“The last entry was edited three times,” he said.

“He started it, stopped, came back, and rewrote it.

It looks like he erased a few lines.”

“Can you get back what he erased?”

He shook his head.

“Not off this device.

I’m sorry.”

I sat in the parking lot afterward and thought about what an eight-year-old had chosen not to tell me, even in a message he knew I would never receive.