The Light I Turned On

I wanted none of it.

I did not want anyone in that room to be able to make the story about my cruelty instead of his conduct.

So I gave them only what he had actually done, in his own words and his own numbers: a text he had typed, a transfer he had authorized, a hotel he had walked into.

Documents do not scream.

They do not need to.

They simply sit on the screen being true, and there is no arguing with a wire transfer, no reframing a date-stamp, no charming your way past your own signature.