“She was a child,” Melissa agreed. “And I had been married for nine years to a man who once told me, in a car, that my sister’s miscarriage was ‘a bit much to keep bringing up,’ and I had said nothing, for nine years, about that and about forty other things.

“And that night I finally had something in my hand that would make people believe me. Not about Lily. About him. About all of it. I’d been describing that family to friends for years and watching them decide I was exaggerating.

“I told myself I was doing it for your daughter. I was very convincing. I cried about it. And underneath that I knew exactly what I was doing, which was using a picture of an unconscious girl to prove I hadn’t been crazy for nine years.”

The bakery downstairs was doing something with a mixer. It went on for a while.

“Have you ever told anyone?” Daniel said.

“No.”