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 shook my head, almost begging. “Let me stay with my grandson. I can’t leave him alone right now.”

They nodded, agreeing, but their eyes were filled with concern, as if they also felt the dark shadow hanging over my family.

That night, I sat by the bed, watching Matthew tremble as he slept in fits. He clutched the empty water bottle tightly, even in his sleep, as if he were afraid someone would take it from him. Sweat ran down his forehead, soaking the pillow.

Occasionally, he would jolt awake, his eyes wide with terror, but he wouldn’t say anything—just look at me with that empty gaze. I wiped his forehead with a small towel, my hand trembling. Grandma is here with you, I whispered, even though I knew he couldn’t hear me.

The doctor came to check on him, a middle-aged woman with a kind look. She put her hand on my shoulder and said softly, “Ma’am, the boy needs time. He went through a huge shock.

Be patient. You’ll see. He’ll tell us what happened.”

I nodded, but inside I felt a terrible heaviness.

Patience. How could I be patient when Daniel was still missing, when Matthew was here like a shadow of his former self? I spent the whole night sitting there, holding Matthew’s hand, listening to his weak breathing.

I remembered the last time I spoke to Daniel on the phone. His voice sounded tired, but he still tried to laugh. Mom, I’m fine.

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