After Mason moved in with his father, I tried to give him the space he had asked for. After the divorce, I believed time with his dad might help them rebuild their relationship. At first, everything seemed fine. Mason sent funny messages, pictures of burnt waffles, and updates about late-night breakfasts and movie nights. I missed having him home, but I kept telling myself that his happiness mattered more than my loneliness.

Then the messages slowly stopped. His teachers contacted me about missing assignments and how withdrawn he had become in class. Something was wrong. I tried asking questions, but the answers were vague and dismissive. My instincts wouldn’t let it go. One rainy afternoon, I drove to his school just to see him myself. When Mason walked toward my car, his shoulders were slumped and his eyes looked exhausted. I asked if everything was okay. He stayed silent for a moment, then finally began telling me what had really been happening—and the truth was far worse than I expected…