I caught her vaping under the no-smoking sign, right next to the baby pool.

And I caught her hugging that personal trainer from the resort behind the towel hut.

It was two in the morning.

The porch light was on, so the pictures came out really clear.”

I want to say something about my son, here, because it matters to understanding what happened.

Liam had not been spying.

He had not set out to catch anyone at anything.

He was a ten-year-old boy who loved his new camera and had spent a vacation photographing everything in sight, eight hundred frames of pelicans and waves and sandcastles and his family, and somewhere in those eight hundred frames, because his aunt had assumed a child with a camera was not really seeing anything, he had accidentally, innocently, documented the truth.