I saved everything in one folder and labeled it like a chart: dates, names.
The worst lines highlighted in my mind, even when I refused to highlight them on the page.
I kept it simple.
Receipts. Records. Payments. Little mentions of bills and bets.
Nothing fancy, just the truth preserved.
Then I stared at my phone.
There’s a moment before you do something irreversible where time slows down.
Your brain runs through every consequence, every possible outcome, like it’s trying to protect you from yourself.
I thought about my mother’s voice calling me too sensitive.
I thought about Bel’s laugh in that voice memo.
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I thought about Grandma Elellanar sitting alone at night, pen scratching in her notebook, still keeping track in a way no one bothered to respect.
And I thought about the next four days: the birthday party, the photographer, the smiles, the way my family loved an audience.
