Dear Traitor

Section Three

When me and my sister were little, we asked why you and Mama got a divorce. Mama knew we were too young to understand what you put her through, but you claimed you did nothing, using your clever words to twist the mind of the ten and seven year old girls. You always silently implied that it was my mother's fault. You hate my mother. In fact, you cannot stand her. Anyone that associates with her automatically becomes your enemy. Hope and I got in Mama's car one night, begging her to return to the psycho husband she left. That was what you wanted. You attempted to guilt trip her into coming back, using her own kids as a weapon. It must have hurt her how she could not explain the truth to me and my sister, but I'm sure it only gave you satisfaction.

You talked about my mom in front of me and Hope. You complained that she always got us to school late, calling her lazy without actually saying the words. You always talked about how you woke up at 5:00 AM, meanwhile Mama preferred to sleep in. Even her accomplishments you deemed as "I could do that". You even made a brutal mockery of her when I innocently laughed about the time she tried to drive to Alabama, but ended up in Tennessee because she pressed the wrong thing on her GPS. Also, I know you think I don't know this, but you mentioned once in a church meeting how you wanted to kill my mother. I'm assuming you brushed it off as a meaningless joke, but they don't know what you are truly capable of.

I even recall this vividly.

"A divorce doesn't have to be anyone's fault, right?" I innocently inquired, ten years old and unaware of the perils I would face later in life.

To answer ten year old Holly, no. It doesn't have to be anyone's fault. While many divorces are caused by selfishness or abuse, they can also be caused by financial struggles or perhaps the married couple just were not perfect for each other.

"No," you replied. "It has to be someone's fault."

"Was it yours?" I had no intention of being disrespectful. I was merely curious, as most young children are.

"No, it wasn't mine."

Then, you left the living room. You implied it was my mother's fault.

Without even saying the words.

I did not catch most of these manipulating tactics at ten, but I did catch that.

As the years went by, I began to grow more and more weary about going to your house. Even as I am writing this, those particular memories are slowly creeping in, and the emotions along with them. I watched through the years as you gradually replaced the memory of my mother with Portia, my step mom. Then, I watched as you replaced me and Hope with your two step daughters. It was no longer "come give me a hug", but it became "go give Portia a hug". And if we refused, all hell seemed to break lose.