That’s how long it took for you to write to me and yet you have the cheek to call yourself my ‘mother’. No real mother would have left it that long. Then again, no real mother would have murdered her own son, would they?
I cannot address you as ‘mother’ and I never will, ever again. Aunt Sophie has been more of a mother to me these past three years than you were in the preceding thirteen. Uncle Felix is the kind of father my so-called daddy never could be. At least he doesn’t try to grope me when he’s drunk.
Oh yes, that’s what he did to me. It was only the once, but isn’t once just once too many times? I can hear you now, making excuses for him: “He was drunk. He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t mean anything by it” and other some-such bullshit! He was supposed to be my father, not some alcohol-raddled pervert who saw his own daughter as the same sort of fair game as the slags and tarts he hung around with at the pub. Were it not for Alexander, God only knows what might have happened.
You DO remember Alexander, don’t you? He was the son you murdered: he was the son you could not even bring yourself to mention by name in that vile, self-centred drivel you sent to me, you bitch! My beloved brother did what he did to protect you, me and himself. What thanks did he get for his consideration? You, his own damn mother, sticking a knife in his guts and taking his life and then not even having the decency to call him by name. You are disgusting!
You can kid yourself all you like that you didn’t mean to do it, but that doesn’t wash, does it? The jury found you guilty of cold-blooded murder, because that is what it was. You killed Alexander – your own flesh and blood – out of sheer spite and malice. You were pissed at him because he did what he believed you never had the guts to do yourself: get rid of that waster you married and allowed to abuse you and us. Alexander could see where things were headed as clearly as you could, couldn’t you? You know as well as I do that things were getting worse and worse. It came to a sort-of a head that night he made a grab for my tits. He only backed-down when Alexander warned him off.
Face facts, will you: there was no way on God’s green earth that things were ever going to become ‘Happy Families’ for us while Daddy Dearest was a part of our lives. It could have all been so different if you had had the balls to support your son, a son who loved you more than you deserved as it turned out. Alexander was the son who would have done anything in the world to help you, even risk a long prison sentence to free you from the tyranny of a monster. The one sad, pathetic fact he never knew about you was that you was as much as a monster as the beast you were married to. Poor Alexander, such a sad misguided boy he was. And you could not even pay him the respect of addressing him by name in your whiny letter to me.
Yes, I have put my darling brother on a pedestal. He was a hero to me when he was alive; he was a hero to me when he protected me from my so-called father and he will be a hero to me until the day I die. Of all the disgusting things you have done to try to discredit and demean Alexander the way you did in your vile letter takes some beating. How dare you compare him to that bastard you married! How dare you claim to have done a good thing by killing him! Even as I write this the breath catches in my throat as I recall your words. Your narcissism and sickness know no bounds. Words almost fail me, they really do.
One of the positives to come out of all this horror is the fact that I am now loved and respected and protected by two people I am both honoured and proud to now call ‘mum’ and ‘dad’, for they are the parents you and he never could be and were never meant to be. My Aunt, the same sister you accused of not being maternal, has been the very model of kindness and understanding, patience and practicality, strength and support. I could not have emerged from this nightmare without her and Uncle Felix steering my way through the minefiedl you left behind. If I live to be a hundred years old I could never repay her and Uncle Felix for everything they have done to mould and guide me to be the level-headed teenager I am today. I love them both unreservedly and I will always be grateful to them for what they have done for me so far, and what will continue to do for me throughout my life.
That means that there is no place in my life for you, not now and certainly not in the future. Even if I were in the direst of circumstances there would still be no place in my life for you. I hope one day to have a family of my own; a loving husband and children. Lord knows I never want any of them to be dragged down into the murk where you dwell which is why you are as dead to me as my so-called father and my poor murdered Alexander are. The only difference is that I will always keep my dead brother in my heart and my memory. If it is at all possible I will forget you and my so-called father as soon as I can. I have better use for the brain cells thoughts of you and him will infect.
You must be asking why and how I can be so cold and harsh. It's very simple: you see, I understand now. I understand it all. You were the wolf in sheep’s clothing in our family, the real monster that only showed its true face when threatened with exposure.
While he was alive your husband kept your true nature suppressed with his aggression and violence. Far from being cowed by it all, you revelled in it; a true masochist. No matter that he hurt me and Alexander, as long as your needs were satisfied. When Alexander effectively cut you off from your regular supply of abuse and pain, like a drug addict denied her next fix, you lashed out. I have no doubts whatsoever that if it had be me wielding the knife that day I would have met the same fate as my dear brother did. That thought still gives me sleepless nights. Your true nature came out in that single act and I loathe you for it.
You are never going to be freed, you do realise that, don’t you? Society doesn’t need people like you polluting its streets. If, God forbid, you are ever considered for parole, I will make it my personal mission to ensure that the members of the Parole Board are dissuaded from granting you your freedom. I will do it every single time the issue comes up until the day they carry you out of whatever institution you happen to be incarcerated at the time you draw your final, shuddering breath.
This letter has probably come as something of a shock to you. I hope so. You see, I am most definitely not the daughter I would have been if you had been influencing – poisoning - my life. I am a stronger, more confident and far more worldly sixteen-year-old than I ought to be thanks to you and your sickness. It's not all a bad thing though, for it has given me the strength of character to excise you from my life as cleanly and as dispassionately as you excised your parental responsibilities for all those years.
Every day I live to see the sun rise I thank every deity out there that that you are where you are and I am safe where I am. I am even glad that Alexander is free from your evil influence, too. That is the final triumph: that you can no longer hurt, harm or influence either of us any more. You are as alone in this world as you deserve to be. To my way of thinking, that is right and just
That’s all I have to say to you.