Something acidic rose in the back of my throat, nearly choking me.

I’d done the same thing to another family. Taken their daughter away in an accident. That sick, bile-filled feeling was part of my DNA.

I couldn’t argue with the disembodied voice asking who I was to judge for keeping secrets, so I tuned it out as I had so many other times, and tried to find something else, some other piece of relevant information in Jennifer’s phone. Even though searching through another person’s—a dead person’s—most private messages made me feel like one of the lowest forms of life. I’d been in her bedroom after she died. I’d seen her dead body. Now I was combing through her private messages, things never meant to be seen by anyone but her.

I suddenly remembered Blake mentioning Jennifer having another guy in her life, someone she had started dating recently after she and Blake broke up, someone else who might be a suspect in her death. So I exited the message stream between Blake and Jennifer and tried to find someone else, someone who might have been more than a friend.

I saw a lot of names. A few of the names made a roiling nausea rise in the pit of my stomach.

Mom. Dad. Uncle Jake.

I’d managed not to think of this unpleasant truth until it stared me in the face, but Jennifer had a life. She had family, friends. Maybe siblings or nieces and nephews. Those people had perhaps just been informed of her death, a grim-faced detective delivering the news in a matter-of-fact voice. A mother crumpling to the floor. A father punching a wall in the rage of grief.

Was I just going to stand by, knowing what I knew, and not say anything?

I decided I had to come clean in the morning. I’d tell Amanda everything. And then I’d call the police.

What choice did I have?

My eyes were tired and bleary. My body felt worn out from the late hour and from the night of craziness. It seemed hard to believe I’d lain in our bed and not been able to sleep. If I went up there again and settled in next to Amanda, I imagined myself sleeping for two days straight.

I rubbed my eyes. My vision cleared, and I caught another name and recent messages. Kyle.

Kyle. A guy? The other guy?

I skimmed their messages and couldn’t deny he sounded like a boyfriend. A jealous boyfriend.

Just two weeks earlier:

Kyle: I don’t care. We can be together.

Jennifer: I’m working on it.

Kyle: So it’s over with Blake?

Jennifer: It really is . . .

And then the rest of the messages came from Kyle. With no response from Jennifer.

Well?

Is it really over?

Why were you texting him?

Why aren’t you answering me?

And finally, just one day earlier: