“Carry on.” The judge’s voice is measured, a necessary note of calm. He has a kind face; someone you need on your side, though judges don’t take sides. It’s about the truth, which is good, because at the moment Melissa has no idea what that word even means. She can’t see Paul anymore; his head and the lawyer’s are lowered in discussion. There is a buzz of whispers, glances are directed her way. Paul is violent, an alcoholic, deceitful certainly, but he loved Izzy. That was the star she steered by, the reason she endured all these years. Her daughter’s happiness has been bought with her own suffering; it is inconceivable that all this time Izzy’s been suffering as well. What she’s saying can’t be true. She’s been stressed by her father’s absence; the video has been the final straw. Melissa rises from her seat; she should take Izzy home now, insist that she rest.

The defense lawyer turns to the judge. “Your Honor, my client rejects these claims as utter nonsense. I request permission to cross-examine his daughter.”

“Proceed with care. We know Isabelle has witness support with her but it’s important to remember she is a child.”

It’s too late. Melissa sinks back into her seat, her legs trembling.

“Isabelle.” The tone is measured. “You have written a statement which I will now read to the court, a statement that you swore at the time was the truth.

“‘My father has been close to me since I was little; we do homework together and he takes me away on holidays. I can’t imagine life without him. I can’t imagine him hurting another child.’”

The lawyer puts the paper down and addresses Izzy. “In light of these words, do you now retract the statement you made earlier?”

“I retract nothing,” Izzy repeats; her face is pink. “He was with me when I was trying to do my homework, that’s when the abuse happened.”

“Your mother works from home, doesn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“It’s rather difficult to imagine your father being able to act as you say while your mother was at home at the same time; can you explain how that was possible?”

“He locked the door, he told her he was helping me with homework. My mother’s scared of him. She does what he tells her to.”

Melissa closes her eyes, seeing the white door with its sparkly metal “I.” She never once tried the door handle. Izzy was right, she hadn’t dared. By obeying her husband, was she abetting her daughter’s abuse? She pushes her hands to her mouth to stop herself from crying out.

“He took me away on trips, skiing and things like that. Mum wasn’t allowed to come.”

He had waved Melissa goodbye at airports, his arm tight around his special girl. Cheap, last-minute trips with shared bedrooms—That’s normal, he said to Izzy when she objected once. I have to keep you safe. Safe. Melissa enjoyed the breaks too, if she’s honest, pockets of calm in her life. She’d encouraged those breaks. It was their bonding time, she’d remind herself as she returned to the house and the calm of nights on her own. It seems so obvious now—how could she not have suspected, even for a moment?