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.

I answered that I trusted my husband and brother-in-law and had been repeatedly told the episodes were caused by exhaustion.

The answer felt painfully simple.

The attorney asked whether I could identify what substance, if any, had been in the water.

I said no.

Asked whether I personally remembered the annex interior, I said no.

Asked whether I had witnessed Julian prepare the bottles, I said no.

I had spent months wishing I could remember everything.

On the stand, I discovered that saying what I did not know was not weakness.