Then I remembered the phone watch I'd bought her. I opened the companion app and checked the call log.
Over a dozen missed calls.
Every single one to Reginald.
He was the one who'd insisted on being listed as her emergency contact. He'd looked me in the eye and sworn, "I'll always be there for Moira. You can count on me."
And this was what that promise was worth.
A friend request notification popped up on my phone. No message attached. I recognized the sender from her latest Instagram story.
Fiona.
She'd posted a live photo of herself pouting, pressing a kiss to Reginald's cheek. In the background, clothes were scattered across the floor beside a sheet stained with smudges and water marks. When I tapped the photo, her coy, breathy voice filled my ears.
"Your phone's been ringing nonstop since we started. You're really not going to answer?"
Reginald's voice came through low and husky. "Nothing in the world is more important than you."
My vision went black. I couldn't bear to imagine it—every ring of every call my daughter made had been nothing but background music to their little performance.
Reginald didn't show up until that afternoon, dragging Fiona along with him.