My son, 4, vanished in the mall.

My son, 4, vanished in the mall.
Cops couldn’t find him.
2 hours later, a woman came holding him. I cried.
She smiled and gave me a hairpin, whispered, ‘You’ll need this one day!’
I kept that pin, not expecting much.
3 weeks later, my blood went cold when I found the exact same hairpin clipped into my son’s backpack zipper, where I know I never put it.

I stand frozen in the doorway of his room, my hand still gripping the fabric of his small jacket. The house is quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the faint cartoon noise drifting from the living room.

My heart starts pounding so hard I feel it in my throat. My fingers tremble as I pinch the metal pin, sliding it loose from the zipper. It is unmistakable—thin gold, curved like a crescent, with a tiny carved leaf at the tip. The same one. The one the strange woman presses into my palm at the mall as I sob into my child’s hair.

I look at my son. He sits cross-legged on the carpet, completely absorbed in stacking his toy cars into neat little lines. His face is peaceful. Innocent. Unaware that my entire world is tilting sideways. Continue reading…