The hospital called me before midnight and told me my six-year-old son was dying.

It was the video from the hidden camera Detective Miller’s team had installed after a neighbor reported suspicious noises.

The courtroom lights were dimmed. The large projector screen flickered to life.

The video was black and white, night-vision footage of the interior of the shed. The camera was angled from a high corner, looking down at the concrete trapdoor.

The door swung open. Helen stood at the top of the stairs, her face illuminated by the dim light of the basement. She was holding a bucket of ice water.

“Please, Grandmother,” Noah’s tiny voice came through the speakers, muffled and shivering. “I promise I’ll be good. I promise I won't tell Mommy about the room.”

“You don’t tell your mother anything,” Helen’s voice was cold, sharp, and entirely devoid of human warmth. “Your mother is a weak, pathetic creature, and so are you.”

She tipped the bucket. The sound of freezing water splashing onto the concrete floor—and Noah’s subsequent, gasping scream—filled the courtroom.

In the gallery, I buried my face in David’s chest, my shoulders shaking as I relived the horror of that night. Across the aisle, Sarah Vance was weeping silently into her husband's shoulder.

Even the defense lawyers looked sick. One of them lowered his head, staring at his legal pad, unable to look at the jury.

The jury deliberated for less than three hours.

When they returned, the courtroom was so quiet you could hear the hum of the air conditioning. Helen stood up, her face a mask of cold indifference, as the jury foreman cleared his throat.

"On the count of first-degree kidnapping resulting in death, we find the defendant, Helen Carter, guilty."

"On the count of felony child abuse and torture, we find the defendant, Helen Carter, guilty."

"On the count of conspiracy to commit insurance fraud and attempted murder, we find the defendant, Helen Carter, guilty."

Guilty. On all twenty-four counts.

Helen didn't flinch. She simply sat back down, her back straight, as if the verdict were beneath her notice. But as the marshals stepped forward to lead her away, she turned her head and looked directly at me.

She mouthed three words.

“You’re still mine.”