She got there at four minutes past eleven. The side door off the garage was open — not unlocked, *open*, standing open onto the driveway, and she knew before she was out of the car.

“The kitchen light was on,” she said. “That’s all I’m going to describe, if that’s all right.”

“It’s all right,” Alan said, before I could say anything.

I want to record what she did in the order she did it, because I have thought about the order more than almost anything else in this. She checked that Emily was breathing.

She saw the phone on the floor by the island, unlocked, screen cracked, and she picked it up. She took a photograph of the room — the drawer, the overturned chair, the shirt with the missing sleeve, and Daniel’s phone, which was lying face up on the counter where he had left it, still lit.

She sent the photograph to the contact in Emily’s phone marked *Dad*.