Her jaw tightened. “Because evidence was mishandled. Because the sheriff at the time was friends with Michael. Because sometimes grief gets filed faster than doubt.”

I wanted to hate her for that. But she looked like she’d hated herself first.

The technician secured the flash drive. It took forty minutes to access the files safely. While we waited, Sophie pressed against my side and Bennett asked gentle questions.

Had Michael stayed close after the disappearance?

Too close. He brought groceries. Fixed my porch light. Handled Daniel’s life insurance paperwork — pushed it through, in fact, faster than I’d wanted, at a time when I still could not say the word *dead* out loud.

Four hundred and twelve thousand dollars, paid out in the second year, which kept a roof over my daughter and which I would not think about properly for another five years.