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Then he asked something of me. Not politely. Not gently. As though the decision had already been made long before I ever arrived. He wanted me to remember. To follow. To write. To refuse the easy explanation. He was asking me to believe wholeheartedly in something I already knew no one else would. And if I did, it would cost me more than my peace of mind. It could cost me my credibility, my career, and every carefully constructed version of myself I'd spent a lifetime protect