“I did not commit murder for my daughter. I knew she was already lost to us before I fired that gun. I killed that woman for myself. I’ve had plenty of time to think, Mr. Bates, and I’ve thought about my motive. You talk about righteousness. My killing Vivian was not done out of righteousness. It was done out of humiliation and shame. Let me tell you something. I married a decent man. His decency, his integrity, his love for me, are as tangible as that pen you’re playing with. For nineteen years, I had daily proof of them. But when he ran up against this—this plot, I chose to doubt him, to wipe out years of evidence with one single suspicion. I chose to believe Regina even after I caught her lying to me about school and I chose to believe Vivian, a perfect stranger, because she flattered me with some cheap sympathy. And so did I love him any better than his daughter and his mother did? Vivian knew I didn’t; she told me so that night. And I shot her for it.” I was proceeding calmly, rationally, and yet my throat tightened and the tears started down my face. “I’m no martyr. Far from it. I turned Regina over to his family and in a way I turned myself over to them too.”

“You’re distorting the situation. You seem to forget he could have told you the truth years ago.”

“I haven’t forgotten that. But with another woman he might have told the truth. Another woman might have made him feel safe.” I took the pen he was playing with and held it tight to steady myself. “He spent all those years loving and protecting his daughter the best way he knew how. Maybe he did it wrong, but he did it single-handedly. But the failure isn’t all his. It’s mine too. And Regina’s. Mostly Regina’s—I can’t help but believe that. I’m not going to offer him up with a lie to make Regina and myself look good. We’ll just have to continue as we have been and hope.”

“Then hope for a miracle.”

Mr. Bates did his best to create a miracle. Our next witness was the reporter who had photographed me scrubbing the graffiti off the front of the school. It seemed most of the jurors were impressed with this, but some of them changed their expressions when the prosecution pointed out that this gesture of mine had been “extreme and reactionary.”

We were nearing the end. When Frank would come to see me, he would don a smile and reaffirm his faith in the jury. But there was always doubt in his eyes when his words ran out. Invariably, I turned the conversation to the weather and world news. We never mentioned Regina.