toxin | parker | book two

[TO A FOUND DAUGHTER]

Mari,

I'm not mad, nor disappointed. I'm nothing but imprisoned.

I sit here with a dull pencil tied to a slab of wood that serves as a writing surface in my bunk room.

There are three others in my room.

One raped and killed a dozen women and children. The second fed his family their dog's corpse. And the last? I don't want to give you any more nightmares than you (and your family) probably already has.

I'll get on with it, I promise... I'm writing this letter to you to give you some closure. I think you deserve it, actually.

As much as I'd love to smash your face into these concrete walls, I have to tell you why I want that.

Yes, I wanted you to be my daughter. I wanted to fix the present and past for a better future, but it was unrealistic and I should have learned from one Jay Gatsby.

As much as you frustrate me, I admire you. You're stubborn and brave and — my God — strong. You've been through Hell, and I've pushed you to what I thought were limits. I was wrong. You can't cage a lion, after all.

I hope you realize, as much as you don't want to, that you and I are one in the same. We're lions and eagles and snakes. We're brave, strong, and clever.

We're beautifully fucked, and it makes us who we are.

If I gave you nothing but heartache and ruin, I hope I showed you your strength. I hope, through all of this, that you see what I wanted.

I wanted — and still want — you to know that you are who you make of yourself. From the outside, I see flowers and weeds — each beautiful in their own way — growing from scars and bruises and ruin.

I see hope.

If I couldn't be that hope, I wish with all my heart that you can be. For you, for me, for your family — no longer mine.

Get back up, swallow your pride, put your fists up, and fight. Fight for your life and for your family.

It's all you have at the end of the day.

Your Papa,
Fern

(P.S. My hatchet is buried. I wish you and yours all the best. Make something of your struggles, Little One.)