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The thing about that mindset is that it’s not fair to him. It took me a long time to realize that his death wasn’t, isn’t, and will never be about me.
Losing my parents shattered me, but I’m still here.
At four years old, I was twice orphaned.
I don’t care what anyone says. Christian and Elena Reeves loved me. We were the perfect family. Those four short months I got to spend with them were the best months of my life, and it was the last time I can say I was truly happy.
Sometimes when I’m in the darkest depths of my depression, I wish that he did. It would have been a mercy.
When I first walked into that kitchen to see my father on his knees and blood everywhere, I don’t know why I didn’t scream or cry. I don’t know why I cared so much about those stupid pancakes, but Dad told me he’d get them for me if I counted to one hundred, and I tried so hard to be good and do it.
Grandma was in the kitchen because of me, because Mom promised me pancakes for breakfast. They were all in the kitchen because of me. They’re all dead because of me.
People say the property is cursed. So many people who have lived here have met their violent demise. It’s nothing but a slowly deteriorating relic of the worst parts of this city.
He didn’t kill himself because he gave up on me, but because he lost the only thing that was holding him together.
I should have cried; I should have screamed. I should have saved him, just like my mother did.
