My son, Abraham—Abby—was a storm that tore through our lives. At 20, he vanished without a trace, leaving nothing but pain behind. Three years later, the knock on the door changed everything. He was back, but I wasn’t sure who had returned.
Life had been a struggle after Abby disappeared. I worked long hours at the diner, trying to make ends meet, and Sarah, my 10-year-old daughter, held onto hope. Every day, I lived with the heartache of wondering where Abby was and if I’d ever see him again.It was during one of those long, lonely nights that I received a call from the police: “We found him. He’s alive but doesn’t want to come home.” I was devastated, but I let go. After all, what could I do? He was an adult, and I had already given him everything I had,