I allowed Mark to create written summaries after important meetings.
I began recording major decisions so I could review my own reasoning later.
At first, every accommodation felt like evidence against me.
Eventually, it began to feel like equipment.
A wheelchair did not mean I had stopped moving.
A reminder did not mean I had stopped thinking.
Help did not erase me.
Mark asked to resign.
I refused.
Then I changed my mind.
Not because I blamed him.
Because both of us needed different boundaries.
He accepted a new role overseeing one of our charitable programs.
Before leaving my private office, he stood in the doorway the way he had the night we discussed March seventeenth.
“I should have spoken sooner,” he said.
“Yes.”
“I thought staying neutral meant staying out of it.”
“So did a lot of people.”
He nodded.
“I won’t make that mistake again.”
“I hope you make entirely new mistakes.”
