“So you let Noah walk into your house and find his father waiting.”

“Noah was thrilled. He ran to Garrett. He hugged him so hard they both nearly fell over.”

I pressed the jacket harder against my body. My vision was blurring.

“Then what.”

“Garrett told Noah he had a surprise. He said they were going on a trip — just for a few days. He said he had a place in Tulsa with a room set up for him. He said it would be like a vacation.”

“And Noah agreed?”

“He’s ten, Lydia. His father was standing in front of him for the first time in two years. Of course he agreed.”

“And you let him go.”

Diane pressed her hands against her face.

“Garrett changed his clothes. He said he didn’t want Noah to be recognized. He put him in new clothes — things he’d brought in a duffel bag. He told me to get rid of what Noah had been wearing.”

“So you threw your grandson’s clothes in the dumpster.”

“Yes.”

“And when I called you at seven o’clock, frantic, asking where my son was—”

“I lied.”

The kitchen was silent except for the clock on the wall. The same clock that had been ticking on every visit, every overnight, every Sunday call. The same kitchen where Noah had eaten mac and cheese and done his homework at the table and believed his grandmother would never hurt him.

“He didn’t have a phone,” I said. “Garrett took his backpack?”

“He left the backpack. He took Noah’s tablet and phone out of it. He said he didn’t want Noah contacting you until they’d had time together.”

“Time together. He kidnapped my son, Diane. And you helped him.”

“It’s not kidnapping — he’s his father—”

“He has no custody. No visitation rights. No legal standing. He walked out on us. He has never paid a cent of support. He has never filed a single motion with a court. He showed up at your house, used you as bait, and took my child.”

Diane was sobbing now.

“I thought he’d bring him back. He promised me — three days, he said. A long weekend. Then he’d bring Noah home and talk to you about doing things properly.”

“How long has it been, Diane?”

She didn’t answer.

“How many weeks?”

“Four.”

Four weeks. My son had been gone for four weeks. I had walked his route every day. I had filed a police report. I had called hospitals, shelters, churches. I had sat on his bed at night and held his pillow and asked God to bring him back.