Every time my brother-in-law drove me home, I would lose consciousness and wake up with unexplained aches and pains. My husband would only laugh and say, “You’re just out of shape, that’s all.” After the fourth ride, I secretly slipped a voice recorder into my purse and said nothing. That night, I listened to a phone conversation between the two of them that revealed my blackouts had never been accidental.

Julian continued to send messages through intermediaries.

A friend of his said he was lonely.

A colleague said his reputation was suffering.

I wanted to ask them whether my reputation had mattered while false records were being written about my mind and body.

Usually, I simply said that my lawyer was handling communication and changed the subject.

I had spent years measuring my reactions to keep peace with Julian.

Now I was learning that peace could include refusing to participate in someone else’s performance.