An ear-splitting wail echoed through the house as Walter entered from the garage. The sound cut straight through him—sharp, desperate, relentless. In the kitchen, his wife Abby sat slumped at the table, her face streaked with tears. One look told him Logan’s cries had pushed her to the edge.

“Oh, honey,” Walter said softly, wrapping his arms around her from behind. “How long has he been crying like that?”

“I’ve tried everything, Walter!” Abby sobbed. “He’s been fed, changed, bathed, burped—I even took his temperature! I don’t know what to do anymore. He just won’t stop crying!”

Becoming parents a month ago had turned their lives upside down. Sleepless nights, constant worry, and an overwhelming sense of responsibility filled every day. But nothing unsettled Walter more than Logan’s cries. They stirred something primal in him—a fear he couldn’t shake.

“Come on,” he said gently. “We’ll figure this out together.”

They walked down the hall to Logan’s room. Walter forced a reassuring smile as he approached the crib, expecting to find their son red-faced and flailing.

Instead, the crib was empty.

In its place sat a small dictaphone and a folded note.

Confused, Walter reached out and pressed the stop button. Instantly, Logan’s crying ceased.

“What did you do?” Abby asked from behind him.

Walter didn’t answer. His eyes were locked on the note in his trembling hand. He felt the room spin as Abby snatched it away and read aloud, her voice breaking with every word.

“I warned you that you’d regret being rude to me.

If you want to see your baby again, leave $200,000 in the luggage storage lockers near the pier.

If you go to the police, you’ll never see him again.”

“Oh my God…” Abby gasped. “What does this mean? Were you rude to someone? Was I? Who would kidnap Logan?”

Walter’s mind raced back to the maternity hospital. He remembered the janitor he’d lashed out at—the man whose broom he’d tripped over while carrying a bear-shaped flower pot for Abby. The pot shattered, and so did Walter’s temper.

“You’ll regret it,” the janitor had warned.

“We have to go to the police,” Walter said firmly. “It has to be him.”

“The note says we can’t!” Abby cried. “If we go to the police, we’ll never see Logan again. We should just pay!”

“We don’t know he’ll give Logan back,” Walter argued. “And he’s just a janitor. He wouldn’t know if we went to the police. They can arrest him and bring our son home.”

Abby hesitated, then nodded.

They parked outside the police station—but before they could get out, Walter’s phone buzzed.

This is your first and last warning. If you enter that police station, your kid’s going into the bay. Get the money.

Abby nearly fainted.

There were too many people around to spot anyone watching them. Terrified, Walter abandoned the plan to go inside. The only option left was to play along.

He tried to drive to the bank, but Abby grew violently ill. She vomited once, then again, barely able to sit upright.

“I need to take you home first,” Walter said, guilt flooding his chest. “Please don’t hate me.”

“Fine,” Abby whispered through tears. “But Walter… does that kidnapper even know how to take care of a newborn?”

That question haunted him all the way home—and all the way to the bank afterward.

Walter withdrew the money, drove to the pier, and placed it inside the designated locker. He stayed nearby, heart pounding, watching the crowd.

Soon enough, he spotted the janitor. The man opened the locker and removed the bag—but before Walter could confront him, a tourist group blocked his view. By the time they passed, the janitor was gone.

Moments later, Walter saw him crossing the street with the bag. He followed.

The man wound through streets, restaurants, and museums before entering a bus station and stopping at another set of lockers. He placed the bag inside.

Walter slammed him against the lockers.

“Where is my son?” he roared. “I did everything you asked!”

“I swear, I don’t know!” the man cried. “Someone paid me $100 to move the bag. I’ve got kids of my own—I’d never hurt a child!”

Walter opened the locker. It was empty.

Someone had cut a hole through the back.

Defeated, Walter returned home—only to find Abby gone. Her clothes, toiletries, even her hand lotion had vanished.

And suddenly, the truth hit him like a punch to the chest.

Abby hadn’t been kidnapped.

She was the kidnapper.

The only comfort Walter had was knowing the ransom money was fake.

He rushed to the maternity hospital and bribed a doctor to make a phone call.

When Abby arrived later that day with Logan—escorted by Walter’s brother James—the police were waiting.

Abby screamed. James looked at the floor.

Walter held his son again, relief flooding through him—until Abby spat one final cruelty.

“Logan isn’t even yours!”

Walter froze. Then he straightened.

“I’ll still raise him,” he said. “And I’ll love him. That’s more than you ever did.”

He walked away with his son in his arms, leaving betrayal behind—and choosing love, no matter the cost.