I looked at Gertrude first, sitting rigid at the defense table, and then at Samantha, who kept her eyes on the floor.

“My daughter was eight years old,” I said. “She trusted the adults in her family to keep her safe. You took that trust and used it to terrify her. You worked to convince her that she was alone and that nobody was coming.”

Samantha put her hands over her face, her shoulders shaking.

Gertrude went on staring at me with open hostility.

I put my hands on the edges of the podium.

“It didn’t work,” I said. “Instead of learning that she was abandoned, my daughter learned that when she calls for help, the people who love her will do whatever it takes to reach her.”