“Why?”
She looked at the screen.
“I don’t want the worst thing Mom ever did to be the reason I keep my first phone forever.”
Andre smiled sadly.
“Fair.”
They sat together.
Ava selected the album.
Delete.
The phone asked:
Delete 43 photos?
Ava pressed yes.
Gone.
Andre felt unexpectedly emotional.
Ava looked at him.
“Are you mad?”
“No.”
“You look mad.”
“I’m old.”
“That’s not an emotion.”
“It becomes one.”
She laughed.
Then opened the camera.
“Picture.”
Andre groaned.
Ava leaned into him.
They took a terrible selfie.
His eyes half closed.
Her hair everywhere.
She saved it.
“There.”
“Better memory.”
Andre nodded.
“Yes.”
Years later, when people asked Andre what warning sign he missed, they expected one answer.
Weight loss.
Silence.
Travel.
The locked pantry.
The forged form.
The strange trust reimbursements.
Those mattered.
But Andre eventually believed the first warning happened much earlier.
The first warning was that Nia had become too easy.
She stopped asking for things.
Stopped arguing.
Stopped complaining when plans changed.
Stopped calling during his trips because she “didn’t want to bother him.”
Andre interpreted maturity where there had actually been withdrawal.
That lesson changed how he parented Caleb and Ava too.
When Caleb became sixteen and argumentative, Andre secretly felt relieved.
The boy slammed doors.
Questioned rules.
Complained about curfews.
Andre sometimes stood in the hallway after an argument and smiled.
Caleb once caught him.
“Why are you smiling?”
“I like that you’re mad at me.”
“That is weird.”
“I know.”
“Can I stay out until midnight?”
“No.”
“I hate this family.”
Andre smiled wider.
“Beautiful communication.”
Caleb called him insane.
Andre accepted it.
Ava remained observant.
Always had been.
At seventeen, she told Andre she planned to study journalism.
He laughed.
“Of course.”
“What does that mean?”
“You started documenting wrongdoing at eight.”
Ava groaned.
“We don’t talk about that.”
“Sorry.”
She looked at him.
“Actually.”
“What?”
“Maybe we can.”
Andre waited.
Ava continued.
“I used to think if I hadn’t taken the pictures, none of you would know.”
“Maybe not that night.”
“That scares me.”
Andre nodded.
“Me too.”
“What if another kid doesn’t have a phone?”
Andre had no comforting answer.
So he told the truth.
“Then adults have to get better at asking.”
Ava nodded.
“That’s why I want journalism.”
Andre smiled.
“Then ask better questions.”
When Andre turned fifty, all three children organized a dinner.
Nia was twenty-two.