The silence was broken by the knock. Linda’s hands were shaking; she was unable to take her eyes off her phone and ignored the warning. Unaware, her son Max was sitting at the kitchen table swinging his sneakers.
The sun burnt brightly, normally, and heavily outside. Shadows were sharper inside. “Mom, is there a problem?” Max asked in a quiet voice. “We believe your child’s school is involved in a police matter.” Linda’s lips tightened as the words from the screen raced through her mind.
The officer spoke in a soft yet firm tone. “We must inquire about Mr. Mchuan.” Linda’s knees faltered. The instructor who gave Max his misplaced jacket back while grinning at each pickup. The floor beneath her was shaky.
Max gripped her hand tightly. “Mom, he advised us to exercise caution when using the internet. ‘It’s risky,’ he said. The silence was broken by his brief words, which were bitterly innocent. Her heart ached for what was hidden behind closed doors and screens, what she was unable to see.
Days became hazy. Linda discovered things that she had never thought were possible. Stories of children’s faces twisted and ruined, cruel lies created by machines, and fake pictures. Every night, she felt the weight of relief and fear as she held Max close.
Parents sobbed silently in court. “One hundred thirty-five years,” the judge said in a clear voice. However, Linda’s heart pounded more for questions than for justice—how many more doors might conceal this threat? She assured Max that he was safe while whispering into his ear. Outside, however, things had changed. Linda was aware that she would be observing every shadow on a daily basis.