Although I didn’t catch what the police said over the phone, I knew they must have mentioned that a person isn’t considered missing until 24 hours have passed, only then can a report be filed and an investigation initiated.
I was aware of this law, but Betty wasn’t, so the police couldn’t take immediate action.
Betty hurried back to her room to change her clothes.
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As she dashed to the door to switch her shoes, she realized she had left her phone on Michael’s bed.
She quickly abandoned the shoe swap and ran back to Michael’s room to retrieve her phone.
Betty was in a state of panic, perhaps only now realizing the significant place her foster son held in her heart.
With a loud thud, Betty slammed the house door shut, plunging the room into silence, the sound of the door echoing back.
Betty should have headed to school by now, first to see if Michael might have gone to school, although the chances were slim, and second, to take a leave of absence.
It seemed likely that Betty would spend the day searching aimlessly.
I fast-forwarded the time.
By 9 PM, Betty returned home, exhausted and alone, without Michael’s usual presence trailing behind her.
She looked utterly spent, but her sorrow seemed to outweigh her fatigue.
She didn’t bother turning on the lights; after changing her shoes, she just sat down on the sofa.
After staring blankly for a while, she finally broke down in tears, having failed to find Michael.
How could a woman, without any external help, manage to find a missing person in this vast city?
It was like finding a needle in a haystack.
Betty just sat there on the sofa.
I clicked to fast-forward the time, and by 2 AM, an exhausted Betty had fallen asleep right there, leaning against the back of the sofa.
"Michael... Michael..." Betty murmured in her sleep, continuously calling out Michael’s name.
"Michael, come back, Mommy knows she was wrong..."
"I’ll never treat you that way again, come back..."
In her sleep, Betty seemed to be dreaming of some scenario with Michael, constantly calling out his name.
Watching this, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy, wondering if during my recent business trip, during the time Betty was adjusting, she had ever called out my name in her sleep.
By 6 AM, Betty woke up startled.
She groggily opened her eyes, looked around the familiar room, and saw her clothes still on.
Slowly, her thoughts cleared, and she realized that everything that had happened was real—her hard-won son was gone.
Betty quickly got up, didn’t bother with makeup or even washing up, grabbed her bag, and rushed out the door, ready to start another day of searching.
I fast-forwarded the time again.
By 10 PM, Betty returned, still visibly exhausted.
She had skipped work for two days, focusing solely on searching for Michael.
But from her appearance, it was clear she had come up empty-handed.
The strain of two days without proper care had left Betty looking like a scavenger.
Like the night before, Betty sat on the sofa without changing her clothes.
After sitting blankly for a while, she once again dialed a three-digit number—she was talking to the police.
From Betty’s frantic conversation with the police, I learned that the station had taken up the case of the missing child and was aiding in the search.
Betty was inquiring about any progress.
After hanging up, she broke down in tears again, the answer was obviously still fruitless.
Worrying was futile; all Betty could do was go out searching every day and wait for any news from the police.
Betty’s eyes were swollen from crying.
I hadn’t seen Betty searching for Michael in the city because I couldn’t possibly install cameras on every street, but I could imagine her ignoring the stares of passersby as she searched and cried, always holding a photo of Michael.
These past days, Betty had been in tears.
She missed Michael, but more than that, she worried about him.
She didn’t know if he was still alive, if he was safe, if he had enough to eat, if he was hungry, or if he had encountered any danger...
Betty’s worries were endless, and she was close to breaking down.
If in the end, she couldn’t find Michael, or worse, if she found only his body, would the guilt-ridden Betty still have the courage and hope to continue living...
This ordeal lasted a whole week.
On the seventh day, just after 5 PM, which was the usual time Betty got off work, the front door opened again.
This time, it wasn’t just Betty returning; Michael was with her.
Michael had finally been found.
The order in which they entered the house had changed.
Usually, Betty would enter first with Michael following.
This time, Michael led the way, with Betty close behind, as if to block any escape route he might consider.
After a week with no news, Michael appeared disheveled and dirty.
His clothes weren’t torn but were visibly filthy.
His face looked parched, his skin cracked with flakes peeling off.
In just a week, Michael had lost a noticeable amount of weight, and his gaze was vacant.
From these signs, it was clear Michael had not had an easy week, enduring the elements and likely suffering considerably.
It was unclear whether he had returned on his own or had been found by Betty.
Upon entering, Michael stood still, gazing around the familiar room without a hint of joy.
He didn’t even bother to change out of his dirty shoes, just stood there on the tiled floor.
Betty entered right after him, leaving the door open behind her, and several police officers followed.
Betty, seeing that Michael hadn’t changed his shoes, showed no sign of disgust and simply walked in with her shoes on as well.
"Officers, please come in, no need to take off your shoes," Betty said gently to the police following her.
"We won’t come in," the lead officer replied.
"We’ve safely brought the child home. Have a good talk with him. After all, he’s a living person, and if he runs off again, no one can keep up. Our job here is done."
"Thank you all so much. I really don’t know what I would have done without your help," Betty said, her face filled with gratitude as she bowed deeply to the officers.
From this brief exchange, it was clear that Michael had been found by the police, not by Betty, nor had he come back on his own.
"No need to thank us, it’s our duty," the officer said before they left.
From the fact that the police had to escort Michael and Betty home, it was evident that Michael was not keen on returning.
If it weren’t for the police escort, Betty alone might not have managed to bring him back.
After the police left, Betty looked at Michael, who stood motionless in the living room, his back to her, as if he had lost his soul.
Betty’s face was drawn; the week’s ordeal had nearly broken her physically, but seeing Michael seemed to revive her spirit somewhat.
Her eyes were still swollen, likely from crying long and hard when she saw Michael at the station.
There were stains on Betty’s pristine clothes, on her arms and chest, likely from embracing Michael.
Given the depth of the stains, that embrace must have been intense.
"Come with me," Betty said as she walked up to Michael.
Instead of grabbing his hand, she gently looped her arm through his and led him toward his bedroom, which was neat and tidy.