My husband filed for divorce, and in court, my 7-year-old daughter quietly asked the judge,

The video was shaky, the tell-tale sign of a child’s unsteady hand, but its content was undeniable. It was a series of clips, each one more damning than the last.

The first clip showed Tremaine in the kitchen, meticulously staging the mess. He carefully overturned a trash can and scattered the contents across the floor before snapping photos with his phone. Another clip showed him rummaging through my purse, holding up credit cards to the camera—my unused cards—and then using them to make online purchases. His voice was audible, muttering to himself about how easy it was to ruin someone when you knew their weaknesses.

But the video that truly silenced the room was the conversation captured between Tremaine and Zariah. He was coaching her, instructing her on what to say to the judge about how “sick” her mother was. Tremaine’s voice was smooth and manipulative, a stark contrast to Zariah’s innocent confusion. “Remember, sweetheart,” he said, “it’s for Mommy’s own good.”