My son was a storm that tore through our lives and left nothing but heartache. When he vanished at 20, I thought I’d never see him again. But three years later, the knock on my door told a different story. My son returned home but I wasn’t sure if I was ready for who he’d become.
A sad woman overwhelmed with grief and longing | Source: Midjourney
“Mom?” My daughter’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. Sarah, now ten, stood in the doorway, her school backpack hanging awkwardly from one shoulder. Her eyes, so much like her brother’s, watched me with concern and hope.
But Sarah wasn’t buying it. She dropped her backpack and walked closer, her small hand touching mine. “You’re thinking about Abby again, aren’t you?”
A disheartened young girl | Source: Midjourney
“Do you think he’ll ever come back?”
I pulled her close, breathing in the scent of her strawberry shampoo. “I don’t know, baby. I just don’t know.”
The truth was brutal. My son, Abraham (Abby, as we all called him) had been nothing but trouble. His constant financial messes, school suspensions, and endless arguments chipped away at my heart.
But the day he took my car and crashed it into our neighbor’s vehicle was the breaking point. I drained my entire savings to fix that disaster. And by the next morning, he was gone… for three years.
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