I used to live in NYC with my wife and son. My wife worked from home, and I worked in the city, so I would take my son to school every morning and walk to the bus stop to head to work afterward.

There was a homeless man on the way, and he would say good morning to everyone that walked by. Most people just ignored him—probably because he was always chewing on a clove of garlic—but because my mother raised me to be respectful, I always said good morning back.

My son was taken from his school one year ago. The school said he never returned to class after lunch, and when they couldn’t find him on the grounds, they called the police and then me.

Every staff member of the school was interviewed and cleared, except for the janitor. We were told that he left early that day and all attempts to locate him had failed.

I took some time off from work to be with my wife, but after a few days, she said I should go back to work instead of staying home and being depressed all the time and I agreed.

Out of habit, I went to my son’s school first and just felt heartbroken. There had been no new leads and I didn’t know if I would ever see him again.

Despite how I felt, I decided to still go to work.

On the walk to the bus, I saw the homeless man and he stopped me. He said he’d noticed that I hadn’t passed through the last few mornings and asked me if everything was okay. I told him what happened, and he said not to worry and that everything would be okay. I knew things weren’t going to be, but his words were somewhat comforting. He even offered me a clove of garlic and I respectfully declined.

I thanked him for his kind words and continued to work.

I remember it being hard to get through the day, but somehow, I managed to do it.

When I got home that night, my son was sitting on the couch watching cartoons on Netflix and there was a large Yeti cooler by his dangling feet.

I called out for my wife, but she didn’t answer.

I called her phone, and I heard it ringing.

I opened the cooler and there, formed into two perfect obtuse triangles, were the bodies of my wife and the missing janitor. Stuffed inside their mouths were several cloves of garlic and a note that said: thank you for saying good morning.

I called the police and we moved to New Hampshire the following week.

I try to teach my son to be kind and respectful to those less fortunate than him, so when I saw a familiar face saying good morning to people as they passed while chewing on a clove of garlic, I told my son to say good morning and thank you.