recorder had been removed and preserved as evidence.

The casing had been repaired, but one scratch from the crash remained across the back.

I could have polished it away.

I chose not to.

I fastened the locket around my neck and watched the light fade across the water.

My family had believed that if my heart stopped, everything I held would return to them.

They had been wrong about the documents.

They had been wrong about Grandmother.

Most of all, they had been wrong about me.

They thought silence meant weakness.

They never understood that sometimes silence is simply the moment before the truth is played back.