Happy New Year everyone! I'm so happy to continue working on this story. This year I will reply to every single review (please be nice about it). That is my resolution for the year. It's a pleasure working on this and I appreciate the time and devotion you all have to this story. We're at 150K words too which is awesome! So let's get started!

On Monday, Father summoned me to his office. I sat down in the usual wooden chair that was in front of his enormous metal desk.

"You wanted to see me, Father?" I asked. What could this be about? I couldn't help but feel like something was different. Father didn't want to have this conversation, I could tell. Something was off.

"Yes," he said. "We'll be going out of the country for the weekend-"

"Yes, a trip!" My worries subsided immediately as my mind filled with images of sunny beaches and beautiful landscapes. I smiled as I did a celebratory fist pump. I'd been stuck in the same place for what felt like ages.

He cleared his throat and gave me The Look™.

"Oh, sorry Father," I said, sheepish.

"You're forgiven." Despite my offense, I found that the man was smiling at me- or well, what counted as a smile with him. They weren't large and he never showed teeth. It was a ghost of a true, gleeful smile, really, but it meant a lot coming from him.

He often found himself amused by my reactions to new things. Things that were normal and ordinary to him were still exciting to me. Several examples included travel (planes especially), my powers and training them, and speaking multiple languages. I still took none of these for granted and I was sure it looked the same as those online videos babied touching snow for the first time. My sense of wonder was contagious.

He continued. "However, it won't be for leisure."

"When is it ever?" I retorted. The dread that had disappeared crept back into my mind.

"We'll be going to Auschwitz." I felt as though icy water had been poured over me. I'd just cheered about going on a trip but all eagerness to leave home left me. My knowledge about the place was woefully limited if compared to a concentration camp survivor like Father. For an average person, I knew plenty… Hell for an educated person I knew plenty. But that was all generalities. I hadn't read a book on the subject since I was around 10. Still, I remembered one thing- at least a million people died there. Yes, in one place- a million people. They were rounded up, shot, gassed, experimented on, and worked to death.

And I'd just cheered as if we were going to Seven Flags.

"I- I'm so sorry Father." I quickly amended. I felt embarrassed about my earlier outburst. It suddenly seemed childish and insensitive.

Sensing my distress, he smiled sadly and waved a hand. "You didn't know."

His voice sounded composed, but I saw how he dug his nails into the desk, or at least how he tried to. Also, I saw how a steel filing cabinet behind him contorted and twisted.

"Your- your papers!"

"On my desk." He breathed in deeply and sighed. "I believe going would be… beneficial to you… as while you've been taught about the horrors humans are willing to wage against their own kind- let alone mutants… To an extent, even you are sheltered. I didn't take you before, as I knew you weren't emotionally ready. I didn't want to cause you additional trauma."

I thought back to how I used to be when Father took me in and how I'd struggled to kill those who'd kill me given the chance. I wasn't insulted. Far from it. "No, you're right. I wasn't ready," I said.

"But you're older now. And thus, you can't be kept ignorant. You'll be given more responsibility and be expected to actually lead missions rather than tag along with a pre-assembled team."

"L-lead?" I stuttered. My mind stopped.

He raised one eyebrow at my surprise. "Yes, of course. I can teach you but there is no substitute for real-life experience."

I felt my stomach lurch at the idea. Once again, the thoughts of me failing and others dying due to it consumed me.

As if though telepathy were one of his powers he said, "You'll be publicly introduced when you're ready."

"Yes, Father…" I was silent for a second before suddenly, a thought came to me. "Wait, Father? My trial period never quite ended." It was early Fall and the trial hadn't been for even 3 months yet.

He frowned as if I'd said I didn't want to be his heir after all. "Second thoughts?"

"No, just fears about not doing well," I admitted, looking down nervously.

"Electron, you know I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you capable," he said.

I sighed, relieved. Hearing this from him made me feel much better. "Would I have needed to know how to lead and accept the responsibility of having lives depend on me if I wasn't your heir?"

