Every Friday at 6 p.m. my daughter called me without fail, and the one week my phone stayed silent I drove to her house and heard a sound from upstairs that turned our quiet Tennessee life into something I still can’t fully talk about

cold November morning with Joyce beside me. Amelia stayed home with Emma. We’d decided she didn’t need to see any of this until it was her turn to testify.

The media had turned out in force—cameras, microphones, reporters calling out questions about the case. I walked past them all without saying a word.

Inside, the jury had already been selected. Seven continue reading …