The Perfect Child

by Lucinda Berry

No matter how many times I was questioned by the police, it never got easier. My nerves jumped into high gear automatically. They always made me feel like I was lying, even when I was telling the truth.

Why did the universe allow people who hurt kids to have them? Why couldn’t it give them to people like me, who wanted them?

I wished I were as optimistic as I pretended. I used to be. Not anymore.

It gave us an opportunity to miss each other, and sometimes you needed that in a relationship even when you loved each other as much as we did.

It never crossed anyone’s mind that someone else might be in trouble. I wished it would’ve. Maybe then things would’ve ended differently.”

“They’d officially diagnosed Janie with child abuse syndrome. People always assume sexual abuse is the worst kind of abuse that a child can endure, but it’s not. It doesn’t have the kind of lasting effects that you see in kids who’ve been severely neglected. Don’t get me wrong. Sexual abuse is terrible, but the type of neglect that Janie experienced? That affects brain development.”

the best way to fix yourself was to get your mind off your own problems and help someone else with theirs.

Really? He's actually insufferable.

I hoped we could find our way back to feeling like we were on the same team.

'normal people' reference? ifykyk

“Children of trauma are experts at triangulation.” “Triangulation?” I asked. “The child will act a certain way with one parent and a different way with the other parent. They try all kinds of things to drive a wedge in the parents’ relationship.”

It was the first time in our marriage that I had consciously lied to her.

I fell in love with my baby boy instantly, marveling at his perfection and that he’d lived inside me for so long. My feelings stemmed from the deepest parts of me. He wasn’t a stranger in my arms—it was like a missing piece of myself had been returned.

She crawled up on my lap and whispered in her sweet voice, “I like hurting people. Do you?”

Our sessions were painful, but I liked being in her office because it had a window. Very few rooms on the unit had windows. I didn’t care that most of my view was blocked by the building across the sidewalk because I could see the sky, and there was hope as long as I could see the sky. When I first got here, all I did was stare out the window at the sky. She used to let me do that. Not anymore.