As I tucked the Polaroid back into the chest and slid the red toolbox back into the darkness of the crawlspace, I realized I was now part of the silence. I became a second Daisy—a witness who would not speak, a keeper of the truth that lay buried in the woods and hidden under the floorboards. I walked back toward the house, my footsteps heavy, knowing that for the rest of our lives, the two of us would be whispers in a world that used to be loud.
