Daniel thought he was prepared for whatever the camera had captured.

Rachel Gould called back the following morning.

Daniel was in the kitchen making Emma's breakfast when the phone rang.

Emma was still upstairs.

He could hear her moving around, the particular pattern of her morning sounds — the wardrobe door, the tap running, the soft thud of her jumping off the bed.

"I've reviewed what you told me," Rachel said.

"Given the referral from Dr.

Holt and the witness statement you mentioned from your neighbor, you're in a reasonably strong position.

The children's services referral will trigger a formal assessment.

That process takes time, but it works in Emma's favor."

"What do I need to do?"

"Document everything.

Write down every incident you can remember, with dates if possible.

Keep the recording safe and backed up in multiple places.

And don't discuss the case with Victoria directly — anything she says to you now, say it back to me first."

"She texted me last night," Daniel said.

"She wants to come home."

"Don't respond yet.

Let me handle the communication."

Emma appeared in the kitchen doorway in her school uniform, one sock on and one in her hand.

"Breakfast," Daniel said to her, pointing at the table.

She sat down and began pulling on her second sock with great concentration.

"There's one more thing," Rachel said.

"The children's services caseworker will want to speak with Emma separately.

That can feel frightening for a child.

It might help to prepare her gently — not what to say, just that someone kind is going to ask her some questions and she can say whatever she wants."

"All right."

"Daniel." A pause.

"You're doing the right thing."

He ended the call and set his phone face-down on the counter.

"Who was that?" Emma asked through a mouthful of toast.

"Someone who's helping us with some grown-up things."

"Is it about Victoria?"

He looked at her.

"What makes you ask that?"

Emma shrugged and looked at her plate.

"She wasn't here this morning."

"No.

She's staying at Aunt Claire's for a little while."

Emma chewed her toast.

"Okay," she said.

Just that.

Okay.

He sat across from her.

"Emma.

Can I ask you something?"

She looked up.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?

About the times things were hard with Victoria?"

She thought about it seriously, the way she thought about most things.

"Because you always looked happy when you came home," she said.

"I didn't want to make your face go different."

Daniel looked at his daughter across the breakfast table.

Her toast had a bite taken out of one corner.

She had drawn a small face on her napkin in pencil — he had no idea where she'd found a pencil at the breakfast table.

She was watching him with her steady, careful eyes.

"You don't have to protect me," he said.

"That's not your job."

"I know," she said.

Then: "Can I have more juice?"

He got up and poured her more juice.

Three days later, Rachel called again.

Her voice was different this time.

Tighter.

"I need you to come in," she said.

"Today if you can."

"What's happened?"

"Victoria has filed a counter-application.

She's claiming that Emma's disclosure to Dr.

Holt was coached.

That you instructed Emma on what to say before the appointment."

Daniel sat down.

"She's also submitted a statement from a child psychologist — a private one she hired two days ago — suggesting that Emma shows signs of parental influence in her testimony."

"That's not true."

"I know.

But she's fighting, Daniel.

I need you in my office this afternoon."

He looked at the hallway.