He looked at me with a grin and said, “She needs us, Dad.” I knew I couldn’t say no. We brought her home, and he named her Daisy. He spent hours settling her in, brushing her fur, and giving her treats. My wife wasn’t thrilled, but I figured she’d warm up to Daisy with time. That night, I tucked our son in, said goodnight, and went to bed. Around 3 a.m., I woke up to an eerie silence. Something felt wrong. I went to his room—empty. His bed was a mess, window slightly open. My heart pounded as I called his name and searched the house, but he was gone. I ran back to wake my wife, panic rising. But when she looked at me, there was something unsettling in her eyes. It was GUILT.
Last weekend, I thought I lost my son.
A man hugging his son | Source: Midjourney
It all started with a dog. My son, Andy, had been begging for one for months.
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