My son said he was leaving for a two-day work trip and asked me to watch his six-year-old twins.
He disappeared for eight days.
I called his office, hospitals, and nearly the police before he finally returned.
But he wasn’t alone.
A frightened five-year-old girl stepped out of his car, holding a stuffed rabbit.
She looked at me and asked, “Is that Grandma?”
Then she turned to my son.
“Dad, can I show her my room?”
I was stunned.
“Daniel… who is she?”
Before he could answer, my grandson ran inside and returned with a drawing he’d made weeks earlier.
It showed the twins standing beside a little girl in a yellow dress.
“She was at Dad’s house,” he whispered.
Then the little girl suddenly ran to me, wrapped her arms around my waist, and cried:
“Please don’t make me go back.”
I looked at my son.
“Go back where, sweetheart?”
She pointed toward his car.
And that’s when Daniel finally told me the truth about the eight days he’d disappeared.