The designated devil's crime was not cruelty or failure or rebellion. It was witnessing. She was in the room. She remembers what was said. She noticed the distance between the family's narrative and the family's actions, and she made the error of not forgetting. She holds the archive the family needs destroyed.

After thirty years, I've learned journaling isn't about capturing life but about the practice of presence itself—and I'm returning to share that uncertainty.