I could have let the shock of being thrown outside turn every unanswered question into a conclusion.
That would have been emotionally understandable.
It also would have been exactly the wrong thing to do.
So I stopped trying to make my family understand me.
I focused on preserving what I actually had.
First, I checked the recorder.
The green indicator was still blinking.
I confirmed that the device had captured a continuous file beginning before the argument and continuing through the moment Dad threw me out.
That mattered.
A continuous recording was different from trying to recreate the exchange afterward from memory.
I did not have to remember the exact order of every sentence while sitting in the rain with my neck hurting and my shoulder throbbing.
I did not have to wonder whether stress had changed some tiny detail.
The device had been there.
It had captured the conversation as it happened.
