I never thought the truth about what happened to Leila Marsh would come out. Not after all these years. Not after everything I did to keep it buried. When Leila disappeared, everyone focused on finding her. No one was looking at me. Even though I was the last person to see her that day. And when the police asked what happened ... I lied. It wasn't a big lie. That's what I told myself back then. It didn't change anything. It didn't hurt anyone. At least, that's what I needed to believe. Fifteen years later, I have a life that depends on that lie staying hidden. A husband who doesn't know the truth. A future that only exists because no one ever questioned what I said. Until the notes start arriving. I know what you did. I know what you lied about. Whoever is sending them doesn't just remember that summer. They remember me. Then I hear about the podcast. A former classmate is reopening Leila's case, asking questions no one asked back then. Questions about timelines. About inconsistencies. About me. He says he's looking for the truth. But the truth isn't something you find. It's something people like me bury. And if he keeps digging, he won't just uncover what happened to Leila. He'll uncover what I did ... the day she went missing.