Police searched Daniel’s apartment that night. He was gone. Neighbors said he had taken time off weeks earlier. A coworker shared something unsettling. Daniel often spoke about children who were treated harshly in the name of discipline. About saving them.
The pieces came together in a way that made my stomach turn.
Daniel had grown up in a home where cruelty was explained away as character building. His own mother and aunt believed fear made children strong. Somewhere along the way, he twisted that pain into a belief that he could rescue others from the same fate.
“He may believe he’s helping,” Detective Hayes said carefully. “But that doesn’t make his choices safe.”
Every hour stretched endlessly. I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sit still. I asked the police to do whatever they needed to do, even if it meant charging my own family.
By the fourth day, the search expanded beyond the city. I sat alone at the precinct, staring at a wall, when the lead investigator approached.
“We have a possible sighting.”
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