“So you haven’t really been that close with your sister for what, a decade?”

“I wouldn’t say that. I travel a lot but, I mean, we used to talk all the time, and I came to see her when I could. I was there when Ava was born, I was there for her first birthday party.” My throat tightened—the pain of saying her name out loud was visceral. Earlier in the day, the prosecution had shown the most damning of Penny’s many chilling Facebook posts featuring Ava. This one featured a selfie of a sobbing Penny, holding her lifeless child in her arms, moments after her death. Heaven has a new angel today, my sweet daughter has journeyed on. There are no words for the pain of a mother who loses her child. My heart will never be whole again! The prosecution used it to ask the jury what kind of sane mother does a thing like that. The defense argued that many overwhelmed mothers turn to social media in moments of grief and shock, to disseminate the news of a tragedy and get the support they need. It was easier than calling two hundred friends one by one. It may seem like bizarre behavior, and was perhaps not the most appropriate response, but who were we to judge a mother who has lost a child? Unsettling, sure. But not criminal. And inappropriate behavior wasn’t so surprising, given Penny’s “deprived” childhood and the constant stress of caring for a sick child.

“My point is,” Sheila continued, “you were very focused on your career, as you should have been! You’re a talented young woman, Ms. Cleary, and that kind of self-focus is normal for any twentysomething. But you’d allow that you were not directly involved with Penny and Ava during her short life?”

“No, I won’t allow that. I really did everything I could to stay close. We Skyped, Penny sent me pictures almost every day. I sent Ava presents. It was Penny who cut us off, not the other way around. I loved them so much.” This last part came out meekly. Suddenly, it was all too much: the lights of the courtroom, the cameras, Sheila the bulldog.

“Would you please confirm some dates for me?” Sheila said. She proceeded to read off my partial tour schedule for the seasons that spanned Ava’s short life, putting particular emphasis on the fanciest-sounding locales: St. Moritz, Val d’Isère, Aspen.

I confirmed that yes, I had competed in those locations.

“You didn’t just compete, Ms. Cleary, you won a great deal of races.”

I shrugged in response.

“Sounds very all-encompassing. Wouldn’t leave much time for being an auntie, would it?”

“Objection!”

“Ms. Gregory, if you have a point to make, make it.”