She looked at the phone. Her eyes had filled.
“Mom, Dad sent me a video the night before they left. He asked me not to show it to you.”
I went completely still.“What video?”
“I was six.” She started crying softly, the kind of crying that comes from somewhere deep that has been waiting for permission. “I didn’t understand it. He texted me not to show you until ten years had passed. And then they didn’t come back, and I forgot about the phone. I forgot it was even in that box.”
She held it out to me. “He said you might hate him when you saw it.”I took the phone.