I hurried back through the gate, my heart hammering.
The next day, I made a call to an old friend of my husband’s—Jim, a retired cop. He listened carefully and agreed something sounded off. He promised to do some digging. A day later, he called back with news that made my blood run cold.
“Margaret, your son is in trouble. His name came up in connection to a drug investigation. Nothing concrete yet, but his wife? She’s been seen with a man tied to a local trafficking ring.”
I nearly dropped the phone. Drugs? My son? No, it couldn’t be.
“What do I do, Jim?” I whispered.
“We need to get Timmy out of there,” he said. “And we need to do it legally. If we go in guns blazing, they’ll take him and run. We need Child Services involved.”
That night, I cried harder than I had in months. My son had gotten mixed up in something dark, and my grandson was suffering because of it.
The next morning, I called CPS, giving them every detail I had. Jim backed up my claims with his own findings. It took a few days, but eventually, they investigated. And what they found?
Neglect. Evidence of drug use. Signs of domestic violence.
Timmy was removed from the home.
I was granted temporary custody.
The moment I held him in my arms again, he burst into tears. “Grandma, I was so scared!”
“I know, sweetheart. But you’re safe now. I promise.”
My son? He was given the chance to enter rehab. My daughter-in-law? She was arrested, and her involvement with criminals was deeper than I ever imagined.
Life changed overnight. Raising a young boy at my age wasn’t easy, but you know what? I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Timmy got his smile back, and so did I.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: never ignore a child’s cry for help. If someone you love is in trouble, don’t look away. Be their lifeline.
Timmy was mine, and in the end, I was his.
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