The School Volunteer’s Fingerprints—And the Dead Mother Who Haunted My Son My son Noah came home from school with fingerprints on his neck. Not bruises, not scrapes—faint, pale ovals along his jawline, like someone had gripped him gently but firmly, as if whispering a secret too urgent to be overheard. He didn’t notice them, too busy shoving a clay volcano into my hands, his eyes bright with pride. “Ms. Delaney said it’s the best one!” he gushed. I froze. Evelyn Delaney. The name hit me like a p