Maya had been gone for four days.

Her boyfriend, Roman Hale, had left a charger and a black hoodie in our apartment the last time he stayed over. She texted me from her parents’ house and asked if he could swing by to grab them while she was out of town. I said yes without thinking. It was only a charger and a hoodie.

He knocked at 8:40 p.m.

I opened the door in a soft T-shirt and sleep shorts, hair still damp from the shower. Roman stood in the hallway, tall, early thirties, dark sweater, the same quiet confidence he always carried when he visited Maya. His eyes moved...