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By Root 242 0

and start a constructive dialogue. The media already knew my identity. I would be careful not to say anything too controversial. I simply wanted to expound upon the facts that were already out there and clarify any misinformation or incorrect assumptions. Besides, Worrell had been preparing me for the possibility that we might not get a conviction. With no DNA, no police reports, and no witnesses yet coming forward, it could be very difficult to prove Beebe’s guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. I wanted to share my story so that even if Beebe was acquitted, people would understand that he was not “innocent.” I wanted to raise awareness of the difficulties of so many rape victims in attaining justice. I wanted to give hope to other survivors. Maybe this was a good opportunity after all. “Remember,” Worrell told me, “in a rape case, it is never, ever the alleged rapist on trial, whether in the courtroom or in the media. The victim is on trial. Always.”

In March 2006, I agreed to my first on-camera interview, for the Charlottesville NBC affiliate. The interview took place in a hotel room in Washington, D.C. In the room were just me, one sound tech, and the reporter. The gentle, soft-spoken reporter asked me questions about that night, the rape itself, the university’s response, the letter, what I thought of the arrest, and the forthcoming case. Honestly, I don’t recall one bit of what I said. I was so scared I could barely keep my voice modulated, and as kind as the reporter was, I hated every minute of it. Before we wrapped, the reporter asked me if I would be interested in talking to the folks at Dateline NBC and handed me the card of a producer. I accepted the card and said I’d think about it.

Back in Connecticut, I was juggling my duties as a mother, wife, and businesswoman with cooperating with the investigation and trying to stanch the flow of media curiosity. In addition, Mike and I had decided to start a nonprofit philanthropic fund for rape survivors and their families. We had already heard from many supporters, and we wanted to turn some of the attention I was getting toward doing good for other survivors. We called it S.T.A.R.S.—Sisters Together Assisting Rape Survivors. It gave survivors resources to use in the event of a sexual assault and granted funding to qualified organizations dealing with issues of sexual assault, domestic violence, and incest. We were proud to have it up and running quickly, so that media outlets could start featuring it. S.T.A.R.S. thrives to this day, thanks to the generous donations of so many.

One day, I pulled out the business card of the producer from Dateline, John Block. I called, he picked up, and I bonded with him immediately. His voice was calm, his humor easy, and his understanding of the case’s gravity quite apparent. He was the first journalist to tell me, “I’m so sorry for what has happened to you.” John asked for an “exclusive,” which basically means you do not tell your story to a competing show or network. Shows on NBC and MSNBC—specifically Dateline, Today, and The Abrams Report—would have the same piece and cross-market it. I agreed. A few weeks later, a crew came out to our home for the interview. Edie Magnus, then an NBC correspondent, was my interviewer. I adored her. She was warm and funny and a mom herself. It was an almost joyful atmosphere the first day of the shoot—we ordered out for food, Ava got to play with some of the equipment, and I just relaxed and conversed with John and Edie about what we’d be covering. Meanwhile, a large crew of audio and video people was draping the windows, moving furniture around, and setting up chairs.

Edie’s questions weren’t easy. What did I think of William Beebe? Did I forgive him? Did I give him credit for coming forward? What was the rape like? How was I able to begin a normal sex life afterward? What was life like before the letter arrived? How would I face it if he were acquitted? It was the first of several interviews.

Ava began to recognize the crew. They interviewed my father, my best friend, people who lived on my dorm