“Complicated?” I stepped closer, my voice rising despite my best efforts to keep it calm. “You are sleeping in a parking lot. That is not ‘complicated,’ Michael. That is a catastrophe.”

In the back seat, the movement stirred the boys. Nathan sat up, rubbing his eyes with a fist. He blinked, focusing on me through the open door.

“Grandpa?”

His small, sleepy voice broke something profound inside my chest. It wasn’t just heartbreak; it was a call to arms.

“Hey, buddy,” I said, forcing a smile that felt like it might crack my face. I reached in and squeezed his foot through the blanket. “Why don’t you and Oliver come with Grandpa to get some breakfast? Your dad and I need to talk.”

Michael looked up then, tears brimming in his red-rimmed eyes. He looked thin—gaunt, even. The vibrancy I associated with my son was gone, extinguished.

“Okay,” Michael whispered. “Okay.”

As we walked toward the terminal, the boys holding my hands, I looked back at the car. It wasn’t just a vehicle anymore. It was a tomb where my son’s life had been buried. I swore to myself, right then and there, that I would dig him out, no matter whose hands I had to dirty to do it.