They thought I was finished. They walked in wrapped in certainty, already rehearsing my defeat like a scene they’d run a hundred times, never once imagining the script could turn on them. Every smug pause, every practiced sigh said I was done, that my silence was proof of their victory. They didn’t see the records, the signatures, the quiet trail of dates and details I’d been collecting in the shadows while they laughed in the light. They never stopped to ask why I didn’t beg, why I didn’t break, why I met their rehearsed outrage with a calm that didn’t quite match the role they’d written for me. They were so busy savoring the ending they’d planned that they never checked the foundation of their own story, never wondered what I’d alrea… Continues…
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