I nodded.
“Okay.”
When the call ended, I contacted the police.
I explained that my children had disclosed information suggesting evidence connected to their mother's fatal fall had been deliberately suppressed.
The dispatcher asked several questions.
I answered as accurately as I could.
I didn't claim to know that Vanessa had killed Claire.
I didn't know.
I only knew what my children had said, what Vanessa had admitted, and what was written on the papers in my hand.
The officer advised us on the immediate next steps.
I arranged for the children to stay with my sister while the situation was assessed.
Then I called her.
My younger sister, Angela, was forty-three, a pediatric nurse who had spent her entire life being more practical than I was.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she said, “Bring them here.”
I felt my throat tighten.
“Angela—”
“James. Bring the kids.”
I closed my eyes.
“Okay.”
She paused.
“And listen to me. Don't make Ethan repeat that story ten different times tonight.”
I looked toward my son.
He was still standing by the window.
“Why?”
“Because he's already frightened. Let the right people talk to him in the right setting. Right now, he needs to know he's safe.”
I swallowed.
“Thank you.”
“Just get here.”
When I ended the call, Nia looked up.
“Are we leaving?”
I nodded.
“For a little while.”
She looked toward the door.
“Is Vanessa coming?”
“No.”
For a moment, her shoulders relaxed.
Then she asked, “Are you going to believe us?”
The question hurt more than I expected.
I sat beside her.
“Nia, I believe you found those letters. I believe Ethan recorded something, and I heard Vanessa admit she made him delete it.”
Her eyes filled.
I continued.
“I don't know everything that happened yet. But I'm not going to ignore what you've told me.”
She nodded.
Then she leaned against me.
Ethan finally turned from the window.
For a moment, he stared at us.
Then he whispered, “Dad?”
I looked up.
“Yes?”
His face crumpled.
“I should've told you.”
I crossed the room.
I stopped in front of him.
“Ethan.”
He shook his head.
“I had two years.”
His voice broke.
“Every day I saw her sitting at the dinner table, and I kept thinking about it.”