I got up from the edge of the bed, careful not to wake Fiona, and I reached for my phone, and I opened the clip Kelly had sent.

It began a few seconds before the slap, when Kelly had still been filming the candles.

And it showed everything, plainly.

My mother-in-law leaning toward my daughter.

Gripping her tiny wrist.

And then striking her.

Clear as day, from an angle that left no room for interpretation, no way for anyone in that room to ever claim they had misunderstood what they saw.

I had known it happened; I had watched it happen with my own eyes.