Heather was sitting on a metal folding chair near the desk, holding her phone in both hands while her oldest, Maddie, drew on the floor with purple crayons.

I held out my phone, showing her the email from Dr.

Bennett dated three weeks earlier.

“Read the timestamp,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

“October twelfth at eight in the morning.”

Heather squinted at the bright screen, her mouth falling slightly open as her fingers tightened around her purse strap.

“That was three weeks ago,” Heather said, looking up at me.

“Before you and Seth even sent out the final wedding program.”