I jumped out of the cab and ran to him. His clothes were filthy, and his eyes filled with disbelief. “Mom?” he whispered. I hugged him tightly, already fearing the worst. And then he told me the truth.
Travis had kicked him out—weeks ago. He said Caleb had been “disrespectful,” and warned him not to contact me. Caleb, terrified and unsure of what to do, had been sleeping in garages and parks, surviving on whatever food he could find. Meanwhile, Travis had turned our home into a revolving door of parties and guests.
I was heartbroken—and furious.
That night, with the help of a friend, I moved Caleb into a hotel. We got him clean clothes, groceries, and a warm meal. As he rested, I made a call—to Marcus, a close friend and former police officer turned private security consultant.
“I need help,” I told him. “Not revenge. Just justice.”
The next day, Marcus called Travis, posing as an officer. He claimed Caleb had been caught breaking into a store and that the owner wanted $15,000 to avoid pressing charges. Travis panicked. Within hours, the money was wired to an account we controlled—proof of how quickly he would pay to hide the truth.
Once the money cleared, I called him.
“How’s Germany?” he asked casually.
“I came back early,” I said. The silence on the other end was deafening.
I waited a beat, then added, “Funny that Caleb’s not answering his phone. You said he was staying with a friend?”
He stammered, but I didn’t need to hear more.
The next morning, I filed for divorce.
Travis showed up at my office later that week, furious. “You lied to me!” he shouted.
“You lied to me first,” I said calmly. “You put my son on the streets. You broke our family’s trust. Actions have consequences.”
He threatened lawyers. I turned and walked away.
I gave every cent of that $15,000 to Caleb. “This is for you,” I told him. “College, a car, whatever future you want to build.”
A few months later, we moved into a small apartment near his school. It’s not extravagant, but it’s home. It’s safe. And it’s ours.
One evening, while watching a comedy together, Caleb nudged me and grinned. “You really got him,” he said.
I smiled back. “He had it coming.”
Then he whispered, “Thanks for finding me.”
I kissed his forehead. “I’ll always find you. That’s what moms do.”