My vision tunneled.

“That’s one of the contractors,” the principal said. “He’s been fixing the exterior lights.”

But I recognized the face from the accident file I had forced myself not to study too closely.

“That’s him,” I whispered. “The truck driver.”

I called 911.

Officers arrived quickly and found him near the maintenance shed. He didn’t run. He cooperated.

They brought him into a small conference room. Without his cap, he looked smaller. Thinner. His eyes were red.

“Mrs. Elana,” he said hoarsely when I walked in.

My skin crawled hearing my name in his mouth.

Noah pressed against me. “That’s Ethan’s friend,” he whispered.

I sent Noah out and faced the man.