PART 1: The storm that night felt like something alive, like a beast clawing at the world with long fingers of rain and wind. My headlights struggled to cut through the sheets of water as I pulled into the quiet cul de sac of Redwood Grove, a suburban neighborhood not far from Albany. The gutters overflowed and the trees bent as though bowing to some unseen threat. I had come only to drop off a folder of tax documents my daughter had accidentally left behind on her last visit. I had not planned to get out of the car. I certainly did not expect my entire view of her life to unravel in a matter of seconds.
