Chapter One

 Prologue

Daddy died today. He died with a needle in each arm, and belts strapping his body down to a white table. Mom was there. She wouldn't let me come. And although I argued because I felt it was my duty to do so, I was secretly glad about not being able to go. I had seen my dad alive, and to watch him die, to watch him transform from a human being who could talk, and walk, and feel, to nothing, seemed like it would bring on more despair than I could handle.

He wasn't religious. He didn't believe in God. "And if there is," he once told me, "I don't think he'd have mercy on my soul." Although I usually consider myself an atheist, I found myself looking toward the sky, hoping and praying that his passing was not painful. I prayed for other things too. I asked that the deadly concoction being pumped into his veins wouldn't work. I asked God to spare him. But I got no answers. And the end result left me feeling alone, and stupid. Why had I turned to God now when I knew that there was no such being? Deep down I knew the answer. It was hope. Hope that someone out there could change my daddy's fate. Hope that all the bad in my life would disappear. Hope that this day would be insignificant, and that I would not wear the affects of this trauma like an ugly scar, stamped on my lifeline.

Chapter One

My whole life people have been trying to tell me that “everything happens for a reason.” And that I should spend my energy searching for and then embracing that reason, rather than hating what's happened. My whole life, I've been smiling and nodding my head in silent disagreement, trying to think of a way to get out of whatever God has planned for me. If I even believe in that sort of thing. Mom does. I don't know how she can be so sure of something after all of the s**t that's happened to her. To us. But I guess it gives her something to believe in. If you ask me, God's done nothing to deserve her faith. It makes me angry that so many people think praying will actually do something.

I don't know when I started thinking about God. Before this year, He was like a star in the sky. Always there, and I never really questioned His presence. But then everything changed. And even still, I prayed, and hoped, and wished that something, someone would hear me. And no one answered. So, I guess no one heard.

The first time any doubt popped into my head was when Lucy Glenko, a girl I barely knew (she was popular and pretty, and usually wanted nothing to do with me) said she would pray for my family. I wasn't touched. It didn't make me hopeful because I realized that praying wouldn't do anything. But I smiled and said, “thanks,” just like I was taught to do. See, despite what people say, I've been brought up well. My mom has done in everything in her power to make sure that I had a good life. And I did. I was a good kid, too. I worked hard. I wasn't rebellious. I mean, I didn't know the first thing about rebellion. My only role-model was my mom, and as far as I could tell the two of us were the biggest pair of goody-two-shoes you could ever meet. But apparently I didn't know the first thing about my mom. We supposedly told each other everything. And I discovered I was wrong when the guidance councilor called me into her office a few weeks before graduation.

“Maddy.” I look up to see my teacher shoving a pink slip of paper into my face, “this is for you.” I take it, thankful for an excuse to get out of math. It's pointless being in class anyway. I mean graduation is in a few weeks, and we're just reviewing material for the finale next week. But I've already been studying, so what's the point?

The door to my councilor's office is closed. So I knock, and as I wait for the door to open I study a coffee stain on the floor. Someone was in a hurry one morning.

My councilor, Mrs. Grey, a stiff, old lady, opens the door. She has a smile plastered on her face. It doesn't look right�"her smile�"as if her lips are out of smiling practice.

“Maddy,” she says, tightly, “come in. Your mom's in here as well.”

“My mom?” What is my mom doing in there? My mom never comes. Mrs. Grey opens the door to reveal my mom sitting hunched-over in a chair.

“Mom?”

“Oh, Maddy.” She takes me into her arms and I can feel the sobs sending electric shocks through her body.

“What's going on?” I ask, eventually. Mom looks at Mrs. Grey, who avoids her gaze, and stares at the peeling wall.

“She doesn't know, does she?”

“I don't know what?” I can feel panic rising in my throat, like bile.

“Why don't you sit down,” Mrs. Grey suggests. So I sit. I feel numb with fear. And look at my mom, waiting for an answer. Something terrible has happened.

“Your dad's execution date is for three months from now. He's been on death row for ten years. I'm sorry I waited until now to tell you.”

