But deep down, I know better.
You don’t lock something away like that unless it matters.
You don’t keep records unless you’re afraid of forgetting—or being discovered.
You don’t hide without a reason.
And you don’t stumble upon something like that in your dad’s garage without it changing you, at least a little.
For now, the cabinet remains closed.
The questions remain unanswered.
And every time I think about it, I find myself whispering the same thing:
Please… let it not be what I think.
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