If it wasn’t Laura, then perhaps another family had been left with unanswered questions.

The thought widened the damage beyond our house, our money, and our grief.

Miriam called that afternoon with a practical request: gather a bedroom for Emma, familiar clothing, school information, and names of adults who could support her, should a temporary placement become necessary.

Nothing was guaranteed.

She was preparing for an outcome, not promising one.

I had kept Laura’s childhood room untouched for years.

It was full of faded horse posters and an old bookcase, with a quilt Eleanor had sewn folded across the bed.