“It was me,” she said, her voice fragile.

“I saw the live stream.

I’m the one who sent the police to the house.”

I could barely speak.

“How long have you known what they were doing?”

“Since the first night you lost consciousness in our house.” She could not meet my eyes.

She told me, in pieces, how it had gone: how at first Raymond had told her only that I was ill; how she had later found the evidence of what was truly happening; how, when she confronted him, he had threatened to destroy Christopher, strip her of everything, and frame her as a full accomplice if she said one word to anyone.

“And so,” I said, when she faltered, “out of fear for your own comfort, you stood by and let it happen to me again.