[ TT ] `` Am I a monster ? '' The child asked .

His older brother wouldn ’ t talk to him at all. He called him a monster, a murderer. I try to tell him to be nice, that his brother was the only thing that would stay with him throughout his life when I was gone, but even I still recoil sometimes when I look at him. 
 
 He was only 6, barely becoming aware of the troubles of the world, but he was already attuned to the hatred within our own family. My siblings wouldn ’ t acknowledge him at all. 
 
 My wife, Marie, had told me to accept him, to love him as I had my oldest son, but it ’ s so hard these days, when I look him in the eyes he had inherited from his mother. 
 
 `` Am I a monster?'' the child asked quietly one night. I ruffled his thick hair, holding back the urge to yank it, and forced a smile. 
 
 “ No, of course not. ” 
 
 They say a parent ’ s love is the truest form of love, but if I had the choice to risk my life saving him from, say, drowning, I might have to think twice. 
 
 Marie didn ’ t have the same reservations, though. 
 
 “ Did I really kill mommy? ” 
 
 I looked back into his eyes, sad and miserable, and all I could feel was empty hatred. 
 
 “ Don ’ t be silly. It was you or her, and she chose you. ” 
 
 *I would ’ ve chosen differently. * 

