Invisible Poison

For nine and a half years I was given the pleasure of watching my step-brother enjoy the benefits of having both his parents present in his life. His cackling laughter filled our home all the way up until he started school. Who would’ve thought such a carefree and happy baby could turn into a prodigy? I had been such a happy baby too, until my father left.

“Oh Hannah, look at your little brother – he’s so much like you!” Mum would tell me, while Conor gurgled at seemingly dull concepts. It was hard to pretend to be happy for them. Mum was so joyful when she met Pieter, it didn’t take them long to decide they wanted their very own, genetically exclusive baby. I was the old, outdated model and served as nothing more than a painful reminder of mum’s past mistake. Whenever I asked about dad, mum would always shut it down. She would tell me he wasn’t ready to be a father and had bad vices, but she would never give me any details. Maybe she was able to bury the past and foster a magical flower garden from it but I could see the past for what it really was – a mistake. I was a mistake.

Conor was the smartest, most popular kid in his grade. Mum and Pieter would shower him with love and gratitude whenever he brought home his report cards, while I would hide mine and only bring it out if asked. It wasn’t that I was bad at school, I just wasn’t perfect. I wasn’t impressive. I wasn’t their kid. I was mum’s kid, so I was less special. Being a teenager was hard enough without having all these unanswered questions about my childhood. I should have counted my blessings then.

At first, I was terrified, my hands became clammy and my heart was bursting out of my chest when I saw mum at the front office. She never came to the school during classes. I knew something was terribly wrong.

“Hey, we’re going to get a milkshake and have a chat, okay? Everything is alright though,” she told me, smiling and then thanking the administration ladies as we left. Like a lost and hurt animal, I apprehensively followed her to the car. As we pulled out onto the road, she explained the situation, “Darling, your father spoke to aunty Alex. She said he wants to meet up with you. He’s tried this a couple of times in the past but I thought since you’re in high school now, you might want to have some input on the situation.”

“What?”

Mum could feel the anger in my voice, and like a performer on stage, she switched from a kind, open-hearted motherly-figure to a stern, defensive warrior. Even though she didn’t speak, I could sense her attitude shifting.

“He’s been trying to see me? For how long? You said he didn’t want to be a father and that he had bad habits!” I cried, feeling a tearing in my chest, “You lied to me.”

“Hannah! I didn’t lie to you,” she snapped. There was an awkward silence. Years of tension seemed to pour out of her mouth as she sighed, “I need you to know that even though he is your father and eventually it will be your decision to see him or not, I know the kind of person he is. I was just doing my best to protect you. The times he tried to go through friends and family to see you, he was breaking his restraining order to scare me.”

I recoiled at the shakiness in her voice. She pushed her feelings aside and carried on, “It’s been a long time since he reached out. Maybe he has changed.”

“Mum what did he do to you?” I asked, still caught on the words ‘restraining order.’

“It was a long time ago, Hannah. The restraining order isn’t in effect anymore. If you do want to see him, a third-party official can accompany you though, if it helps you feel safer. I can’t do too much to stand in his way anymore, since he’s been behaving, so I wanted to at least be honest with you.”

For so long I had thought my father hated me. I had assumed he was a bad person. I had heard only the vague pieces of information mum had to offer. That hate spiraled and spread like wildfire into a strong disregard for Pieter and a foul jealousy of Conor. All my spite had been blamed on the lack of presence from my father, and now, he wanted to meet with me?

“Hannah, are you okay?” Mum called, ever so softly as she turned into the plaza. The world slowed to a stop. I was still six. I could see my father’s face. He stepped into the loungeroom in the old house after a long day at work. The bright, afternoon sun would force its way through a gap in the old brown curtains, lighting up his face as he crossed the room towards me. I would be laughing and squealing with glee as he held me up high above his head. I could see us all laughing together. Mum would kiss him and snuggle into me. Everything was warm and comfortable. Everything was happy. I couldn’t find the part where he caused trouble or hurt mum. I couldn’t see it. I searched my memories like a detective frantically trying to catch a clue before the next murder, but I couldn’t find anything. Without warning, his face disappeared from my memories. The world picked up speed again and was spinning faster than ever. It felt like I was about to be thrown off it until mum placed her hand on my shoulder.

“Honey, I know this is a lot for you to take in, I’m here for you. And if you want to go and speak to a counselor or someone else we can arrange that too.”

Mum was trying to protect me. She didn’t tell me details because she didn’t want to be spiteful, but I made up stories to fill the void. Why didn’t he just treat mum well? Why didn’t he try harder?

“I don’t think I can meet with him,” I said, wiping my eyes, “not until I know what happened.”

Mum’s face folded and creased; it pained her when I asked about him and she knew this time that she had to tell me the whole truth.