I’d asked for updates, but not the written log Jenna and I had kept beside the changing table.

“I also need your messages,” the detective said.

“Please don’t delete anything, even if it embarrasses you.”

I opened my phone with shaking hands.

The last message I’d sent my mother read: Please make sure Jenna drinks water and that Wesley is fed regularly.

Love you.

Her reply was a single thumbs-up.

PART 5