My father, who installed the second camera.

The nurse, who photographed the injuries.

Rhoswen, who secured the house and caught the confession in the filing.

Osei, who found the discarded camera in a trash bag and matched the clocks.

And me, silent for nine days, patient for six months, letting them believe I was broken while the case assembled in the space their contempt left open.

The pleas were the sound of all that careful work arriving at its destination at once.