An attachment was loading, a scanned PDF with my signature from ten years ago.

It wasn’t a bank document or an old lease.

My hand trembled as I reached out to touch the screen, recognizing the logo at the top of the page.

It was the letterhead of the Crestview Sanatorium.

My signature sat at the bottom, shaky and blue.

“They cropped out the date,” Sayer said, his finger tapping the glass screen.

“That was ten years ago,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“It doesn’t matter when it was,” Calvin said, walking back from the window. “To anyone reading this, it looks like you were committed yesterday.”

The document was an voluntary admission form for psychological evaluation.

My parents had forced me into the clinic the week after I turned eighteen.

They had told the doctors I was a danger to myself because I wanted to leave their house.

“They edited the intake notes too,” Sayer muttered, scrolling down.

The PDF showed selective paragraphs detailing severe anxiety and emotional instability.

The sections explaining that my parents had brought me in under false pretenses were completely gone.