrise, my heart was heavy and quiet.
Then the phone rang again—this time, the police.
“Ms. Veronica,” the officer said gently, “you need to come to the station.”
My throat closed. “Did you find him?”
There was a pause. “We… found a boy by the riverbank early this morning. We ran a DNA test. I’m sorry—but it’s your son.”
