To those who knew him for decades but never met me:
you already know the truth.
That is precisely why I was kept at a distance — in case I might discover what you have long managed, minimized, or learned to look away from. The irony is simple and unavoidable: I was already living inside the truth.
No amount of secrecy, image-management, or collective denial could hide abuse that was occurring in real time. You cannot conceal what someone is experiencing daily in their own nervous system.
The idea that keeping me away would prevent discovery misunderstands how abuse works. Abuse is not revealed by outsiders — it is revealed by patterns.
And patterns do not suddenly stop because one person leaves.
If this behavior has existed across his lifetime, it will not end now. It will not end because I am gone. And it will not end because the next person is quieter, younger, more accommodating, or more isolated.
That belief — that it somehow ended with me — is not hope. It is denial.
Whether others choose to continue witnessing, excusing, or reframing what happens next is their responsibility.
It is no longer mine.
Not My Responsibility Anymore
I am not accountable for protecting a family narrative.
I am not responsible for preventing future harm by staying silent, staying small, or staying inside abuse.
I have already done the only thing that reliably interrupts the nervous-system loop of harm:
I left.
What happens beyond that point belongs to those who remain.
Not my problem anymore.
