THE FIRST WOMAN to testify in Michigan state court about Nassar's abuse was Kyle Stephens. She says she was about 6 years old when he first exposed himself to her. It took her roughly six more years to realize that she was being sexually abused and to gather the courage to tell her parents. And it would take another six years before her father believed her.
Stephens, who initially spoke to Outside the Lines on the condition of anonymity but identified herself publicly Tuesday during Nassar's sentencing hearing, says she frequently spent her childhood weekend afternoons and evenings at Nassar's split-level home in Holt, Michigan. Her parents were close friends with Nassar and his wife, Stefanie, and they often cooked together on Sundays.
She and her older brother sometimes played hide-and-seek with Nassar in the basement while the other adults remained upstairs. She says she'd often hide in his boiler room, tucked between a furnace and a sink. On several occasions, she says, Nassar entered the room and, pretending not to see her, masturbated in front of her. He stashed a bottle of lotion in the room.
"I still know that [lotion's] smell," she said in her first court appearance. "The smell still makes me sick."
Over the course of the next several years, Nassar grew bolder. She says that he would sit next to her on a basement couch while she and her brother watched television and rubbed her feet against his crotch. He progressed to putting a blanket over himself and her feet, and she says he pulled out his genitals and rubbed them against her feet. Eventually, and on multiple occasions, he put his finger inside her. The woman says she didn't understand the nature of what was happening to her until a friend described an abusive encounter of her own while they rode the bus together in sixth grade. She realized similar things had happened to her, and that she needed to tell her parents.
"Mom," Stephens says she told her mother one night in her bedroom during the summer after she completed sixth grade, "when Larry rubs my feet, he uses his penis."
Her mother went gaunt. She had her daughter repeat the story to her father. The parents decided they would consult a psychologist. They took her to Dr. Gary Stollak, who was then a Michigan State professor and a clinical psychologist. Stollak organized a meeting with the woman's parents and Nassar to discuss her accusations. Stephens, then a young teenager, was not at the meeting, and Nassar denied any wrongdoing. She says she visited Stollak's office roughly eight times, sometimes by herself and sometimes with her parents. She doesn't recall the doctor ever asking her questions about the abuse when her parents were absent or trying to determine whether her side of the story was true. She described their session as more akin to "uncomfortable" sex education lessons.
Stollak retired from Michigan State in 2010. He testified in court that he suffered a stroke after retirement that has significantly impaired his memory. He also said he disposed of the notes he kept on his clients when he retired. There is no record that Stollak, who was bound by state law to report suspected abuse, talked with anyone else at the university or to police about the alleged abuse. He told the court that he did not recall seeing the woman as a patient.
After the meeting with Nassar and Stollak, Stephens says her parents brought her back to Nassar's home and told her to apologize to him. She refused and stuck to her story for the following year. Her relationship with her father became "volatile" during that time. He routinely pressured her to admit that what she had told them about Nassar was a lie. About a year later, when she was 13 years old, her father made it clear his patience had run out.
"If you don't tell the truth," he told her, "I'm going to make your life a living hell."
Stephens says the look on his face that day made her believe him, "and if I wasn't already in a living hell, I was unprepared to endure one." She says she decided it would be easier to concede to the story he wanted to believe.
Several parents who spoke to Outside the Lines say Nassar was as effective in grooming them as he was in grooming his victims. Tony Guerrero says he beamed with pride the first time he brought his daughter to Nassar's office on Michigan State's campus in 2014. The walls of the two rooms where Nassar saw patients were plastered with autographed photos and memorabilia from Olympic gymnasts and figure skaters. He says it all made him feel like he was providing his daughter -- at the time a 12-year-old aspiring to be an elite gymnast -- an opportunity to receive world-class care.
Nassar gave her a floor pass from the Olympic Games signed by gold medalist Nastia Liukin and allowed Guerrero to sit in the room throughout the treatment. He was in the room each time his daughter saw Nassar. He says Nassar used his body to block Guerrero's view and talked casually as Nassar touched his daughter.
