Her fingers dipped into the water, reaching for the yellowed paper floating near the filter.

“Chloe, leave it,” Father ordered.

She did not listen.

She pulled the wet paper from the water, her hands trembling.

The ink was running, but the official letterhead of the state fire marshal was still visible.

“This is an arson investigation report,” Chloe whispered.

She looked up at me, her face pale under the bright afternoon sun.

“Maya, what is this?” she asked.

Mother let out a sharp, choked sob.

Her knees buckled, and she fell onto the hard stone of the patio.

Her hands covered her face, but she could not hide the shaking of her shoulders.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Mother wept, her forehead nearly touching the concrete. “The lying. I can’t live with it.”

Father turned on her, his face flushing a deep, angry red.

“Helen, shut your mouth,” he hissed.

The young officer stepped between them, his hand resting near his belt.

“Sir, let her speak,” the officer said.

Mother looked up, her mascara running in dark streaks down her cheeks.

“We weren’t there,” she whispered.