The call ended abruptly. I stared at my phone in disbelief, my heart pounding.

I looked at Matthew, who had been listening from across the room. He saw the fear in my eyes and didn’t hesitate. “Get your bag,” he said. “We’re going.”

The estate was two hours away. The drive felt like the longest of my life, my thoughts spiraling with every mile. What had she meant by “causing a scene”? What had Oliver been through in just one day to make him so desperate to come home?

 

When we finally pulled into the long driveway of the sprawling property, I noticed how quiet everything was. The house, normally buzzing with activity from kids running around, seemed unnervingly still.

I knocked once on the massive wooden door, then again louder when no one answered. Finally, it creaked open, and my mother-in-law appeared, her face pinched with irritation.

“What on earth are you doing here?” she demanded.

“I came to get my son,” I said firmly, brushing past her before she could block me. Matthew followed, his jaw tight.

The inside of the house was dim, the curtains drawn despite the daylight outside. I could hear muffled voices upstairs. Following the sound, I found Oliver curled up on a bed in one of the guest rooms, his stuffed dinosaur clutched tightly in his arms, his face blotchy from crying.

The moment he saw me, he bolted into my arms, sobbing into my chest. “Mommy, take me home. Please.”

I held him close, kissing his hair, whispering that it was okay now, I was here. I turned to my mother-in-law, who had followed us upstairs, her arms crossed tightly across her chest.

“What happened here?” I asked, my voice trembling with restrained fury.

She rolled her eyes. “He’s being ridiculous. All the other kids are playing just fine. But Oliver refuses to join in. He cries at everything. I told him to toughen up, and he threw a tantrum. He’s embarrassing himself.”

“Embarrassing himself?” I repeated in disbelief.