Daniel flicked to the next photo. A school report sat on their dining table. Across the top in Mrs. Kowalick’s flowery handwriting was Milly’s name, but the usual proud display of As didn’t trail down the page. Instead, he saw a dirty flood of disappointing Ds and an occasional F. He was sure he hadn’t seen this. He would remember grades this bad. That explained the phone call from the teacher, but why would Milly take a photo of this? Then a ray of revelation. She had reached out. She couldn’t put the struggle into words, and this was the only way she could raise it with them. Somewhat relieved, Daniel’s pace picked up. He held photos that wouldn’t cause confrontation; they would provide the starting point for a solution.

Daniel skidded to a stop at the next photo. Kelly’s suitcase sat next to their front door, and on it rested what looked like a letter or an invoice. A logo with a flash of purple was like the one on the bank statement in the photo he’d pulled from Gramps’s recliner.

What else was Milly telling him through her anonymous photography?

Daniel’s breath deserted him as he shuffled the final photo to the front. On his study desk sat a copy of No Secrets, his name again erased from the cover.

In its place, two initials.

His own.

Engraved on two cuff links.

Fifteen

The unforgiving plastic of Kelly’s seat creaked as she shifted under the harsh fluorescence from overhead and a searchlight stare from Milly’s teacher. Next time Milly said school wasn’t much fun, she would agree.

The empty classroom filled with the slow tick of an aging second hand under the dusty face of the wall clock. A discordant player in a digital age.

A sixtysomething woman wrapped in a gray cardigan, her hair losing the battle against volume and control, tapped an impatient pencil on the desk as she glared over her half-moon glasses.

Kelly mimed taking out earbuds. Milly complied with a frown.

Mrs. Kowalick continued to tap. “I am surprised you waited for my call before coming in to talk about Milly.”

Kelly looked across at her daughter, who looked away and stared out the window. “What do you mean?”

“The downward trend in Milly’s grades is reflected in her report.”

“Mrs. Kowalick, we haven’t yet seen it.”

Milly stared harder out the window.

The pencil froze mid-tap. “I see. Milly’s work has always been of the highest standard—that’s why we offered her the scholarship in the first place—but she is failing.”

The chair next to Kelly creaked as Daniel threw an arm around Milly’s shoulder. “Well?”

Kelly felt the outnumbering and stepped in. “Milly is coming to an age when things are changing and there’s extra pressure on her.”