My father remained beside the window while the frozen recorded camera frame showed two moons above somebody else's city. My mother sat beneath our household calendar, staring at schedules that proved another world had not erased Tuesday. Their presence made the impossible evidence smaller without making any part of its risk less real.
I understood why their deep parental fear demanded one immediate and permanent promise from me. They had already watched one accident break my old life, plus no checklist could guarantee that unknown architecture would return their son.
"I am not asking either of you to approve crossing. I am showing evidence because secrecy would prevent you from protecting yourselves or helping during an emergency," I said.
My father returned toward the table and requested the raw footage instead of the edited three-second clip. I showed every synchronized recording, instrument timestamp, safety report, plus the attorney's explanation of what remained unverified.
