I'm nineteen now. I'm in my second year of law school at a small college in New England. My father still practices. Margaret is a judge. Andrew is ten and wants to be an architect.
Diana lives in another state. She sends birthday cards. Andrew reads them and puts them in a drawer. He doesn't answer.
I still remember everything. Every date, every word, every second of that time. But it doesn't hurt the way it used to. It's like an old scar. It's part of me.
The blue notebook burned. The second notebook was entered into evidence and never returned. But I have a new one. Brown leather. Thick pages. I write in it every day.
Not just the evidence anymore. The other things too.
The day Dad taught me to ride a bike. The day Andrew took his first steps. The day Margaret became a judge. The da
