Whispers of a broken home

I had been living with guilt for years. 

The weight of it pressing down on me like a stone in my chest. Dad resented me for being the reason Mom died, but he had forgotten something: I was the one who had caught him. Caught him and his affair with my aunt—now my stepmother. I had only made it easier for him. He’d wanted to marry her, wanted to leave Mom, and I had just given him reason to.

I hated myself for that. But more than that, I hated how it all turned out. How everything unraveled.

30 years ago...

I was only 4....