Lily and I loaded up the car and drove 235 miles the very following morning. Ryan’s ex-wife Andrea answered the door when we got there. She looked to be in her early forties. Her face lost all of its color as soon as we locked eyes, and she began to shut the door.

I raised Lily’s phone and used my palm to halt it. First, watch this.

After watching the first half of the video, Andrea’s eyes started to well up with tears. She took a step back and silently beckoned us inside when the screen eventually went dark. The rest of the story was revealed by the walls of her house. Jack and Caleb stood beside them, agonizingly alive, Ryan was there in framed photos, and Andrea was grinning next to him.

I felt like I could pass out as the truth struck me so hard. With a trembling voice, I turned to face Andrea. I brought up those lads as my own. How could I have earned this?

Andrea started crying, but it was the weighty, profound anguish of unresolved guilt rather than the shallow sobs of someone pleading for pardon. Anna, you did nothing wrong.

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