My Son Didn’t Answer The Phone For Two Weeks. So I Decided To Go To His House Quietly. But When I Arrived, Something Moved Under My Grandson’s Bed. When The Officer Lifted The Bed, What We Found Left Us All SPEECHLESS. BECAUSE…

I remembered the days when Matthew was little, when he would run around my yard, laughing his head off, asking me to tell him stories about when I was young back home. Now that smile was gone, and in its place was a frightening silence, as if my grandson had locked his soul away. The police also arrived at the hospital with their notebooks and questions.

A young, serious-looking officer sat next to me. “Ma’am, could you tell us when you last had contact with Mr. Daniel?”

I shook my head, a lump in my throat.

“It’s been two weeks,” I said with a trembling voice. “I called him. I sent him messages.

I did everything, but nothing. Daniel would never do something like this. He always called me at least once a week.”

The officer jotted down notes, nodding, and then turned to ask the doctor about Matthew’s condition.

They spoke in low voices. The victim shows no life-threatening injuries, but he’s in a state of severe post-traumatic shock. Hearing those words, I felt as if a stone was crushing my chest.

Post-traumatic shock. What did Matthew have to go through to end up like this? I wanted to demand answers, but the officer just took notes and told me, “We’re opening a missing person case.

Could you come with us to the precinct to give a full statement?”

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