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.

The criminal case continued.

I tried not to read every article or public comment.

Speculation filled the empty spaces faster than evidence could.

A reporter contacted me through my workplace and asked whether I believed the annex had harmed other women.

I told her I could not speak for anyone else and declined an interview.

Later, Detective Ellis confirmed that investigators were reviewing other questionable patient records, but she cautioned me not to assume those cases resembled mine.

That boundary was important.