I watched it land on her, and on the crowd, and I did not say another word.

I had rehearsed a hundred furious speeches over seven years — in the shower, at the sewing machine at two in the morning, in the car after a hard day.

Whole monologues, cutting and complete, in which I finally told this family exactly what they had done to me and to three innocent children.

And standing there on the lawn with the chance to deliver every one of them, I found I wanted none of it.

Because Delphine’s own defense had already said the truest and most damning thing there was to say, and all I had to do was strip the kindness off it. I thought the children would be better off. No.