a good kid. But teenagers keep secrets. That’s what they do. And I suddenly felt like I was staring at one.
My husband wasn’t home. I couldn’t call him—he’d panic too. I couldn’t call my son—he was at school, and what would I even say? “Hey, are you hiding something from me?”
I texted my sister instead. “Found something weird in my son’s room. White fragments. Looks like crushed pills???”
She replied almost immediately: “Send a picture.”
I did. The photo was blurry (my hands were still shaking). I tried again. Then again.
While I waited for her response, I crouched down to look for more clues. There were more fragments under the bed. And near the dresser. And—wait. Was that a whole… thing? A curved piece, almost like a shell?
I reached under the bed and pulled out the largest piece yet. It was about three inches long, pale
