The nurse’s voice was too calm. That was the first red flag. Panic shakes people. Calm like that only shows up when something is very wrong.
“Mr. Jensen,” she said evenly. “Your son, Leo, is in my office. You need to come right now.”
By the time I reached the school, I was operating on instinct. Leo sat in a small plastic chair, trembling, his left eye already swelling into a dark bruise. His tiny hands clutched his backpack like a shield.
I knelt down. “Hey, buddy. What happened?”
He hesitated, voice trembling. “Dad… I went home for lunch. Mom was with Uncle Steve. I tried to leave, but he… he pushed me. Locked me in my room. I jumped out the window.”
He looked down. “They’re still there.”
For a second, the world went still.
My wife. My brother. And my son in the middle.
The betrayal should have burned hot. Instead, it froze me—pure, surgical clarity. In my old life, before the software job, I was trained to think under pressure. My pulse didn’t spike. My breathing didn’t change. I just… switched on.
He had touched my son. That was his first mistake.
His second was assuming I was still the man who had traded a uniform for a desk job.