It’s not easy to stay calm when there’s a likelihood that someone you care about has been abducted.
I tell myself to breathe, to act normal, to not spiral. But my brain doesn’t give a damn about logic or patience. It’s pacing like a caged animal, clawing at my insides with worst-case scenarios.
Damon is missing.
And here I am, sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the screen while Kieran watches Paw Patrol, his little body curled up beside me. The cartoon voices are loud, overly cheerful, a stark contrast to the absolute panic I’m trying to swallow down.
I keep eyeing my phone. My fingers twitch toward it, desperate, aching to dial three numbers.
9-1-1.
I imagine what that conversation would look like. When they ask why I believe he’s in danger, what do I say? That Damon has power
