My son borrowed my husband’s laptop one quiet afternoon to study for his exams. It was one of those ordinary moments that felt so safe I barely looked up from the kitchen counter when he asked. He took the laptop to his room, thanked me, and closed the door. Life went on like normal—until it didn’t.
About an hour later, he came back out. His face was pale, his shoulders stiff, the way they get when a child knows something is wrong but doesn’t have the words for it yet.“Mom,” he said quietly, holding the laptop like it weighed a hundred pounds. “I accidentally stumbled upon a folder of… weird photos on Dad’s laptop. I think you should see this.”
