I stared at the black screen.

Sophie opened another folder.

“Dad’s old phone was still connected to the same account as the replacement one, Mom.”

She showed me a saved location.

A small outdoor-supply store miles from Daniel’s usual route to the marina.

Timestamp: Sunday morning.

The day they disappeared.

“Why would he go there?”

Sophie shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

So we went.

—

An older employee studied the last photograph I’d taken in our driveway.

He stared at the boys.

Then pointed.

“These three.”

My heart jumped.

“You remember them?”

“Hard not to,” he said. “They argued for ten minutes over whistle colors.”

“Whistles?”

“Orange emergency whistles. Your husband bought one for each boy.”

That sounded exactly like Daniel.

Then the man added, “And another adult flotation vest.”

I frowned.

“He already had one.”

The employee shrugged.

“Said his brother might meet them.”

For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

—

I drove straight to Dean’s house.

He opened the door and took one look at my face.

“What happened, Andrea?”

I held up Daniel’s old phone.

Dean looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“You were supposed to go.”

Silence.

His eyes dropped to the phone.

“I changed my mind Sunday morning,” he finally whispered. “I was driving toward the lake when emergency vehicles passed me.”

I held my breath.

Dean’s eyes filled.

“I got there after the search started.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What would it have changed?”

“I deserved to know, Dean.”

He looked down.

“I’ve spent six years thinking if I’d been on that boat, maybe there would’ve been another adult,” he admitted. “Maybe I could’ve done something.”

“And you decided I couldn’t handle that?” I shot back.

“I thought you had enough, Andrea.”

I looked him straight in the eye.

“You didn’t get to decide what I could carry.”

He flinched.

Then I told him about the extra flotation vest.

Dean looked up.

“He bought that for me?”

“Apparently.”

His face crumpled.

“I never even used it.”

That became our next question.

If Dean never boarded the boat, where had the extra vest gone?

—

A retired search coordinator helped us review the old recovery inventory.

Most of the gear had been cataloged without anyone knowing exactly what Daniel had packed.

Now we did.

The numbers did not match.

The spare adult flotation vest was missing.

So was one orange whistle.

The coordinator stared at the report for a long time.

Then said, “There was another incident on that lake that afternoon.”

My stomach turned.

“What incident?”

“Small boat capsized. Older man and his grandson.”

“Did they survive?”

“Both.”

I gripped the edge of the table.

“Who helped them?”

He searched through the old report.

“Statement says another fishing boat reached them first. One adult. Several boys.”

A wave of dizziness hit me.

Sophie whispered, “Mom…”

I already knew.

—

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