The silence was total as Davis read aloud, her voice tight.

“Tuesday, 3:00 AM. Mom locked the pantry again. Mateo was crying from hunger pains. I had to pry the hinge off the back door just to get to the emergency peanut butter in the garage.

She told me yesterday that if I tell my teachers I’m tired, she’ll tell them I’m on drugs. My wrists still have bruises from where she pinned me against the sink.”

Davis zoomed in on the photo. Then she looked down at the physical notebook in her hands. She flipped to the back, matching the ink, the indentation of the pen, the exact curve of the handwriting.

She held up the forged page Lydia had brought in.

“The handwriting in this book is a very good forgery, Mrs. Miller. But you pressed too hard. And you didn’t realize the original pages had water damage from spilled formula.”