Not Sneaking Out After All

checked my son’s phone location at 1 a.m. and my stomach dropped. Noah.

15 years old. School tomorrow. Curfew was 10. His bed untouched. Window cracked.

Shoes gone. Bike missing. I didn’t call. Didn’t text. I drove.

Location: Live. One dot. The park by the old library. I pulled up slow.

Lights off. Heart pounding. Then I saw them. Noah on a bench. Next to a girl.

Backpacks between them. Phone flashlight on. Notes spread out.

He jumped when he saw me. Stood up fast. “Dad—I was coming home,” he said.

The girl looked embarrassed. Wrapped her hoodie tighter. Her name was Maya.