After that day, I became something else.
I became the mother who walked into a rest stop for less than two minutes and came back to an empty car.
I had only gone inside to buy him the drink.
That was all.
I told him to stay near the car. He nodded, impatient and smiling, his red shirt bright in the sun, his dark hair falling into his eyes.
When I returned, the passenger side was empty.
At first, I thought he was hiding.
I called his name once.
Then again.