“No.”
“He showed me messages.”
My stomach tightened.
“What messages?”
Screenshots.
Later, investigators would recover them from Evan’s devices.
They were fabricated.
Fake text exchanges made to look as though I had been discussing a move with someone.
Evan had shown them to Noah.
A ten-year-old does not perform forensic analysis on screenshots shown by his father.
He believed them.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
I asked gently.
Noah looked ashamed.
“Dad said you’d lie.”
I closed my eyes.
He continued.
“And then he took my phone.”
Of course.
“He said we needed time so I could decide what I wanted without you pressuring me.”
I held him tighter.
“You never had to choose.”
He started crying again.
“He said Grandma knew.”
That hit me.
“Diane?”
He nodded.
“She said she didn’t know if the Oregon thing was true.”
I stared at the wall.
That one sentence had given Evan credibility.
