After the New York Times published an article in early June about the Senate candidate Graham Platner’s treatment of the women he dated, the story’s main source reacted with disappointment and anger.

It was a “gift to the Platner campaign”, charged Lyndsey Fifield, who had dated the Democratic combat veteran years ago and who spoke candidly to the Times about that experience.

The story’s headline called his behavior “unsettling”. That adjective seemed particularly careful and quite mild if you read deeper into the story. And the story’s narrative approach – including a long lead-in from the perspective of the Platner campaign – was notably indirect.

But those who read the article would eventually encounter Fifield’s shocking recollection of how Platner allegedly grabbed her by the shoulders hard enough to leave marks, once yanked her out of a cab against her will, and how during one argument, “he twisted her arm behind her back, shoved her into a bedroom and held the door closed from the other side so she couldn’t get out.” She also told Times reporters that Platner would refer to women as “hatchet wounds”, referring to female anatomy.

Platner vehemently denied any violence, and the Times article stated that reporters “could not independently corroborate Ms. Fifield’s account of the altercations”. (Fifield has complained they didn’t try hard enough.)

While the article spooked some Platner supporters, others were quick to label Fifield’s account as a politically motivated smear campaign. They emphasized Fifield’s political leanings; the first reference in the Times article describes her as “a Virginia conservative who has worked for right-leaning groups and Republican campaigns”.

With the continued support of progressive elected officials, including Bernie Sanders and Ro Khanna, Platner went on to win the Democratic primary convincingly. As July rolled around, he appeared battered but ready to take on the longtime Republican incumbent Susan Collins in November – and perhaps help turn the Senate blue.

But soon, other shoes dropped. Just days ago, Politico published a bombshell story in which another woman Platner dated, Jenny Racicot, described how Platner came to her home drunk and allegedly forced her to have sex against her will.

“I remember him grabbing my pelvis and being really forceful of me,” she told reporters. “I remember the specific moment where I thought to myself, like, ‘This is no longer my choice.’” Platner denied it and has consistently denied that his treatment of women has ever been nonconsensual.

Politico stopped short of using the term rape. But people understand that forced sex is rape, after all, and that’s how the story has been widely received.

Soon after it published, CNN’s Jake Tapper interviewed Racicot on air, retelling her experience. It all hit hard – much harder than the initial Times story, in which Racicot was a named source but said far less and got far less attention.

Supporters might have been able to look past Platner’s Nazi-like tattoo, his sexting with multiple women shortly after his marriage, and Fifield’s recollection of his rough treatment. He was, after all, a combat veteran who had experienced PTSD and claimed to have grown and changed; that was all part of his roughhewn appeal.

But these allegations of rape were – finally – a bridge too far.

Even Platner’s most devoted supporters were bailing out when the Washington Post reported, one day later, Fifield’s charges that Platner had repeatedly, and without her consent, removed condoms during sex with her. (He denied this too.)

Platner effectively ended his Senate campaign within days. And Democrats’ post-primary scramble to replace him is under way, all to the familiar tune of blame-shifting and finger-pointing.

Amid this, it’s fair to ask if journalism did its job in reporting fairly and accurately on Platner. In the big picture, I think reporters succeeded in ferreting out the truth, though not with flawless timing or execution.

As a result of their work, Maine’s voters (and the nation) know how deeply unsuitable Platner is. And he’s out.

“All of this is profoundly troubling, wish-we-knew-it-sooner stuff, and a reminder of the patient work that Me Too reporting requires,” wrote Betsy Morais, the editor of Columbia Journalism Review. “Reporting on sexual violence is an extraordinarily difficult, sensitive task, and there are often serious questions of timing and approach.”

Asked about timing and approach, Times representatives have said they conscientiously published what they were able to verify and in as timely a manner as possible.

But questions of “what if?” haunt the mess left behind.

What if the Times story had been more definitive and more direct, but had still come out before the primary?

What if the reporting from Politico, CNN and the Washington Post had come a couple of weeks earlier?

That sounds good in retrospect, and with the benefit of hindsight, but this kind of reporting doesn’t happen on a convenient timeline.

Often, one story leads to another, perhaps in a different news outlet. For various reasons, as the days tick on, sources may decide to say more or put more information on the record. New sources may emerge after the initial reporting.

It’s not a science, it’s not predictable and – while reporters always strive for their stories to be factually “bulletproof” – timing and tone are as tricky as they are important.

For good reason, journalism has been called the “first rough draft of history”.

In the case of Maine’s Senate race, the ink is still wet, and the history is still being written.