Ava opened the journal.

She didn’t know what she was expecting. Maybe notes. Work stuff. But not this.

Right there on the first page was another photo of her—not recent, but old. She was in her high school uniform again, this time walking, holding her backpack strap with one hand and her phone in the other. Her head was down, her face calm, unaware.

Ava’s fingers trembled as she turned the page.

There were more photos.

Some were cut out from a yearbook: her class photo and a picture of her in a school play. Her name was circled in red ink in some places. There were candid shots, too,...