A RESCUE DOG CAME HOME WITH US — THE NEXT NIGHT, MY 8-YEAR-OLD SON DISAPPEARED Last weekend, my son and I went to look at dogs. He’d been asking for one for months, and my wife finally agreed on the condition it was small and “presentable,” like a poodle or a Yorkie. At the shelter, though, he ignored every small, fluffy dog. Instead, he spotted this scrappy-looking mutt: big eyes, shaggy fur, patches of tan and black, and a crooked tail. He looked at me with a grin and said, “She needs us, Dad.” I knew I couldn’t say no. We brought her home, and he named her Daisy. He spent hours settling her in, brushing her fur, and giving her treats. My wife wasn’t thrilled, but I figured she’d warm up to Daisy with time. That night, I tucked our son in, said goodnight, and went to bed. Around 3 a.m., I woke up to an eerie silence. Something felt wrong. I went to his room—empty. His bed was a mess, window slightly open. My heart pounded as I called his name and searched the house, but he was gone. I ran back to wake my wife, panic rising. But when she looked at me, there was something unsettling in her eyes. It was GUILT. Continuation below⬇️