A few days later, she sent me a photograph of Gerald leaning over an open car hood, grinning at something outside the frame.

I taped it inside my notebook, opposite Elena’s message.

Not because I had known him, but because I wanted to remember that the investigation wasn’t simply about proving what had been done to me.

It was also about restoring a human story to someone who could no longer speak.

I wrote beneath the photograph: Gerald Nash.

Mechanic.

Brother.

A man who deserved more mornings.