For months, my 15-year-old son had been acting differently. The boy who once shared everything with me had become quiet and withdrawn. His laughter, which used to fill the house, was now replaced by a distant, unreadable expression. I told myself it was just a phase, a normal part of growing up. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
One evening, while cleaning the house, I noticed his backpack lying in the corner. A strange sense of unease washed over me, and before I could stop myself, I opened it. Inside, I found a package of diapers. My heart sank. Why would my teenage son need diapers? Was he hiding something? Was he in trouble?
That night, I couldn’t sleep. My mind raced with questions and fears. I knew confronting him directly might push him further away, so I decided to take a different approach. The next day, I followed him.
At first, the changes in him had been subtle—missed conversations, distant looks, and hesitation when I asked him questions. I had brushed them off as part of adolescence. But now, with the diapers as evidence, I realized there was more to his behavior than I had understood.
As I trailed him that morning, I noticed how cautious he was—glancing over his shoulder, holding his backpack tightly. He seemed burdened by something. When school ended, I followed him again.
He led me to a part of town I didn’t recognize, stopping in front of an old, run-down house. The paint was peeling, and the yard was overgrown. It looked abandoned, but he pulled out a key and went inside. My heart pounded as I hesitated. What was he doing here? Who had given him that key?
I knew I should turn back, but I couldn’t. I had to know the truth. As I stepped closer to the door, a voice from inside sent a chill down my spine.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
