The days that followed were a blur of secretive meetings and cautious inquiries. I reached out to a private investigator, someone trustworthy, who could dig deeper and find out the truth about Matthew’s death. I knew this was just the beginning of a long journey, one that would likely bring more pain before any healing could begin.

But as I lay in bed that night, clutching Isabella’s blanket, I realized that sometimes love meant facing the darkness to bring back the light. The memories of my son and husband were too precious to be tainted by lies. I owed it to them, to Isabella, and even to Ashley, to uncover the truth, no matter how painful it might be.