Something heavy shifted inside the pocket.
I didn’t think. I just reached in.
My fingers closed around a flash drive.
Then a small stack of printed photographs.
I turned them over — and my heart stopped.
Every single one was of Daisy.
Daisy crying alone in a bathroom stall.
Daisy sitting by herself at an empty lunch table.
Daisy at twelve, clutching Biscuit to her chest, her face red and wet with tears.
Private moments. Painful moments. Moments no one should ever have been collecting.
And tucked behind the photos was a red envelope.
Across the front, in thick black marker, were three words:
“AFTER THEY LAUGH.”
The gym suddenly felt ice-cold. My hands started to shake.
