They Held My Funeral While I Was Still Breathing. Then My Seven-Year-Old Nephew Looked Into the Coffin and Said, “Mommy, Aunt Madelyn Is Looking at Me”
A camera had recorded him buying supplies; it could not be sighed at into changing its mind.
A notary had watched him lie; her memory was not something he could patiently erase over months.
The facts had been taken out of his hands and mine both, and set down somewhere he could not reach them, and they said what they said.
After seven years of being told I couldn’t trust my own eyes, there was a kind of peace I had no name for in being believed by evidence that had never loved me and so could not be talked out of the truth.
Chapter 16 — The Sliver of Light
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