It was too much for a six-year-old to understand.
That my mother was raped.
That I was the product of that rape.
And that trauma caused her to develop Dissociative Identity Disorder.
At the time, I simply thought sometimes she was just mad at me. But that day, watching her flip so quickly, her saying she hated me, and then her giving me extra meatballs, I knew I had two different moms. One who knew the truth and the other who didn’t. It was one of the real reasons why she didn’t abort me, why she never gave me up for adoption. There was part of her that loved me and part of her that hated me enough to kill me…and the part that loved me often lost.
It was only a year later that I went to Wyatt and Dona’s birthday party. For some reason, she had snapped again that night and broke my arm. I had left with my grandfather—who was visiting—the next morning. And he told me how I’d get my parents to love me. How I could be the hero of our family. How I could bring justice to so many others that had been hurt, too. It was simple. Everything I did was for the greater good. Putting an end to the reign of terror that was the Callahan Family was the greatest good I could do for humanity.
Lie if I had to.
Cheat if I had to.
Steal if I had to… Kill…if I had to.
And it would all be justified.
The monster inside me they fed and let grow was for good. Every person I had killed before was evil and cruel and deserving of death. They were also stepping stones to the Callahans. After they were gone, I would take over all of it, and with their infrastructure, build anew. All the power would be mine and mine alone.
That was how this world was going to remember my name.
Everything was planned.
But in every plan, there are so many external factors. Things we never saw coming, no matter how much we prepared.
“Mommy?”
I turned around to see my own daughter standing in the doorframe, rubbing her mismatched eyes.
“Eccomi qui, il mio piccolo tesoro.” Here I am, my little treasure, I gasped, moving to her and kneeling. I pulled her into my arms and kissed her cheeks over and over again.
She giggled loudly. “Mommy!”
“Shh,” I said gently. “You don’t want to wake Daddy now, do you?”
Her eyes widened, and the way she peeled herself out of my arms to go look back at him made me laugh.
“Daddy’s sleeping,” she whispered.
“I know.” I poked her belly. “Why aren’t you?”
She pouted. “’Cause I’m hungry.”
I stared at her for a moment before kissing her head. I expected to love her. But man, did I love her.
“How about we get a small snack and sleep for a few more hours, then get up, and I’ll make everyone a giant breakfast? It’s our first day here. We should make a good impression, don’t you think?”
She nodded and then looked up to me. “But what do they want to eat?”
“We’ll make everything!” I said, lifting her. “Come on, let’s get a snack.”
I tiptoed across the room with her in my arms, and she kept the best lookout for me. It was only when we were safely in my closet that I set her on the center island, before taking my bag from the corner and pulling out her favorite snack. I grinned as she gasped at the sight of the box.
“Bauducco Chocottone!” She was nearly jumping.
“Shhh,” I said, quickly putting my hand to my lips, and when I did, she did, too.