I spoke of Daniel’s recent struggles, his descent into shadows I couldn’t reach, the phone calls that grew less frequent until they ceased entirely. I shared every memory of Matthew’s laughter, his boundless energy—the life that had been stolen from him.

But the more I spoke, the more I realized I didn’t have the answers we needed. The truth was tangled in a web of uncertainties, and I was left clutching the threads, hoping they would lead us to some semblance of understanding.

“Do you have any idea where your son might be?” the detective asked, his voice steady but edged with urgency.