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I think about the phone call I just received.

Hundreds of photographs.

Sage at school.

Sage outside Mae’s house.

Sage at the foster home.

Some taken before Mae died.

“How long have you known him?”

Hayley looks toward Sage.

Wrong question.

Not here.

Not with our daughter sitting between us hearing that a stranger photographed her for years.

I open my door.

“We’ll talk inside.”

Hayley nods.

Sage doesn't move.

“Sage?”

She looks at me.

“Did he watch me when I was little?”

I hate that question.

“I don't know.”

“You said there were pictures from before Mae died.”

“Yes.”

“How old was I?”

“I don't know that yet.”

“Who found them?”

“Law enforcement.”

“Why were they searching his office?”

Another question I can't answer.

“I don't know.”

She releases Hayley’s hand and wraps both arms around herself.