“Let’s retrace our steps,” the mall cop suggested, his voice taking on an authoritative edge as he tried to regain control of the situation. Together, we guided the boy back toward the theater. The evening air was cooling rapidly, and I noticed the goosebumps rising on his arms.

As we approached the theater lobby, I crouched down to his level again. “Can you tell me more about your ‘other dad’?” I asked softly, hoping to coax more information from him. “The one who doesn’t talk with his mouth?”

The boy thought for a moment, then nodded. “He talks in my head,” he explained, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

“What does he say?” I pressed, my curiosity piqued.

“He says to wait,” the child replied, looking up at me with wide, earnest eyes. “He says someone will come.”