For Nine Years, My Husband Was Building a Case Against Me

Synopsis

For nine years, my husband corrected my memory-until he used my dead mother's house to prove I couldn't be trusted. "You were in no state to remember that," Grant said, while my therapist sister nodded. Then I found a black book in his locked drawer: nine years of my memories rewritten in his handwriting. I'm a court reporter. I know the difference between a pause and a lie. So I copied sixty-three recordings, packed my stenotype machine, and started asking one question no one in my family wanted answered: When did "not yet" become permission to take my life apart?