When the officer asked what he’d looked up in 2019, my son stared at the floor for a few seconds before answering. He said he’d searched how to find our house from a nearby street because his father had once told him, “If you ever need help, don’t assume anyone will find you.” He’d written the cross street in the back of a baseball card and kept it in his room for six years.
I found the card after the officers left. On the back, in my son’s handwriting, were our address, the cross street, and one sentence: “If Dad takes Mom’s phone, use the neighbor’s.” I sat there holding it and realized my fifteen-year-old hadn’t suddenly become brave that night. He’d been preparing for it for years.
The next morning, I asked him why he never told me. He said, “Because every time I tried, you said everything was okay.” Then he looked at me and asked the question I’d been avoiding for years: “Mom, when are you going to stop calling it okay?”
