I wanted to be the woman you thought I was. The woman you looked at like she was something precious. Something worth protecting. I wanted to deserve that look in your eyes.
But I didn’t.
If you’d known the family I came from, you never would have looked twice at me. You would never have kissed me, let alone fallen in love with me.
It started out innocently. You disappeared for weeks, sometimes months at a time. I was so lonely in a new place where I didn’t know anyone. So, I spent a lot of time at the clubhouse.
Too much time.
I know that sounds like I’m blaming you, like I’m trying to justify the decisions I made, but I’m not. I know everything that happened was my fault. I was the one who made the choices. I was the one who said yes when I should have said no.
I own that. I do. I swear I do.
But...
I did what I knew.
What I learned in order to survive.
The skills my family taught me. The instincts they drilled into me from the time I was old enough to understand that the world was divided into us and them, predators and prey.
I want you to know I loved you with everything I had; it wasn’t much, and I never wanted to hurt you, but you can’t fight your legacy. You can’t outrun your bloodline. Even when you get out, even when you get away to start a new life in a different town with a different name and different dreams, that history, that DNA is still a part of you.
And it follows you wherever you go.
A shadow you can’t run from.
A ghost that knows your real name.
I tried to run.
God, I tried.
I tried so hard, Stephen. You have to believe that. I tried to be better. I tried to be the mother our daughter deserved. The woman you deserved.
But every time I thought I’d escaped, every time I thought I’d finally put enough distance between who I was and who I wanted to be, something would pull meback. A phone call. A threat. A reminder that you can’t hide from who you are meant to be.
And I was theirs.
I’ve always been theirs.
Even when I was yours.
I tried to protect our daughter, tried to protect us both by giving in. By not making waves. By becoming compliant and obedient and invisible. I did what I was asked to do, even when all I thought about was how much I was letting you down.
Even when it made me sick. Even when I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror.
Even when I wanted to die rather than do it one more time.
But I didn’t die. I kept going. Because our daughter needed me. Because if I broke, if I refused, if I fought back, they would have taken her. They would have used her. They would have turned her into what I am.
And I couldn’t let that happen.
I couldn’t.
They never meant anything.
Not to me.
