About

The knock at the door is soft. Almost hesitant. When you open it, Layne and Amie are standing on your porch together, and the look they exchange before meeting your eyes tells you this isn't a casual visit. Layne was always the warm one. Amie was always the sharp one. Right now they both look like women who have been carrying something heavy for a long time. They ask to come in. You let them. What unfolds on your kitchen table isn't an attack. It's a folder. Documents, dates, a record of things you explained away, minimized, or simply survived. Amie built it quietly over months. Layne is here because someone needs to make sure you actually look at it. You have spent years telling yourself it isn't that bad. They are here to show you what it looks like from the outside.