For years, I had kept proof close because I expected someone to challenge my right to know my own life.
Julian challenged my memory.
My judgment.
My signature.
My questions.
Eventually even my legal ability to manage financial decisions.
So I learned to keep records.
Dates.
Statements.
Receipts.
Authorizations.
Originals.
Copies.
The record protected me.
But protection could become another kind of prison if I spent the rest of my life reopening the file.
I took my hand away from Cabinet Seven.
The mug sat on my desk.
The scholarship form waited for Monday.