But every time the prosecutor displayed one of Evelyn’s photographs, rage rose in my throat again.
Those images had been taken like trophies.
Proof that Evelyn believed she was right.
The jury saw something else.
They saw cruelty.
On the third day, Evelyn took the stand.
She walked slowly and with dignity, as though she were attending a formal dinner instead of defending herself against criminal charges.
Her attorney began gently.
“Mrs. Carter, did you ever intend to harm your granddaughter?”
Evelyn’s voice remained calm.
“Of course not.”
“Then why did you lock her in the cottage?”
“To teach discipline.”
A murmur rippled through the room.
The attorney continued.
“Explain what you mean.”
Evelyn folded her hands neatly.
“Children must learn obedience early. My granddaughter had begun showing defiance.”
“Defiance how?”
“She talked back. She questioned instructions. She resisted correction.”
The prosecutor stood.
“Objection.”
“Overruled,” the judge said.
The questioning continued.
“So the isolation was punishment?”
“Yes.”
“And you believed that was appropriate?”
Evelyn nodded.
“It worked with my daughter.”
Laura’s hand tightened around mine.
The attorney asked, “You’re referring to Laura Miller?”
“Yes.”