“From what I can tell, they’ve always had one,” John said, giving me a meaningful look. “You’ve been one hell of a father, Joey Lynch.” “Except that I’m not,” I croaked out. “I’m not their father, and I’m fucking tired of having to be.” There it was. Admitted out loud. For what I thought might be the first time ever. “I can’t do it anymore,” I continued to spill my confessions, too weary and broken in the head to cover it up. “I can’t keep raising them in that environment. If someone doesn’t get them out of that house, they’re going to die or, worse, turn into me.”
