We Start at the End

“Papa had been a good man,” Ava Bähr whispered to herself. The photos hit her like a punch to the stomach, stealing her air, making her reel.

Rays of sunlight illuminated the motes of dust floating in her mother’s attic as memories—beautiful memories—played in front of her: days spent rowing on the lake with her brothers; picnics with the neighbors; bringing food to the elderly members of their close-knit community.

He taught us to be good people. To love one another. How did I not kno...