He nods. “I bet that was awful, Cassie. I’m sorry.”

My eyes fill with tears. “So, what happens next?” What I mean is, how do I live in my family? As a daughter? As a sister? How do we move forward? What do I say?

Haggerty is thinking more immediately. “My money’s on Anderson. Your brother is a rapist. Maybe he was drunk. Maybe he didn’t mean to. But facts are facts. Billy was out of control. He wanted to hurt someone. That night, it was his ex-girlfriend.”

I see Billy’s elbow clip Lawrence’s face. Lawrence’s head snap back. My body recoils, a delayed response.

“He’s going to prison, Cassie. Diana’s perjury might get the case tossed on appeal. But he’s guilty. The jury knows it.” You do too, he doesn’t say.

I look out the window. “So, what do I do now?” Again, I mean, how do I reconcile the idea that Billy Quinn is a rapist with the fact that Billy Quinn is my brother?

Again, Haggerty misinterprets. “Go on the record. Help yourself, help other survivors.”

“Victims, you mean. I am nothing like those girls.”

“Because they’re braver than you?”

This throws me. “Braver? I’m not the one crying to the press and the police. I’m not blaming my problems on everyone else. I’m the one with the real life.”

“You call this real life? Pinballing up and down ninety-five?” He laughs, but not unkindly. “You were a child, Cassie. You were abused. Tell your story. Set yourself free.”

“My story?” Again, I’m indignant. “Lawrence and I are together, Detective. I won’t testify against him.” But the more I insist, the less confident I feel. “I mean, what should I say to my brothers? To Eleanor? How do I fix our family?”

Haggerty scoffs. “If you and Lawrence run off to New Haven, do you honestly think Eleanor will invite you over for Christmas dinner? Or did you not consider that?”

If I tell him the truth, that I never thought that far ahead, or with any real specificity, he’d never believe me.

“Cassie, come on. You’re smarter than this. I’ve met too many men like Lawrence over the years. There are no happy endings here—for you or for him.”

“Lawrence isn’t like other men.” Haggerty doesn’t understand. “I wasn’t a victim. It was my choice.” We’re talking peacefully, rationally, but I’m spinning so fast I’m dizzy.

“Not every victim is a victim. Some graduate from Columbia and go to grad school at Yale. Some are picture-perfect. Some change the world. Call yourself whatever you want.” He unwraps a burrito for himself and passes the other to me. While he wolfs his down, I take a tentative bite. I can’t believe how delicious it is.