I wanted so desperately to believe him, because the alternative was too painful to bear.

After the funeral, Austin became our family’s greatest source of daily support and comfort.

He helped me work through the endless piles of legal paperwork, checked in on my grieving daughters, and stayed by my side whenever I felt like giving up.

Over the next few years, our close friendship slowly turned into a quiet romance.

For the first time since losing Brandon and my boys, I truly thought I might be learning how to live again.

Yet my youngest daughter, Daisy, never stopped asking questions about that night.

She was only six years old when her father and brothers were taken from us.

Now that she was eleven, she wanted to understand what had really happened on that dark mountain road.

Every time she brought it up, I struggled to give her real answers, because the memories were still far too painful to talk about.

Then, late last night, Daisy appeared right beside my bed, clutching the worn brown teddy bear she’d had since she was a baby.

“Mom, please wake up,” Daisy whispered, gently nudging my shoulder.

“I found something inside Barnaby.”

I sat up instantly, my pulse quickening in the dark room.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” I asked as I turned on the bedside lamp.