Parenting a 13-year-old as a widow hasn’t been easy. Since my husband passed away, I’ve worked two jobs just to keep things afloat for my son and me. I do my best every day, though some days feel heavier than others.
A few days ago, while cleaning his room, I stumbled upon something that startled me—his piggy bank held over $3,500 in cash. For a teenager, that was far more than pocket money.
That same afternoon, he told me he was heading to a classmate’s birthday party. Something about the way he said it didn’t sit right. I called the boy’s mother to confirm—only to learn there was no party at all.
My heart sank. Something was going on, and I needed to know what.
The next day, I quietly followed him after school. I watched as he walked into a rundown laundromat on the edge of our neighborhood. My chest tightened when he slipped into a back entrance that led to an alley. My mind spun—was he in trouble? Being pressured? Doing something dangerous?
Continue reading on next page…