I did not defeat my family with a better story, or a louder voice, or more convincing tears.

I defeated them with a record — with the simple, patient, unglamorous act of documenting the truth until it no longer needed me to defend it, until it could stand up in an auditorium, in a courtroom, in the light, and speak, at long last, entirely for itself.

Chapter 20 — Permission to Take Up Space

After the dean left, I stood at my windows for a long time, holding the cream-colored invitation, watching the light move across the city.

For twenty-two years, my family had worked to convince me of three things.

That I was second-best, and always would be.