My name is Lawrence. I’m 28 years old, and yesterday cracked my entire world wide open.
You always think you’ll know when something’s wrong. That your gut will scream, that instincts will kick in. But I missed it. And now, I live with the sound of my newborn son’s screams burned into my memory.
I came home just after 6 p.m. The garage door creaked shut behind me, but before I even stepped out of the mudroom, I heard it. Aiden was wailing from somewhere inside the house. It wasn’t just the typical fussing. This was the kind of screaming that reached into your chest and squeezed tightly.
“Claire?” I said, dropping my laptop bag. No answer.
I found my wife sitting at the kitchen island, hunched over and trembling. Her face was hidden in her hands. When she finally looked up, her eyes were bloodshot and swollen.
“Oh my goodness, Lawrence,” she whispered. “It’s been like this all day…”
“He’s been crying all day?” I asked, my heart tightening.
“Yes, all day,” Claire said, her voice cracking. “I’ve done everything. I fed him, changed him, gave him a bath. Nothing worked. It felt like it was crawling into my skull. I just — I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to breathe.”
I stepped closer, trying to center us both. “Okay. Let’s go see what’s going on. We’ll figure this out together, my love.”
As we moved down the hallway, her voice dropped lower. “I had to leave the room,” she whispered. Claire looked… afraid. I told myself it was just the exhaustion.
When we stepped into the nursery, the sound was even worse. Aiden’s screams rattled the walls, cutting through the quiet like shards of glass. My chest tightened.
I crossed the room and closed the window blinds. “Hey, buddy,” I murmured, trying to stay calm. “Daddy’s here now.”
I leaned over the crib and started humming, reaching for the blanket, expecting to feel the outline of his tiny form beneath it. I felt… nothing.
I pushed the blanket aside. And froze. There was no baby.
In my son’s place sat a small black dictaphone, blinking steadily. Next to it was a folded piece of paper.
“Wait! Where’s my baby?!” Claire shouted, her breath caught.
I pressed the stop button on the recorder. The room fell into silence so complete it made my ears ring.
Hands trembling, I unfolded the note. My eyes skimmed the words, and each one felt like a knife carving into my spine.
“No! No, no, no. Who would do this? Lawrence!” Claire said, backing away. “He was right here!”
“I warned you that you’d regret being rude to me. If you want to see your baby again, leave $200,000 in the luggage storage lockers by the pier. Locker 117. If you contact the police, you’ll never see him again. Ever.”
Claire gasped as I read the note out loud. I stared down at the paper. A buzzing filled my ears, and nausea climbed through my body.
“I don’t understand,” Claire whispered. “Who would do this? Why would someone…?”
My mind was flipping through the last few weeks, and then one moment clicked into place. Two weeks ago. The hospital. The janitor.
“I think I know,” I said quietly. “Chris, the janitor from the maternity floor. Do you remember him? I accidentally knocked over this stupid bear-shaped cookie jar while he was cleaning. He glared at me. He said something — something about me regretting it.”
“You think… that’s who took our son?” Claire asked, her eyes wide.
“I don’t know, Claire. Maybe? But he’s the only one who’s even come close to a threat.”
“We need to go to the police,” I said, shoving the note into my jacket pocket.
“No!” Claire reached out, grabbing my arm. “Lawrence, we can’t. The note said that if we call them, we’ll never see Aiden again. Please, Lawrence. We’ll pay. I’ll do whatever they want! Let’s get the money. Let’s do it!” Claire shouted.
Her urgency felt off. Something felt rehearsed. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”
We left for the bank in silence. About ten minutes in, she turned sharply. “Pull over. Now.”
I eased onto the shoulder, and she shoved the door open, stumbling onto the sidewalk. She bent over and retched into the gutter.
After the second stop, she leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes.
“I can’t do this, Lawrence,” she whispered. “I can’t go with you. I feel like I’m going to throw up again. I can’t… Just… do this without me. Get the money. And bring our boy home safe.”
When we got home, I helped Claire walk into the house, and I turned back to the car. Before leaving, I saw the empty space where Aiden’s car seat usually was and remembered something she said without warning: the one where she said, through tears and frustration, that she didn’t think I could ever get her pregnant.
The air turned cold around me.
I didn’t waste another second. I sped to the hospital and found Dr. Channing, Aiden’s doctor, in the lobby.
“I need your help,” I said urgently. “Call my wife. Tell her that you were reviewing some results and that there’s an emergency with Aiden. Tell her he needs to come here right away.”
“Why?” he asked. “I won’t lie until I know the truth.”
I told him everything, including how my own brother was complicit in kidnapping my son.
Twenty minutes later, she arrived. Claire stepped through the doors with Aiden cradled in her arms… and Ryan, my younger brother, at her side.
Seeing them together knocked the breath from my lungs.
I stayed in the shadows, my hands curled into fists. When I stepped forward, I gave a small signal to the two local officers I had spoken to earlier.
“You’re both under arrest for kidnapping,” one officer said, stepping between them.
“Wait! He’s sick! He needs medical attention! I’m his mother…” Claire shouted, shielding Aiden with her arms.
“No,” I said, coming closer. “He’s absolutely fine. I just asked Dr. Channing to lie to get you to bring him in. You faked… everything.”
Ryan looked down, refusing to meet my eyes.
“You don’t understand,” she snapped. “Ryan and I have been in love for years. Long before you tried and failed to get me pregnant, we already had Aiden.”
The words hit me hard, but they were almost expected. I stepped past the officer and gently took him into my arms. He was warm, lighter than I remembered, and he clung to the fabric of my shirt.
“Hey, buddy,” I whispered, rocking him slowly. “You’re okay. Dad’s here now.”
His body relaxed, and the crying stopped.
Dr. Channing appeared beside us. “Let’s give him a quick exam, Lawrence,” he said. “Just to be sure he’s alright.”
I nodded and followed him down the corridor, still holding Aiden close. No matter what came next, I wasn’t letting go. Not now. Not ever.
