She attacked Larissa.

She caused the miscarriage.” And beside him, Larissa Bishop had lowered her eyes in the most beautiful grief anyone in that room had ever seen — a pale hand resting on a flat stomach, trembling exactly enough, and on her delicate wrist a diamond bracelet that I recognized, because it was mine.

The jury believed them, and I have never once blamed the jury, because why wouldn’t they?

Roman was charming and rich and beloved; Larissa was fragile and tearful and rehearsed to the last flutter; and I was the cold wife who would not cry on command, who sat straight-backed at the defense table with a dry face because some stubborn thing in me refused to perform an innocence that should not have needed performing.