I remember the pit in my stomach when I realized I could no longer trust anything my son told me. I was watching Monday Night Football, becoming increasingly agitated that Jon wasn’t home. His class had ended at 7:30 p.m.. Where was he? Furthermore, what was keeping him from his beloved Steelers?

The game finished. I wanted to go to bed, but the last time he came home this late, he banged on the windows while yelling for me to open the door, waking the neighbors. In anticipation of a repeat performance I decide to text him: DO NOT come home tonight. Sleep wherever you are!

My phone rang within seconds.“Mom…don’t be mad.”

“Don’t tell me how to act!” I yelled, blood pressure soaring at the mere sound of his voice, as was often the case these days. “Spare me the story and tell me where my car is.”

“Why…