I can make you believe anything. I've done it for twenty years, using nothing but footage of things that really happened. My husband is the most honest filmmaker alive. Everyone says so. His masterpiece is number six on the list of the greatest documentaries ever made. It's taught in schools. And the girl on the poster — the one with the crooked front tooth and the laugh that lands half a second before the joke — is my little sister. She died in the last week of that shoot. Ten years ago. He was in the room. He couldn't let anyone else touch the footage, he told me. There were things in it I should never have to carry. He would carry them for me. A critic wrote that the greatest thing Gideon Marsh ever did was refuse to let his wife see her sister's last hours. Hold that sentence. Come back to it later, when you know. Because ten years on they have asked me to restore his film. I have opened the sealed original. And there is a gap. Four minutes and eleven seconds. Removed. Cut so beautifully that nobody has found it in a decade. A cut hides the join. It cannot hide the clock. I don't know what's in those four minutes. One man does — the sound recordist who tried to tell the truth ten years ago, and whose life I destroyed for it, on a stage, in front of four hundred people, using my dead sister's name as the knife. He has no reason on earth to help me. He doesn't pretend otherwise. He is also the only other person alive who has ever heard my sister breathe. I know how to make a room believe anything. That is exactly the problem. Because whatever is on that tape, there is only one way to tell the truth about it — and it means never touching it, never shaping it, never using her. And I have never once in my life been able to keep my hands off. A slow-burning psychological suspense about a marriage built on four missing minutes, the invisible people nobody ever asks, and a woman who has to become honest before she can be believed. No reconciliation. No forgiveness bought. A second love that has to be earned, slowly, by her. Closed door. It will leave a mark. One-click if you love: the husband who is exactly what he appears to be, and nobody looked · a heroine with genuinely dirty hands · the quiet man who kept the receipts · slow-burn, adult, closed-door · an ending that refuses to lie to you.