Erin Healy

A WHISPERING VOICE at the BACK of MY MIND REMINDS ME that I’VE BEEN THIS WAY for SOME TIME. DEAD, THAT IS. The dead have a very broad view of the living, of actions performed out of sight, of thoughts believed to be private. I would know. Losing both parents is a trial no child should endure, and Marina and Dylan have endured enough. They deserve the one thing I could never give them: a mother’s love. A mother’s love, and the truth. My children have believed a lie about me for years and years. After all this time I can still feel their hurt in my heart. But the tether holding me to them is frayed from years of neglect . . . and I have to find a way to make my confession before it snaps. But when the truth comes out, what other beasts will I unleash? “Why do we lie to the children?” someone asked me once. “To protect them,” I answered. How terrible it is that they need protection from me.

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