My son had been spending quite a bit of time here, encouraged by the adults who seemed to close ranks at my growing concern.
The school had been no help, brushing off my inquiries with vague assurances of monitoring.
Each day, my son seemed to retreat further into himself.
I felt the pressure mounting, knowing a parent-teacher conference was approaching.
The neighbor was gearing up for a community event I dreaded attending.
I was on the brink of uncovering something I wasn’t ready to face.
I glanced at my son, his small frame trembling beside me, and knew things couldn’t stay the same.
“We’ll figure this out,” I promised, more to myself than to him.
The silence between us was a heavy thing, filled with unspoken fears and unanswered questions.
At home, I tried to piece together the fragments of what little I knew.
