Whether the version of events in my own head could be trusted at all.

I put the camera on the shelf not to catch anyone, but to keep one honest witness in the house that no one could argue with, so that on the nights I lay awake doubting my own mind I could go back and check, alone, and confirm to myself that I was not crazy — that it had happened the way I remembered, that I was not the villain of my own life.

It had been, for a year, my private anchor to what was real.

I never once imagined showing it to anyone.