Mrs. Donnelly swiped to another morning.
This time Brian spread Micah’s dinosaur blanket across the concrete like someone had brought it out to comfort him overnight.
In another clip, he arranged lunch bags near the garage entrance.
My voice came out hollow.
“The kids never brought him those.”
“No,” Alan said quietly behind me. “Look at the timestamps. They were asleep.”
The realization hit me slowly and horribly.
“He used their things because he couldn’t use them.”
Mrs. Donnelly nodded.
“He kept taking photos from different angles. Sometimes he’d rearrange everything and start again.”
On screen, Brian shifted expressions over and over.
Lonely father.
Abandoned father.
Heartbroken father sleeping outside for his children.
I walked straight into the garage.
Under the couch cushions I found Tyra’s backpack.
Micah’s sneaker was hidden behind storage bins.
The dinosaur blanket sat folded neatly beside old Christmas decorations.
Alan stood silently in the doorway.
“He planned this,” he said quietly.
I held Micah’s tiny shoe in my hand and felt something inside me finally go cold.
“He didn’t come here for shelter,” I whispered. “He came here for evidence.”