“I found him,” the officer continued, his voice calm but firm. “And I was preparing to call child services.”
My chest tightened so hard it hurt to breathe.
Child services.
The words echoed like a threat.
“But before I could,” he added, “your son showed up.”
I turned to look at Logan.
His jaw was clenched. His eyes were fixed on the floor.
“He came running down the street barefoot,” the officer said. “Shouting his brother’s name. He must’ve realized Andrew was gone and went looking immediately.”
My heart twisted.
“He didn’t hesitate,” the officer continued. “He didn’t try to hide. He didn’t run from us.”
The room fell silent.
“He ran toward us.”
I felt something shift inside me.
Something I hadn’t expected.
“What happened?” I asked softly now, my anger fading into something else—something fragile.
Logan finally looked up.
“I was in the kitchen,” he said, his voice low. “I thought Andrew was playing in the living room. I just… I turned my back for a minute.”
His voice cracked.
