Because a person can be stripped of a great deal.

Manuel had been stripped of his bedroom, his kitchen, his money, his decisions, his standing in his own home, one piece at a time, over months, until almost little was left.

But he had not been stripped of everything, and the proof of that was a small rusted key hidden under a garden stone.

In that key, Manuel had preserved one last domain of his own autonomy, one thing that was still his, one decision he had not surrendered: the decision to keep hidden the true records of his life, to protect the evidence of the truth, to hold in reserve a card his captors did not know he held.

It was a small resistance.