Last Friday, my parents and I took my son, Harry, to a carnival for a fun day. It started joyfully, with Harry excited to ride the carousel and ask for ice cream. However, after turning away for just a moment, I realized Harry had vanished.
“We need to find him!” I cried, as fear consumed me. The police arrived and started searching, but no one had seen him. As night fell, hope faded.
The next day, to my relief, Harry reappeared holding a small box. He said, “God took me,” describing a man with a star-shaped scar. I froze—Michael, Harry’s father, had that exact scar.
Michael later appeared, explaining that he never cheated and was framed by my friend. Regret filled me for leaving him. Now, Michael is reconnecting with Harry, and we both hope to rebuild our family, slowly healing the wounds of the past.
“We both made mistakes,” Michael said. “But we have a chance to make things right now.”
