Gisèle Pelicot’s daughter is dealing with unimaginable horror – as do all ‘forgotten victims’

People often think ‘ignorance is bliss’, but in cases like this, that couldn’t be further from the truth, writes Emma Clarke. It is the burden of the unknown that is the true torment – trust me

By now, Gisèle Pelicot is a household name – for all the wrong and most tragic of reasons.

Since September – when she bravely waived anonymity and testified against her husband Dominique – horrific details of how he drugged her, raped her and facilitated her rape by at least 50 other men have slowly come to light.

She has faced her abusers throughout the trial in Avignon, France, attending almost every court date. She has spoken of how “broken” she is and how her decision to be named was to help shift the shame felt by victims of rape and place it rightly on the assailants’ shoulders.

“I am a woman who is totally destroyed, and I don’t know how I’m going to rebuild myself. I’m 72 soon and I’m not sure my life will be long enough to recover from this,” she said of the abuse that spanned nine years.

And she’s absolutely right to question how – and if – she will ever overcome this brutal betrayal of both her body and marriage. When predators carry out their attacks on women, I am sure they never consider the fallout of their actions. They don’t think about the lasting damage they are causing – the erosion of self, of confidence, of trust, of joy. In some ways, what comes after is more destructive than the act itself.

But there is another name we must not allow to fall into obscurity; a “forgotten victim” in all of the horror: her daughter, Caroline Darian.

Taking to the stand last week, Caroline, now 45, demanded her father tell her the truth about photos of her, found on his computer. Alongside Dominique’s depraved documentation of his wife’s abuse, a file titled “My Naked Daughter” was discovered, containing semi-nude images.

Despite taking the images, her father has insisted he never touched her. Yet Caroline herself remains convinced that not only did he look at her “with incestuous eyes”, he also drugged – and may have physically abused her. In court, she called her father a “liar” and described herself as the trial’s “forgotten victim”, with no record of the abuse she believes took place.

Imagine not just dealing with the hideous crimes your father carried out on your mother, but also having a huge question mark over what he may or may not have done to you. It is impossibly sad.

As someone who has experienced a similar type of assault (though not at the hands of a family member), Caroline’s particular situation really strikes a chord with me – and I beg that she is not forgotten, after all.

Although I remember some elements of what happened to me, I was unconscious at the time – and it is the unknown that still haunts me.

When there is a lack of awareness or confirmation, your mind goes to all sorts of places. You can’t help but assume the worst – to play out the most devastating scenarios in your head. Some might think “ignorance is bliss”, but in these types of situations, that really isn’t the case. Trust me: it is the not knowing that plunges you into despair.

For me, that one night changed everything. I lost a part of myself that I’ve never quite been able to reclaim. I’ve suffered from depression and night terrors, plus I am no longer the fun-loving, carefree person I was before all this happened.

I cannot begin to fathom how Caroline might feel, fully believing that her father – someone who raised her and who was meant to protect her – would be capable of doing something so diabolical. It is a whole different level of violation.

Acknowledging her torment, Caroline’s younger brother, Florian, 38, pleaded with his father in court: “If you have any dignity and humanity – you don’t have anything left to lose anyway – tell Caroline the truth.”

And I really wish he would listen. Because, in the face of all the other pain he has inflicted on their mother and their family, Caroline doesn’t need to carry that added weight; the burden of unknown horror. She deserves to know what did – or didn’t – happen to her, once and for all. We all do.