He never failed to take it.

Every single time, he did the thing that confirmed the worst, and every confirmation was a small fresh grief, dressed up as evidence.

By the time I had enough to protect myself, I had also lost, conclusively and beyond any remaining doubt, the last shred of the belief that my son was not what the evidence said he was.

Winning the case meant proving the thing I would have given anything to be wrong about.

Chapter 18 — The Sentence That Wasn’t There