My Granddaughter Called Me At 2 A.m. From An Intake Office

had gone back to his house. Not the home he had shared with Victoria, but a sterile hotel room downtown. He needed to sort through the wreckage of his life without dragging Emma back into it.

He called me that night, his voice strained. The police had let him collect a few of Emma’s things.

“I found her journal, Dad,” he said quietly.

“Did you read it?continue reading …