Chapter 7 - THE PRIVATE LIBRARY
The account had two libraries.
The public one had 1,842 posts and archived stories.
The private one was worse.
Not because everything inside was cruel.
Because Ava had never known it existed.
Tracy called it:
REAL LIFE / LONG FORM
Cloud storage.
Organized by year.
Ava 10.
Ava 11.
Divorce.
Middle school.
First period talk.
First dance.
Breakup.
Cheer.
School anxiety.
Mom fights.
Dad fights.
Ava stared at the folder titles while Melissa controlled the screen share.
She did not receive unrestricted access alone.
That had been the therapist's recommendation.
Too much private footage could become its own kind of injury.
Ava hated the limitation.
Accepted it.
Eventually.
The first clip they reviewed was harmless.
Ava at eleven trying to bake cinnamon rolls.
She burned them.
Everyone laughed.
Fine.
Then:
AVA / DANCE PANIC / 2023
Ava's throat tightened.
She remembered.
Eighth-grade winter dance.
She had convinced herself nobody would talk to her.
She cried in the downstairs bathroom.
Tracy sat outside the door.
Talked her through breathing.
Ava had remembered that as one of her mother's best moments.
The footage was from the hallway.
Phone leaned against the baseboard.
Recording the entire conversation.
Ava stared.
“You filmed that?”
Tracy sat in the room with Melissa and Eric now.
No attorney had insisted on distance after the immediate legal review.
Tracy answered.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I thought maybe someday we'd talk about anxiety.”
“You thought my panic attack was educational material.”
Tracy looked down.
“Yes.”
“Did you post it?”
“No.”
“Did Willow House see it?”
Tracy hesitated.
Ava's stomach dropped.
“Yes.”
Eric stood.
“Jesus Christ.”
Tracy looked at him.
“You knew about the library.”
Eric stopped.
Ava turned.
“What?”
Eric's face changed.
“Not this version.”
“What version?”
During the marriage, Eric kept a shared family video drive.
Birthdays.
Trips.
School performances.
Ordinary footage.
After the divorce, Tracy copied the archive into her business account.
Eric knew.
He did not know she'd built categorized emotional folders afterward.
Tracy said:
“You sent me the first folder structure.”
Eric looked at her.
“For family storage.”
“You labeled clips by event.”
“Not by emotional breakdown.”
“No.”
Ava looked between them.
The current fight was becoming contaminated with an older one.
Melissa stopped it.
“Specific facts.”
Good.
They continued.
The dance clip had been sent to Willow House.
Willow House rejected it.
Written note:
Too private. Do not use without Ava's informed assent.
Ava looked at Tracy.
“And you kept it.”
“I kept everything.”
“That isn't an answer.”
Tracy exhaled.
“I didn't want to delete pieces of your life just because I couldn't use them.”
Ava stared.
“You keep saying ‘my life’ like the files belong to you.”
Silence.
Then Melissa opened another folder.
DIVORCE — FIRST NIGHT
Eric's face changed.
“No.”
Ava noticed.
“What?”
Neither parent answered.
Melissa looked at them.
“Do you both know what this is?”
Eric closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Ava sat straighter.
Her parents had told her they were separating when she was twelve.
At the dining table.
Tracy cried.
Eric cried.
Ava remembered dropping her fork.
She remembered asking whether either of them was leaving that night.
What she did not remember was a camera.
“There was a camera?”
Eric looked at her.
“Yes.”
Her whole body went cold.
“Who set it up?”
Tracy said:
“I did.”
Ava looked at Eric.
“You knew?”
He did not answer fast enough.
“Dad.”
“Yes.”
The room went silent.
“Why?”
Eric rubbed both hands over his face.
“Your mom said we might want the conversation documented so we wouldn't later disagree about what we'd told you.”
Ava stared.
“That is insane.”
“Yes.”
“Did you agree?”
“Yes.”
“Did you forget I was a person?”
Eric looked sick.
“No.”
“You both sat there knowing.”
“Yes.”
“Was it posted?”
Tracy said:
“Not then.”
Not then.
Ava heard it.
“When?”
Nobody answered.
Ava stood.
“I'm done for today.”
Melissa nodded immediately.
Good.
No one asked her to finish the archive session.
As Ava reached the door, Tracy spoke.
“Ava.”
She stopped.
“I am sorry.”
Ava looked back.
“For which file?”
May you like
Tracy did not answer.
There were too many.
