Every Friday at 6 p.m. my daughter called me without fail, and the one week my phone stayed silent I drove to her house and heard a sound from upstairs that turned our quiet Tennessee life into something I still can’t fully talk about

maximum. Twenty‑five years instead of life without parole.”

That evening, Carter called me at home. I was in the kitchen making dinner for Amelia when my phone rang.

“Paul, Chelsea’s lawyer has offered a deal,” he said. “She’ll testify against Kevin if we agree to a sentence of twenty‑five years.”

“How much time would she actually serve?” I asked.

“She’d continue reading …