Later, an officer came with me to the guest room.

I knew my mother kept a spare key to the nightstand in the master closet.

I unlocked the drawer.

Inside, on a pile of old receipts, was an old smartphone — my previous phone, which I had wiped and given her months ago when hers broke.

Because it was an old device still linked to my family cloud account, I was able, that evening, with my attorney beside me, to open the backup from my laptop.

There were more than forty recordings.