Part 2: My husband and our three sons d!ed during a storm on their guys’ trip — five years later, my youngest daughter came to me and said, “Mom, I know what really happened that day. The police officer lied to you.”

Ben laughed and told him that was the point.

Before leaving, he kissed me.

“I’ll bring you back the biggest trout you’ve ever seen.”

I rolled my eyes.

“You said that last time.”

He smiled.

“Then I’ll have to catch two.”

That was the last ordinary moment of my life.

Two days later, Aaron arrived at my door.

Aaron was Ben’s oldest friend.

He worked for the county sheriff’s department and knew the mountain roads better than anyone.

He told me there’d been an accident near the river crossing.

Heavy rain.

A washed-out section of road.

Ben’s truck had been found overturned below the embankment.

But there were no bodies.

Only Ben’s jacket, some fishing equipment, and the boys’ backpacks.

Search teams spent nine days looking.

Aaron eventually signed a report concluding that the three had likely been swept away by the flooded river.

We held a memorial without coffins.