Daniel drove behind me to my house. We arrived shortly after nine, and I immediately noticed that Mark’s truck wasn’t in the driveway.
He hadn’t come home yet.
I unlocked the front door, and Daniel followed me inside.
Everything looked painfully ordinary. The family photographs still lined the hallway. A wedding picture of Daniel and Jenna sat on the living room shelf, with both of them smiling beneath a shower of white rose petals.
I turned it facedown.
Daniel watched me do it.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
“Don’t be.”
He picked up the photograph, stared at it, then placed it in a drawer.
“I can’t look at her right now.”
We went into the kitchen, where I made coffee neither of us wanted.
Then we started documenting what we had.
I transferred the hotel video and photographs to a secure location Mark couldn’t access. Daniel saved his own copies. We preserved the messages I had discovered on our shared tablet and took screenshots showing dates and times.
