Just under it was my mother’s cell number, listed as the sender.

“Read the time on the second page,” Mark said.

I turned the page over.

The clock on the wall said eleven o’clock.

The digital timestamp on my mother’s message read seven fifty-two in the morning.

That was three whole minutes before I heard the metal crash downstairs.

I remembered exactly where I’d been at seven fifty-two.

I was standing at the sink in the upstairs bathroom.