When Your Child Becomes Your Killer

ove. The day after I saw the Disney cruise photos, I walked into

ool to care for my own dying mother. The smells of bleach and sickness w

ed a real es

d, it was worth a small but significant amount of money. I sold i

ce I would have been ashamed of in my first life. It had a mattress

g that truly signaled th

st-graduate "gap year" program I had once forced upon Stella. It was a rigorous c

application with a raised eyebrow. "Maria Johns? Late thirties, no high s

d, my voice

ething beyond the tired lines on my face. He saw

h a slow smile. "Welcome.

, Mr. Duncan," I replied. "I

woman sitting in classes filled with teenagers an

grudging respect. I studied relentlessly. Math, which

ed for decades. I was slow, but I was determined. Every correct answer on a quiz, every