Rhoswen had protected the house.

Osei had assembled the proof.

All that remained was for me to walk through a door and let the truth do what my father had made sure it could do.

I folded the scarf and put it in my bag, and I did not plan to take it out again.

The scarf going into the bag was a small thing, and it was also the whole story.

I had bought it, and others like it, in the early weeks — soft, wide, chosen for coverage, a fabric wall between my ruined skin and the world’s eyes.