"He was a professional at what he did. Not a doctor -- a professional predator," Guerrero says. "He positioned himself in places where I couldn't see where his hands were, and he would be doing what he wanted. The whole time she's thinking it's normal because I'm sitting there with her, and he's doing stuff he shouldn't be doing."
Others trusted Nassar enough to drop off their daughters at his house for treatment, often late at night. He was an in-demand doctor who was willing to find time after hours to help their family. Lindsey Lemke, the Michigan State gymnast who grew up in the same town as Nassar, says he gained her family's trust because he would do "anything for anybody at any time of day that you asked."
Christy Lemke-Akeo, Lindsey's mother, socialized with Nassar and considered him a family friend. They exchanged Christmas gifts. She didn't hesitate to run errands while Lindsey was at Nassar's office or in his home at night.
"How could we have missed this?" Lemke-Akeo says. "I was on my kid's back 24/7 about Facebook and Twitter. I would follow them on their phones to see where they went every night. I thought I had everything under control. ... It was a terrible feeling as a parent because you do feel like you've dropped the ball."
Lemke-Akeo says she asked her daughter several times in the fall of 2016 if Nassar had ever abused her, and Lindsey shook her off. Both women had trouble coming to grips with their shattered reality. It wasn't until he was charged with child pornography possession -- authorities found more than 37,000 images -- that they fully believed Nassar had ill intentions when treating her.
Stephens, whose father did not believe that she had been abused, says the fact she refused to apologize to Nassar was a constant subject in what had become a contentious relationship with her father. She says he branded her as a liar. Her father suffered from chronic debilitating physical pain throughout much of her life, and she says the cocktail of drugs he was prescribed to manage that affected his mental well-being.
A month before she left for college in 2010, she decided it was time to try again to tell her father that Nassar had assaulted her.
"I wasn't lying," she remembers telling him, before his hand shot out and pinned her neck to the chair where she was sitting. "Then he said -- well, he growled, 'What did you say?' I gasped, 'I wasn't lying.' He said it again. I was basically choking, and I said, 'I. Was. Not. Lying.' He just crumpled. You could see his face just completely shatter, like, 'Holy ####, this 18-year-old doesn't have any reason to stick to that story at this point.' He just sat on the couch and just stared into space for a while."
On March 30, 2016, he died by suicide.
Stephens says she reached a level of peace with her father in the years that followed that altercation. He told her he was wracked with guilt for believing Nassar, especially because he worked for many years as a caretaker in a home for abused children. She says she thinks the chronic pain with no hope of relief was the main reason her father took his life, but the guilt he felt in those final years "really broke his spirit and his belief that he was worth keeping alive."
Less than six months after his death, a 31-year-old lawyer and mother of three named Rachael Denhollander filed a police report alleging that Nassar had abused her when she was a teenage gymnast. She became the first person to publicly accuse Nassar of assault, in an article published in The Indianapolis Star in September 2016.
Denhollander's story convinced dozens of other women and girls to come forward. This week, many of them will detail their tragic encounters with Nassar in a Michigan courtroom. The stories that have existed in isolation for a quarter-century will be for the first time told in a common setting as Nassar and a judge who will decide his prison sentence listen.
The trusted reputation he built as a shield and the gaps of communication in which he preyed upon young girls and women for decades will be gone. For Denhollander and the many other women like her, only a portion of the justice they seek will be done. The questions and fallout from Nassar's action will linger for them and for all who surrounded Nassar for so many years.
"The culture of enabling is absolutely vital to why pedophiles flourish," Denhollander said when Nassar pleaded guilty to abusing her and nine others in November. "You don't get someone like Larry Nassar, you don't get a pedophile who is able to abuse without there being a culture surrounding him in that place. Until we deal with the enablers, this is going to continue to happen."