My name is Emily, and I have a five-year-old son, Harry. We live with my parents, and last Friday, we went to the carnival. What should have been a fun day turned into a nightmare.
After riding the carousel, Harry excitedly asked for ice cream. As I handed him the cone, he wandered off to look at a clown. But when I turned to give him his ice cream, he was gone.
Panic set in as we searched frantically for him, and soon, the police were involved. Hours passed, but there was no sign of Harry. That night, I couldn’t sleep, filled with worry.
The next morning, Harry appeared holding a small box. He calmly explained that someone had taken him—someone with blond hair and a star-shaped scar on his face. The scar was unmistakable. It belonged to Michael, my ex.
Years ago, I left Michael after learning about his alleged affair with my best friend, Lisa. But Harry’s description made me question everything. The next day, Michael showed up at our door, revealing that Lisa had lied. She had drugged him and staged the affair.
Michael was desperate to be part of Harry’s life, and over the next few weeks, he proved it. Slowly, I saw Harry bond with him, and my anger faded. One evening, Michael and I talked, realizing that while we both made mistakes, there was a chance to rebuild our family for Harry’s sake.
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