Every morning at exactly 7:12 a.m., Officer Daniel Reyes saw her.
She stood on the same cracked sidewalk near Maple and 4th, wrapped in a faded gray coat no matter the weather, lifting one thin arm as patrol cars rolled past. She never stepped into the street. Never shouted. Just waved, patiently, like she was waiting for someone who never arrived.
At first, Reyes thought she was lonely. The kind of elderly woman who missed her husband, her children, or a time when mornings meant something. He waved back once. Then again the next day. Eventually, the wave started to feel wrong. Too deliberate. Too desperate.
On Thursday, rain slicked the streets and soaked through her coat. Still, she stood there. Still, she waved.
Reyes pulled over.
“Ma’am,” he said gently, stepping out into the drizzle. “Do you need help?”
Her eyes filled instantly. “You finally stopped,” she whispered.
She didn’t explain much in the car. Just gave directions in a trembling voice. Three turns. A narrow alley. A house sagging under its own weight.
Inside, the smell hit first. Then the silence. Then the bedroom door.
That was where they found her son.
Alive. Barely.
