The Police Returned A Monster Not My Son

I’ve never thought of myself as a perfect mother, and I’ve always known I was never going to be one. When I was 18, I got pregnant with a guy I had only been with one time. His name was Brad, and he was the class bad-boy. When I told him I was pregnant, he switched schools the very next day. I tried texting him, calling him, but nothing worked. He blocked me, and it was clear I was on my own. I’m kind of religious and there was way I way I was having an abortion. I made it through ridicule at school, teachers using me as an example, and nine months of aching EVERYTHING…and he was born. I didn’t even have my driver’s license, and I was holding my baby boy in my arms. I was so scared. I named him Andrew, and soon, it was just him and I against the world. My parents kicked me out, and I had to make it on my own. I was super scared, but I managed to make a life for myself, getting my diploma and getting a job. I mean, sure, that job was working double shifts at two separate fast-food restaurants. Sure, I smelled like grease all the time. Sure, no man would come within 500 of me at any given time – but I had a two-bedroom apartment with my son. I was someone. When Andrew was about 6, things started to go downhill. For a week straight, he was throwing up seriously anything he ate. The doctors started to think it was cancer! I was so scared my heart was pounding. It turns out he had some other health issues, so they had to do a few different surgeries and put a tube in his stomach. I was afraid he wasn’t going to make it. At the same time, I wished I had another pair of hands to help me out. Every time I had to go to work or class, Andrew would throw a hissy fit. I’m not proud of myself…but I screamed at him. I was so overtired, so overworked, that I told him he was being ungrateful, and I needed to work to keep us going. The second the babysitter arrived at the door, I left. I just couldn’t handle him. About 30 minutes later, I got a call from the babysitter. “Andrew is gone!” she screamed. “What do you mean, Andrew is gone?!” I yelled back. I assumed maybe he was hiding in the attic or in his playhouse because I had yelled at him…but when I got home, I knew that wasn’t the reality. His clothes were gone. He took his favorite stuffed animal. My son was gone, gone. The next few hours were a blur of crying and talking to the police. They asked the babysitter and me what had happened to him, and no one got an answer. When they started asking neighbors, things got really bad for me. It turns out, they had heard me screaming at Andrew that day – and that put me at the top of the police’s suspect list. I just wanted them to find my baby! Every day, it seemed like there was less and less of a chance of them finding my son. The police were at my house daily. I felt like I was losing my mind. Then, at 4 am, they called to tell me that Andrew had been found. I drove to the station to pick him up, tears in my eyes. The police told me he had been found wandering outside the police station, confused and crying. He didn’t know where he had come from or what had happened, but he knew his name. I raced in to see my son. Only…it wasn’t my son. I felt like throwing up. The kid looked almost EXACTLY like my son, but there was something weird about him. It was almost like someone had made a fake version of my son. He had the same smile, the same face, the same shape…but his eyes were all wrong. What should have been a happy moment absolutely wasn’t. But you know what the kid did? He ran up and hugged me, saying: “Mommy! I missed you!” I hugged him back with tears in my eyes. Maybe it was my son? I rushed back out to speak with the detectives. As I was leaving, the kid cried after me, asking where I was going. When I told the detectives I didn’t think he was my son, they all rolled their eyes. “If he’s not your son, then where is he?” “Did you do something with him?” “He called you mommy!” …

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