Livia’s hand shook as she raised it. “He was right here! I swear! He wanted to play the ring toss, so I let him… and then he was gone. I thought he went to you!”

“You let him?” I hissed. “With strangers everywhere?”

Sebastian’s face darkened. “Don’t blame me, Veronica! You’re always distracted! Probably scared him off yourself!”

I stepped closer, fury bubbling through my veins. “Don’t you dare pin this on me! You’re his father!”

“And you’re his mother!” he shot back. “Maybe if you weren’t glued to your phone all the time—”

Livia intervened. “Enough. Let’s just find him!”

Security arrived quickly. Gates were locked, announcements blared, and every inch of the park was combed. Sebastian paced, shouting our son’s name, his voice raw. I could barely hold my phone; my hands trembled violently.

Then it rang. Unknown number.

I answered, heart pounding. “Adrian?” My voice cracked.

A pause—and then a chilling, unfamiliar voice spoke. “We have your boy.”

I froze. “Who… who is this? Where is he?”

“Ten million dollars,” the voice said flatly. “Transfer it now, or the child dies.”

I could barely breathe. “No… please…”

The line went dead.

I turned to Sebastian, tears streaming. “They have him. Ten million. They said if we don’t—”

“Ten million?” His face went pale as paper. “This is insane.”

I didn’t wait. My hands shook as I opened the banking app, transferring every cent I could access—every account emptied in a frenzy, driven by the primal instinct to save my child.

“I sent it,” I whispered, staring blankly at the phone. “They’ll return him.”

Minutes stretched into an hour.

Then the phone rang again. Same number.

“Send another five,” the voice demanded. “Or he dies.”

“I already sent it!” I screamed. “You said ten million!”

“Do it again. Now.”

Again and again, I obeyed. Each time they promised it was the last. Each time, nothing.

By nightfall, I had nothing left—only my phone, my grief, and empty promises. We stayed at the park into the night, surrounded by police, reports, and sirens blurring into an unending haze. Silence hurt worse than sound.

By sunrise, my heart was heavy and quiet.

Then the phone rang again—this time, the police.

“Ms. Veronica,” the officer said gently, “you need to come to the station.”

My throat closed. “Did you find him?”

There was a pause. “We… found a boy by the riverbank early this morning. We ran a DNA test. I’m sorry—but it’s your son.”