I called a family-law attorney that afternoon.

Her name was Rebecca Lin.

She advised documenting the hospital records, contacting the court about temporary custody, and making sure any future contact with Curtis occurred through legal channels.

“Your job is not to investigate the pool,” she told me.

“It’s to care for your son and give truthful information when asked.”

That distinction mattered.

I had spent the night imagining myself climbing back over the fence and finding the missing piece.

But there was a ten-year-old boy in a hospital bed who needed a father more than he needed a detective.