I woke up at 3 a.m., thirsty and groggy, the house wrapped in deep silence. As I walked to the kitchen for water, I heard my son’s voice calling from his room, asking me to turn off the light. It sounded completely natural, the kind of request I had heard countless times before. Without thinking, I moved down the hallway, switched off the lamp, and returned to bed.
Everything felt ordinary, almost comforting, until a sudden realization made my heart race. My son wasn’t home. He had left earlier that day on a camping trip with his friends. The thought struck me like a wave. I lay still for a moment, trying to replay what I had heard. Fear mixed with confusion, and I forced myself to get up and check his room. The door was slightly open, just as I remembered leaving it.
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