Trust her over him.

My eight-year-old daughter over my adult brother-in-law.

The child lying in a casket insisting on a heartbeat, over the grown man standing beside me insisting there was none.

By every ordinary rule of how the world weighs credibility, this should have been no contest.

Marcus was an adult, a family member, a person of standing, calm and authoritative, saying the reasonable thing.

Chloe was a child, distraught, doing something bizarre and disturbing, saying the impossible thing.