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.”

*Mom.

If something happens tonight, it wasn’t Ava’s fault.

Daniel has been lying to you.

I don’t know how to tell you what I know.

I’m scared.

I love you.

— C*

The front door handle moved.

I folded the note and pushed it into my cardigan pocket in one motion.

Ava was already on her feet, the jacket bundled behind her back.

Daniel stepped inside.

He was still in his work clothes.

He looked at me first, then at Ava, then back at me.

“Forgot my phone,” he said.

Neither of us spoke.

He crossed to the kitchen counter, picked up his phone, and stood there for a moment too long.

His eyes moved to the broken glass I hadn’t yet cleaned from the floor.

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