Gwen made one last desperate grab for it, and David simply turned his shoulder, blocking her without effort, and began to scroll through the images on the little screen.

I watched my husband’s face as he went through them, one frame at a time, and I watched his jaw clench tighter and tighter, and his knuckles go white against the black body of the camera, and I did not need to see the photographs myself to know that my son had been telling the truth, all of it, every word.

Whatever David was looking at, it was leaving no room for doubt.

And when he finally looked up, from the camera to my sister, his face held an expression I had never seen him direct at anyone, least of all family: pure, cold disgust.