That’s not what I said.

You’re too sensitive.

Why do you always twist things. The whole machinery runs on the fact that a wound delivered in private can always, afterward, be denied, and that the person wounded, having no proof, begins in time to doubt her own memory of it.

For twenty-two years I lived inside that fog, where the truth of what was being done to me had no standing because it could not be documented, and where I slowly lost the ability to trust my own account against the confident denials of people who never doubted themselves for a second.

And then they made a single, fatal error.

They moved their cruelty out of the undocumented world and into the documented one.