I raised my grandson for 10 years-then his mother took him away. Years later, he returned with something in his hands that changed everything

“I think she took everything,” my grandson Toby sobbed, his voice cracking as he sat at my kitchen table in Fort Wayne, Indiana.

He was eighteen now. His cheeks were hollow, his hands rough and red from long shifts in a warehouse, and he no longer resembled the bright twelve-year-old boy who had once been taken from this house.