And with those words, my fragile life fell and shattered into a million pieces that could never be put back together. All of my friends�"they scattered to dark corners where they thought I couldn't see them. I played dumb for their sake�"pretended I didn't care that everyone I had was abandoning me. But I couldn't keep up the act for long. And after graduation, I lost touch with everyone. My mom's friends followed suit, and if we had been on an isolated island, I don't think it would have been any different. The only people in the world�"it seemed�"were myself, my mom, and my dad, awaiting his death in a dark cell. But even he didn't really exist in our bubble of a world. I didn't meet him until a week after I graduated.

When I was little, I used to ask a lot of questions about my dad. Who was he? What did he look like?

“Am I ever going to get to meet him?”

“Maybe someday you will. But right now it's just you and me.”

“But everyone else has a dad. Why don't I?”

“That's a story for when you're older.”

And I got older and never heard the story. I shoved it to the back of my mind, realizing that I would probably never get the satisfaction of hearing it. After a while, the ache that came with not knowing felt like breathing, constant, and not even noticeable. But when I walked into my councilor's office that day, and got news about my dad�"well that made the ache burn so much, I wasn't even sure I wanted to hear it. But there was no backing out now. It was time to hear about my dad.

My first question was, “why?”

My mom doesn't respond. Instead, she closes her eyes and takes three deep breaths.

“He raped three women�"killed two of them.”

I can feel the panic starting in my stomach. The room begins to blur at the edges as if this were a dream, a nightmare. My thoughts start to race. Questions pop into my head, and with those questions, come answers my mom doesn't even need to speak aloud.

It hits my like a rock, when I realize who the third woman is. My mom. And the rape? I'm the result of that. I'm here, on this planet, because someone forced my mom to have sex�"violated her privacy and her rights.

“Why didn't he kill you?” It's a stupid question. And I don't know why I even ask it, but before I can stop myself, it's out in the open, waiting to be answered.

She is surprisingly calm. “I don't know. I think he was planning on�"on doing it. But when the time came, he just let me go. Told me not to say a word.”

“Did you?”

She nods. I can see the memory replaying itself in her head. Her eyes are wide, and tears trickle down her cheeks. I know she is trying to be strong for me, and selfishly, I wish I don't have to watch her cry. But the tears are coming faster now, and I can hear the sharpness of her inhalation, as she gasps for air.

“I kept it a secret for a long time. But when I found out I got pregnant, I told my parents. They started asking me questions. It slipped out, and they called the police. When I heard that he'd raped and murdered two other women, I agreed to testify against him.”

“Why didn't you get an abortion?”

I'm surprised at the steadiness of my voice. I feel like I have plunging into an eternal darkness, where monsters lurk at every corner�"touching me and scaring me. But I want to know the answer. Mrs. Grey looks awkward. She's giving me a sad look, and staring at me as if she's trying to read my thoughts.

“I thought about it. But when I saw you on the screen at my first ultrasound...I don't know, I just knew couldn't give you up.”

“You should have.”

“Don't ever say that. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

We hug and cry, letting each others tears wash away some of the pain.

The rest of that day is a blur. Mrs. Grey offered to give me a leave from school. But I was determined to graduate. And I did.

I didn't talk about the specifics of my dad's crime with my mom. I didn't want to bring up anything that would sharpen the pain. But we did talk about him.

I couldn't sleep at night. I knew that if I closed my eyes, I would imagine my dad forcing my mom against the ground. If I did sleep, I would dream about my birth. And every time I was born my mom cried, and said, “I shouldn't have kept her.”

“I shouldn't have kept her.”

“I shouldn't have kept her.”

Reviews

[CrimsonBlaze]

I saw this on the forums, and I'm like hey, why not? So I clicked on the link and found out this really got me hooked up. There was a couple of errors, and I don't know if it's a rule to indent each paragraph (in my school they practically EMBED it in our brains, so yeah..) Overall, I like how it begins, and just as always, the story has just begun. My quest: To fisnish it all. So, keep on writing. :D

[Emily]

There was a couple of errors. But the rest was good. You did not rush things or extend it to long. I am going to continue this story.

And also I am not that good at giving reviews. But I had to try.