After what felt like hours, a doctor approached. Her face was kind, yet lined with concern. “Matthew is stable,” she said, offering a glimmer of relief. “He’s severely dehydrated and suffering from malnutrition, but he’s strong. We’re running further tests and will keep him here for observation.”

I nodded, my body heavy with fatigue yet buoyed by hope. “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

As I sat in the dimly lit room beside Matthew’s bed, the soft beeping of monitors a steady rhythm, I tried to piece together the fractured narrative. Clearly, something terrible had unfolded in Daniel’s absence.

Had he left willingly, or had something forced his hand? Even more chilling was the possibility that he might have been in the house somewhere, hurt or worse.