My mother was suggesting, over breakfast, that my wife was mentally unwell and ought to be evaluated — laying the groundwork, I understood, for the next stage of her plan, the one where Ingrid’s word could be dismissed as the raving of an unstable woman if she ever did find her voice.

It was the same move abusers have made forever, dressed up in the language of concern: not she is lying but she is unwell, poor thing, don’t listen too closely. And my brother sat there offering me divorce lawyers, trying to hand me the exit that would leave them with everything and Ingrid with nothing.

Every word out of both their mouths was a small further crime, and I had the evidence to end them sitting on a secure server, and I smiled and drank my coffee and thanked my brother for his generosity.

Because the timing was not mine to rush.

Priya needed the injunction signed by a judge.

Dr.