a drawer instead of destroying it.
Forgetting was never the goal.
Neither was revenge.
The goal was to reach a day when the memory could exist without owning the room.
Twenty years earlier, my parents had driven away believing they had left a powerless child behind them.
They were wrong about the child.
They were wrong about power.
And, in the end, they were wrong about what an empire was worth.
The company they had spent a lifetime using to make themselves untouchable changed hands for one dollar.
The life I built after they abandoned me was never for sale.
