Charlie's cruiser pulled into the driveway at 5:47, same as always. But this time, the passenger door opened before the engine even cut.

You'd seen pictures. Every summer, two weeks, Renee would send a disposable camera back with Bella, filled with shots of her in Arizona—tan, smiling, different.

The girl who climbed out of the cruiser wasn't that girl.

The front door swung open, letting in a gust of wet air.