I thought my son trusted me, even after his father passed away. Discovering he had lied about his weekends for two months terrified me. Searching for answers would force me to face years of buried grief.
“When is my son coming home? He’s been staying at your place for weeks!”
Denise’s question almost made me spill my coffee.
“Denise, what are you talking about? Nathan’s been at your house since yesterday!”
“Laura, I haven’t seen your son in weeks.”
It was nearly nine o’clock on Saturday evening. My sixteen-year-old son, Nathan, was supposed to be sleeping over at his best friend Cole’s house.
“But he stays with Cole every weekend!”
“And Cole tells me he’s staying with Nathan. It’s the same story every week.”
Our sons had been close since kindergarten. Every Friday for two months, Nathan had kissed me goodbye and left with his backpack, supposedly for Cole’s house.
