It was never my intention to stay; divulge my new identity to anyone privy to my past.
Two years of hard work, careful consideration and well thought out plans; gone in an instant when I looked into their eyes.
Many mistakes were made. This is about Mistake #2:
Thinking I could trust a family that had no idea what it meant to be one.
It was my last hoorah. I was going to spend a couple of weeks with my loved ones before the new social security numbers came and I had to disappear forever. I had one bag full of papers left with my old name on it. All the rest had been scanned and shredded. After the barbecue, I was going to throw them in the fire and mourn my loss with a makeshift funeral pyre.
Of course drama ensued, as it always did. Brothers and wives fighting over territory marked by pheromones and misread by hormones.
They sat on the porch and begged me to stay. They needed their big sister to keep the demons at bay. They told me I could trust them, that they would protect me.
I believed them.
We didn’t talk much that night. The family just sat quietly; watching the remnants of my life burn and fade into ashes.
Within a few weeks, they would abandon me in my time of need. For what? Hormonal wives, manipulation and lies? Even when the truth was set free, they would never toss aside their pride for me.
Instead they played games with the sacred trust they had been given; used the pieces of my life to play craps and roll the dice. It wasn’t their life they were betting.
It’s kind of funny when I think about it. How that pain cut deeper than any of his jabs. After everything I had been through, the worst pain would come when my family had a chance to be in my life, but chose not to.
The very thing I had always intended to do.