As she spoke, fragments returned.
Rain against my windshield.
A blue folder on the passenger seat.
Preston standing beside my car, speaking in that patient voice he adopted whenever he wanted me to question my judgment.
He’d claimed his father was experiencing temporary financial difficulties and involving outsiders would humiliate the family.
I remembered desperately wanting to believe him.
That realization hurt most.
Rebecca explained that I’d hidden the copied records before Preston could retrieve them, though she never knew exactly where I’d placed everything.
She only remembered me mentioning Lily’s old kindergarten backpack and an appointment notebook containing a reminder.
Jonathan arranged for police to inspect those items with appropriate authorization.
That evening, I watched through a secure video connection from my hospital room as an officer opened the storage basket beneath our staircase.
Inside were old gift-wrapping supplies, notebooks, a worn stuffed rabbit, and Lily’s faded purple backpack.
