For a year, I grieved the loss of my son, finding comfort in the support of friends like Sarah. Though she encouraged me to move on, her intentions had a hidden agenda.
When Sarah relocated to a new city, I visited her to express my thanks. But I was unprepared for the shock awaiting me in her new home. There stood my son—alive, well, and unmistakably himself.
“Rachel, it’s not what you think,” Sarah stammered, her voice filled with panic. I was stunned. She had told me my son was gone. How could this be?
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