He called a car to take me to my parents.

I put the account-security reference number in my bag and went.

At their house, my father had set one of my old blankets on the guest bed.

My mother asked whether the room was warm enough.

Neither asked what it felt like to watch Brenda hand over the flash drive.

I was grateful to have one conversation that did not need an answer to that question.

PART 4 — What My Grandfather Had Written