Nothing was proven.

That mattered.

There were innocent explanations — my mother could have learned of the photograph without taking it; a housekeeper could have misfiled it; an eighty-two-year-old man could have put it somewhere else himself.

Six years built on assumptions had already done enough damage.

I wasn’t going to build the next chapter the same way.

Kelsey got there at the same moment.

“We need facts,” she said.