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.

Lawyers argued over the meaning of records and the admissibility of evidence.

Witnesses described what they remembered, sometimes in frustratingly narrow terms.

The judge made procedural rulings.

Every important fact seemed to take three times as long to establish as the stories Julian had told about me.

I was not required to sit through every session, and I did not.

I attended only when necessary and worked with a victim advocate to understand the process.

When I testified about the first ride, the defense asked why I continued accepting Marcus’s help after feeling unwell.