That memory, fragile and fleeting as it often was, did something subtle but profound: it shaped the way people moved through the world. Decisions became slightly less automatic. Hesitations gained weight. Words, gestures, and actions carried a quiet accountability that had not been there before.
It did not stop mistakes. It did not erase cruelty. It did not prevent regret. But it forced each person, in their own way, to reckon with the fact that they had been present at the moment of choosing.
And sometimes, that was enough.
Sometimes it was enough for someone to pause before acting rashly. Sometimes it was enough for someone to speak when silence would have been easier. Sometimes it was enough for someone to notice, in the smallest way, that the consequences of their actions were theirs alone to bear.
