Lost Love, Forgotten Son

The scent of stale coffee and disinfectant. That' s how the world came back, as I slumped in a hard plastic chair at the police station.

"Mr. Miller, we have no record of a child named Leo."

Those words hung in the air, heavy and impossible. They said I' d gone to the kindergarten in a panic, claiming my child was missing, but the principal and teachers swore they' d never seen me with a child. My wife, Ava, arrived, confused and scared, denying we had a son.

They showed me security footage: me, gesturing wildly at an empty space. My phone was empty too; all photos, all videos of Leo, gone.