She did not turn her children’s lives into tabloid fodder, did not air Beatrice’s crimes or the doctor’s cover-up, did not trade her family’s private pain for a sensational segment.

She simply spoke the truth, cleanly, and let it be enough.

At Alex’s apartment, the four children were sitting on the floor watching the interview, while Alex knelt nearby, struggling to assemble a fiendishly complex plastic race-car track.

“Is Mom talking about you?” Leo asked, looking up.

“I hope not,” Alex joked.

“You’re scared of her,” Maya teased.

“Terrified,” Alex admitted, and meant it.

And then Clara climbed onto his back, and tugged gently at his ear, and said, entirely without ceremony, entirely without knowing what she was doing, “Daddy, that blue piece goes on the other side.” Alex went completely still.