I adopted the 16-year-old girl involved in my only daughter’s death — five years later, she whispered through tears, “Everything you know about that night is a lie.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know him.” She pressed both hands flat on the table.

“He came back for his phone.

But he was watching my face the whole time he was in here.

That’s what he does.

He watches.”

I pulled the note from my pocket and read it again.

The words didn’t change.

*Daniel has been lying to you.*

“Ava.” I set the note on the table between us.

“I need you to tell me everything.

From the beginning.

All of it.”

She looked at the door once more.

Then she looked at me.

“That night,” she said, “Daniel had been drinking.

Not a little.

A lot.

Chloe called me from upstairs while you were out.

She was whispering.

She said he’d been acting strange all week and she was scared to be alone with him.