My mother said I should stay in the kitchen during the wedding photos—only until the “important guests” were gone. I didn’t mention that for the past year I had been

Daniel’s jaw tightened. “Then we refuse,” he said.
“Refuse what?” I asked.“We refuse to let it shrink you,” he said. “We do it clean. We do it right. But we don’t let it shame you.”

The next week, I made a decision that felt both painful and liberating: I recused myself from any work that could be perceived as intersecting with the administration, even indirectly. I requested a new portfolio. I asked for transparency in writing. I offered to meet with the committee in person.

My supervisor looked at me like he was watching someone choose fire. “You shouldn’t have to do this,” he said.

“I know,” I replied. “But I’d rather choose the terms than have them forced on me.”

The meeting with the committee took place in a bland conference room with too-bright lights. Three people sat across from me, serious and neutral, like judges at a competition I didn’t sign up for.

They asked careful questions. I answered carefully. When they asked if I’d ever discussed confidential information with Daniel, I kept my voice even.