When Your Child Becomes Your Killer
the bitter taste of the tea my d
e in a secluded D.C. apartment. Stella, the brilliant Yale gradu
eo had already shredded my reput
ing by the hand of your own child, the one you sac
detached eyes the last thing I saw. How could the daughter I pushed to greatness
a gasp, I
old wood and fried o
eathbed. And there she was: a seventeen-year-old Stella, rebe
of my first life began, the path leading directly to