Outside the cafeteria, a reporter asked me whether I considered the meeting a victory.
I said the word did not fit a room full of people describing injuries they had hidden for decades.
The reporter asked whether I was disappointed that Vivian had not attended.
I told her Vivian’s vandalism case was separate from the arena findings.
The reporter frowned because that answer did not produce a headline.
I walked away before she could ask another question.
When I reached the parking lot, I found my windshield covered with a sheet of paper held beneath the wiper.
The message had been written in thick black marker.
It said I was destroying the reputation of people who could no longer defend themselves.
There was no signature.
I photographed the paper and took it home.
I did not assume Vivian had written it.
That distinction mattered because I had spent too many years watching people decide what Daniel must have done without asking what anyone had seen.
Chapter Twenty-Six: The Empty Bench
The anonymous message changed the way I entered my own house.
I checked the porch before unlocking the door.
I listened for footsteps when I carried the trash to the curb.
I hated that the vandalism had made ordinary routines feel like tests.
My mother suggested I stay with her for a few nights.
I refused at first because I did not want Vivian or anyone else to decide where I slept.
Then I realized that refusing help was another way of letting fear control my choices.
I packed a bag and spent the weekend at my mother’s apartment.
On Saturday morning we walked to the park where Daniel used to play basketball.
The wooden benches had been replaced, but the court still leaned slightly toward the street.
My mother pointed to a tree where Daniel had once hidden a friend’s bicycle as a joke.
She laughed when she remembered how long the friend had searched.
Then she grew quiet.
She said people had stopped telling funny stories about Daniel after the accident.
Every conversation became an argument about guilt.
She wanted to hear his name without preparing to defend it.
We sat on a bench while two teenagers argued about a foul.
I asked whether she thought the new investigation would change how people remembered him.
She said some people would reconsider, and others would protect the stories they had repeated for years.
She said we could not control either group.
I told her I was afraid of the day the investigation ended.
Without meetings and interviews, I would have to live with what we learned.
She said that was already happening.
Then she asked whether I wanted to visit Daniel’s grave.
I said yes.
