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

on my shoulder.

“Two people,” he murmured. “Your son‑in‑law and a woman. We need to identify her.”

I forced myself to think.

“Chelsea,” I said hoarsely. “Kevin mentioned someone named Chelsea once. An ex. He said it was over. Last name Parker, I think. Chelsea Parker. Allison once said Kevin acted strange whenever she came up.”

Carter made a note.

“We’ll continue reading …