my phone.
My hands shook as I opened it and scrolled back to the night in question.
11:47 p.m.
The video loaded.
Trevor entered the garage first, looking over his shoulder. Then Deborah followed, arms crossed.
“You sure about this, Mom?” Trevor asked.
Deborah stepped closer. Calm. Focused.
“Make it clean,” she said. “No fraying. It has to look like normal continue reading …