My father read all of that in the February of 2023.
And he walked me down an aisle in the June and paid for the wedding and gave me a car.
And said nothing.
And what I did with that folder, which took me until the June.
I destroyed it.
Not out of loyalty to my ex-husband and not because it was inaccurate.
Because of Otis.
There is a document in existence that contains four pages about a woman called Nadine and nine pages about my son’s father’s finances and two paragraphs about his grandmother’s second mortgage.
And my son is going to be eighteen in 2043.
And I could see the version of this where that folder is in a drawer in my house for twenty-five years, and where at some point — in an argument, at nineteen, when he is furious with me about something else entirely — I would know it was there.
