Next to the jury box, two easels hold posters we’ve already seen: the fist-sized holes in Diana’s dorm room and the shattered windshield. Now, as she describes Billy’s escalating aggression, Anderson presents a third poster. Exhibit A-21 is a cell phone screenshot with a series of texts:

We’re not finished.

You can’t tell anyone.

Do not do this, Diana. I WILL NOT LET YOU.

You’ll ruin our lives.

It’s not true. Nothing you’re saying is true.

Yes, Diana confirms, I did receive those texts from Billy. Yes, he harassed me. Yes, he threatened me. Yes, I was frightened. You fucking bitch, he kept saying. You can’t do this. Yes, I worried for my safety. So, I invited him to a party. Yes, I believed I’d be safe. Yes, I realize now this was foolish.

“Why didn’t you tell your parents?” Anderson asks. “Or go to the police?”

“I considered it. Several times. But I was afraid of what might happen.”

“To you?”

“Yes. But also to him. Billy behaved badly, but he’s not a bad person. If I involved the police, he would’ve been suspended or expelled. He couldn’t apply to medical school or be a doctor. He’d lose his whole future, and it would have been my fault.”

“What happened when the defendant showed up at the party?”

“I’m ashamed to say I don’t remember much.” Diana exhales. “Except for a few images, most of my memories are fragments.” Her voice is raspy. “Excuse me.” She sips her water.

“Take your time,” Anderson coaches. “We’re in no rush. We know this is difficult.”

Diana’s hair has come loose from her clip. She brushes it away with her fingers. “Before Billy showed up, I was nervous. I had a few drinks, but I’m sensitive to alcohol. One glass of wine makes me tipsy. Before I knew it, I was very, very drunk.”

“Do you remember texting the defendant before he arrived?”

“No.”

“Do you remember kissing the defendant after he arrived?”

“No. We went alone to a bedroom to talk privately. I remember kissing there.”

“Did you tell the defendant you wanted to have sex?”

“I don’t know. I do remember Billy pulling down his pants, but not being able to get an erection.”

“Why do you remember that?”

“Because he went ballistic. He started yelling, called me a ‘fucking bitch.’ I think he was afraid I would tell people.” She steals a glance at Billy. “I never would’ve told anyone.”

“Is that why you left the party?”

“Yes. I told him we were finished. ‘I don’t love you anymore,’ I said.”

“Did he follow you?”

“Yes, he did. And we ended up at the playground.”

“And you started kissing again?”