Shattered Bonds novel Chapter 3

“That ungrateful brat! We shouldn’t have bothered finding him. All he does is cause us grief!”

The forensic expert, having listened quietly to the whole exchange, sighed. “You both took a year off to search for Jason when he was kidnapped. How did things get so bad after you found him again?”

I couldn’t help but feel the bitterness welling up inside me. They had spent years looking for me, only to reject the broken, awkward boy they had gotten back.

When I was fifteen and first brought home, they sat in their grand living room, holding a sobbing Wyatt in their arms, comforting him. I stood awkwardly in the doorway, wearing patched-up clothes, staring at the hole in my shoe where a toe stuck out.

Wyatt had stopped crying the moment he saw me. With fake innocence, he asked, “Who’s this little beggar?”

My parents’ faces darkened, not because of Wyatt’s cruel words, but because I wasn’t the son they had imagined.

The police officer approached my dad, holding the records. “Mr. Perry, I checked the reports, but no one filed a missing person’s case over the past few days.”

“Could it be the victim had a bad relationship with their family, and no one noticed they were gone?”

“Are there really parents out there who don’t care if their child is missing?” someone muttered nearby.

Hearing the murmurs, I couldn’t help but feel a deep sorrow. The weight of the sadness pressed down on me, suffocating. My parents could pity some random victim whose family didn’t file a report, but they never wondered about my safety in the days I’d been missing.

When I was kidnapped, my parents had put everything aside to find me. But now, they assumed my disappearance was just a ploy for attention.

Maybe I never should’ve come back home. Wyatt’s home wasn’t mine. The love and care that should’ve been mine had long since shifted to him.

My mom handed the corroded piece of paper to the forensic expert. He stretched his aching back and said to my dad, “Let’s hope we can figure out something from this. Did you remind Wyatt to lock up the house?”

My dad nodded gravely, then hesitated. “You know, honey, Jason hasn’t answered his phone. He hasn’t replied to Natalie’s messages either. What if something really happened? Should we send someone to check on him?”

Annoyed, my mom cut him off. “Come on, you know how he is. He’s probably hiding somewhere, waiting for us to search for him. This isn’t the first time he’s done this.”

“He just doesn’t want to go to Wyatt’s tennis match. Mark my words, by tomorrow, he’ll be calling, crying, begging us to forgive him.”

The last time I had “disappeared” was during summer break. Wyatt had locked me in a bathroom stall at school. The building was empty for the holidays, and no one could hear me scream. I had to crawl my way out, filthy and with a twisted ankle, making my way home.

But instead of concern, I was met by my dad’s heavy hand and my mom’s angry accusations.