A boy visits his twin brother’s grave but doesn’t come back home even by 11 p.m.

It was every parent's worst fear realized when the Wesenberg family lost their young son, Ted, on a quiet Sunday afternoon. The tragedy unfolded in the one place meant to be a sanctuary for them—where safety should have been a given, yet everything went terribly wrong.

The heartbreaking discovery was made when the Wesenbergs found Ted lifeless in their backyard swimming pool. His small body floated motionlessly like an inflatable raft, and Paul Wesenberg immediately plunged into the water in a desperate attempt to save him. Unfortunately, his efforts were in vain—no amount of resuscitation nor the emergency medical team he had summoned could bring Ted back.

Linda Wesenberg was shattered beyond words. She sat motionless at her son’s funeral, her complexion drained of color, mirroring the stillness of the child she mourned. As the days turned into a week without Ted’s presence in their home, the atmosphere grew tense, brutal even, transforming their once-peaceful abode into a place of relentless conflict—so much so that their younger son, Clark, found it unbearable.

Paul and Linda struggled to navigate their overwhelming grief, their sorrow manifesting in constant arguments. Every night, Clark lay in bed, listening to the angry voices spilling from his parents' room. His mother would inevitably break down in tears, and his father, consumed by his own anguish, would direct blame at her. Linda, in turn, would retaliate, pointing fingers at Paul.

Curled beneath his blanket, clutching his teddy bear for comfort, Clark sobbed quietly. He longed for the days when Ted was still with them, when their parents rarely fought, and when his mother would tuck him in at night, showering him with warm kisses. Those tender moments had vanished. She no longer made breakfast, choosing instead to remain in bed, claiming illness. Paul had taken over meal preparation, his cooking efforts paling in comparison to Linda’s.

Clark missed his brother with a painful intensity. He wished he could be wherever Ted was, as it seemed his parents had forgotten about the son who was still alive, too preoccupied with blaming each other for the one they had lost.

One evening, their household reached a breaking point. Once again, his parents’ voices filled the air with hostility. Unable to endure it any longer, Clark burst into their room. “Mom! Dad! Please stop!” he pleaded, his small frame trembling. “I hate it when you fight!”

Linda turned to Paul with bitterness in her voice. “See, Paul? I lost Ted because of you, and now Clark resents you too!”

“Oh, really, Linda?” Paul retorted. “Do you think he’s any fonder of you?”

Lost in their quarrel, they failed to notice when Clark quietly left the room. His home no longer felt like home—it was filled with tears and yelling. He whispered through his tears, “I hate you both... I don’t want to be here anymore. I’m going to find Ted because he was the only one who loved me.”

Without hesitation, Clark dashed outside, pausing only to pluck a handful of dahlias from the garden he and Ted once tended together. He made his way to the cemetery just a few blocks away, where Ted rested.

Meanwhile, inside the house, the argument continued. Paul glared at Linda. “Look at what you’ve done. You made him cry again. Happy now?”

“I made him cry?” she spat back. “You always make me the villain here!”

Neither of them realized that their son had vanished.

At the cemetery, Clark knelt by Ted’s gravestone, running his small fingers over the inscription: *In Loving Memory of Ted Wesenberg.* He sobbed uncontrollably. “I miss you so much, Ted. Please ask the angels to send you back.”

Clark poured out his heart, telling Ted how their parents were constantly at odds, how they no longer showed him love, and how lonely he felt. He lamented the burnt breakfasts, the abandoned flower bed, and the emptiness in his life.

Engrossed in his sorrow, he lost track of time. The cemetery had grown eerily silent, the sky darkening into an ink-black canopy. Yet, he remained, feeling more at peace here than he had in his own home.

Suddenly, the crunch of dried leaves behind him broke the stillness. Clark stiffened, his pulse racing. Who could be here at this hour? As the rustling grew louder, he turned to flee but found himself surrounded. A group of figures in black robes approached, their faces hidden beneath hoods, torches flickering ominously in their hands.

“Well, look at this,” one of them sneered. “A little intruder in our domain.”

Clark’s heart pounded in terror. “Who… who are you? Please let me go!”

Just when fear threatened to consume him, a commanding voice echoed through the night. “Chad, enough! How many times do I have to tell you and your foolish friends to stop loitering in my graveyard, dressed like some ridiculous cult?”

A tall, older man stepped forward, exuding authority. Clark’s eyes widened as he took in the stern yet composed figure.

“Oh, come on, Mr. Bowen,” one of the boys grumbled, pulling back his hood. “Where else are we supposed to perform our rituals if not here?”

“How about focusing on your studies instead of burning your terrible report cards?” Mr. Bowen shot back. “Now, get lost before I inform your parents about your smoking habit.”

The teens scrambled away, and Mr. Bowen turned to Clark. “Come on, kid. Let’s get you someplace safe.”

Back in his small cabin near the cemetery, he offered Clark a warm drink. “What were you doing out there so late?”

Clark, sensing kindness in the older man, poured out his troubles. Mr. Bowen listened patiently before offering a gentle reply. “You’re not alone in this pain, son. I lost my wife and child in a plane crash. I know what it’s like to grieve. But your parents still love you—they’re just lost in their sorrow.”

Meanwhile, at home, Linda was frantic. It had been hours since Paul had stormed out. Then, with a sudden realization, her heart nearly stopped. “Where’s Clark?”

She searched the house desperately before it hit her—Clark had mentioned going to see Ted. “The cemetery!”

She grabbed her keys and bolted out the door, only to spot Paul’s car. “Clark’s missing!” she gasped. “We need to check the cemetery!”

Rushing there, they stumbled upon the group of boys in robes and confronted them. One reluctantly admitted, “Your son? Mr. Bowen took him.”

Arriving at the caretaker’s cottage, they peered through the window and saw Clark speaking to Mr. Bowen, pouring his heart out. Tears streamed down Linda’s face as she listened. When she could bear it no longer, she rushed inside and enveloped her son in a tearful embrace.

Paul extended his hand to Mr. Bowen, gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you… for everything.”

Over time, the Wesenbergs mended. Mr. Bowen became a cherished friend, and though Ted’s absence remained a wound in their hearts, they learned to heal. Through their pain, they rediscovered love for the family still with them.