Diane reached into the second bag and set a thick folder on the table, followed by a small black phone. “Brooke gave me this yesterday,” she said quietly. “She could not carry it alone anymore.” Derek’s jaw tightened. Inside the folder were bank statements, and on top sat a printed receipt for a nursery crib I had never seen. I stared at the date. It was from two months ago.

“Whose crib is this?” I whispered. Derek said nothing. Diane turned the phone toward me, and a text thread glowed on the screen between him and a woman named Kayla. The last message read, “Baby shower Saturday, bring Brooke’s friend’s clothes for me.” My stomach dropped. Derek finally spoke, barely audible. “Jenna, please, let me explain before you read the rest.”