“I only said that because my grandma was standing right behind my chair,” I said.

“With her hand on my shoulder.”

The nurse’s pen stopped moving.

And then I told her all of it.

I told her about the little brass padlock, and the cut chain in the paper bag in the truck, and about how I had not been able to take the brace off by myself, not when it pinched, not when I felt sick at night, not ever, because there had been a lock on it and I had never once held the key.

And when I had finished, I asked her to write every word of it down in her official log this time.