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.”

He left before Daniel made us get in the car, but he saw the state Daniel was in.” She hesitated.

“He called me once.

About a year after I moved in here.

He said he was sorry.

He said he’d been carrying something heavy and he didn’t know what to do with it.”

“Did he say what?”

“He said Daniel had called him from the hospital.

Before the police arrived.

He said Daniel told him there’d been an accident and to keep his mouth shut.” Ava’s voice was flat.

“Marcus hung up on him.

But he never came forward either.”

I sat back down at the table.

Marcus.

I had known Marcus for fifteen years.

He came to Christmas dinner.

He’d stood at Chloe’s graveside with his hat in his hands and wept.

And he had known.

“Do you still have his number?”

“Yes.”