Tolliver let that sit. He was, I could see, deciding how much further to go, and he decided to go all the way, because his client’s only hope was a story in which nothing much was ever wrong in that house.

“What did you reply, Dr. Hayes?”

“May I read it?”

“Please.”

I took out my phone and I read it to twelve strangers, in a courtroom, in the same flat voice I had used for forty years to tell families things they did not want to hear.

“*Every marriage has stretches like this. Your mother and I had a bad year around when you were nine. You get through it. D’s under a lot of pressure at work. Try to give him a little grace. Love you. Go to sleep.*”