When my son went missing at the mall when he was seven, I was devastated. I cried uncontrollably, and a blonde woman came over to comfort me. Hours later, my son was found. Ten years later, I was telling the story to a friend, recalling the kind stranger who had helped me.
Suddenly, my son turned pale and looked at me. “Sweet?” he asked. “Mom, that’s not what happened. That woman was the one who took me. She and a man carried me to the parking lot and kept me in their car for a while. I remember them arguing.” He continued, “She came back to distract you, but it was her boyfriend who changed his mind and let me go.”
I was left in complete shock. My son had kept the truth from me all these years, trying to shield me from further pain. In that moment, my entire understanding of that day—and the woman who I thought had helped—was shattered.