A day before my thesis defense, my husband held me down while my mother-in-law forced me to “know my place.” They thought I’d never show my face again. But I walked onto that stage anyway — and when my father stood up from the front row, everything changed.

A day before my thesis defense, my husband grabbed me while my mother-in-law shaved my head, telling me to “know my place.” They thought I’d stay home in shame. But I walked onto the stage — and when my father rose from the front row, the real story began.

I lived among the ghosts of the past, and that suited me just fine. My small world smelled of old books, archival dust, and strong black tea. The stacks of monographs piled on the floor of my two-bedroom condo in Southeast D.C.