"Yes." He cut in, not trying to be rude but seeking to deliver a message. "You'd need to know how to lead regardless. It can, no it will save your life to know how to use the strength of others to ensure their and your survival."

I nodded and simply accepted this fact. "I understand, Father." Again, like usual, what I wanted to do was subordinated to what I had to do.

I then said, "How about this, Father? I'll have your answer by the end of the week, after our trip."

He raised his eyebrows. "Really? It hasn't been that long of a trial period."

"Well, I should be decisive about this sort of thing. Plus, the less time spent deciding, the more time can be spent training your actual heir. Whether it's me or someone else."

The man smiled proudly. "Well said. And you wonder why I chose you."

I gave a very big, toothy grin at this.

"Bring a few days' worth of clothing," he then said. I nodded.

"I will."

As our date of departure came closer Father started acting strangely. He didn't smirk or laugh or smile anymore- nothing. Not even when he saw me run inside after Watts when he had stolen my shoe. The exact same thing had amused even Sabretooth of all people.

It was obvious the upcoming trip was causing this. The timing gave it away immediately. I tried to cheer him up, but it didn't seem to help one bit. After a while, it started to affect me, too. I felt worried about Father and stressed. It made me nervous to be around him because my instincts were yelling at me that something was wrong with him the entire time.

During training, Father didn't talk beyond what was strictly necessary. The lessons completely lacked the verbal affirmation I was used to. I knew it was because of the trip but I still felt invalidated. It was as if he couldn't see my achievements anymore, which frustrated me to no end. Before I knew it, my mind took me to dark places. Maybe Father was disappointed in me? Maybe he had changed his mind and didn't want me as his heir after all?

Also, he lectured me for an hour when I'd accidentally turned my phone off before class. The other phone's volume was cut down. It meant that I had missed the call he gave before each class to ensure I had made it safely. So, for 20 minutes, he thought something had happened to me. Luckily, I'd gone to the bathroom, remembered that the call should have happened and thought to check my phone which I then realized was off.

In the end, I felt so horrible. Here was my father- my real father- worrying about me due to my own negligence. He was trying to protect me after I had been kidnapped and I did this. I felt horrid.

Although it was an honest mistake, honest mistakes killed mutants. I couldn't afford to be careless. So, Father lectured me in his office when I got home. By the 10th minute, I had a detailed understanding of what could have happened, by the 20th I felt sincerely apologetic, by the 60th, I felt like the scum of the earth for worrying him.

Still, on a normal day, he'd never lecture me for an hour straight. Lectures were short and to the point. He was a skilled orator, after all, he knew the limits of most people's attention span and crafted his speeches around that. No, that was his fear causing this.

Finally, he had, without any extenuating circumstances, initiated a hug with me. Sure, we hugged from time to time, but it was rare and generally, I was the one hugging him. Unless something horrible had happened, he never initiated hugs. Besides, this hug was far too tight and constricting. It was as if he was assuring himself that I was still alive- that I still existed.

He was extremely grouchy the day we were scheduled to leave. Every little thing was worthy of being criticized. For example, Toad had accidentally dropped and broken a glass of water. Father yelled at him for it even though we could replace it easily. Unlike the others, I understood why he was so moody. I mostly left him alone but at one point I entered his office and gave him some of the tea I'd made.

He sipped it and his face soured immediately. I froze "I always ask for one teaspoon of sugar. Clearly, you put in two."

I nervously thought of a way to diffuse the situation. "I... could make another one?"

"No, I'll do it myself. One failure is enough."

That hurt me. Like a punch to the chest.

Was I a failure?

I could feel tears welling up, but I forced them not to fall. Through my choked throat I rasped out a quick but respectful "Yes, Father" before leaving.

I walked around the house aimlessly after that.

Was I a failure? Did he regret training me, adopting me? One of the biggest problems I had with my being adopted was that I worried if, just like how he made me his son he could unmake me too. It wasn't as if we shared a blood bond. I know a lot of people would probably think of the phrase 'blood is thicker than water'. However, I would like for you to know that that quote is actually mistranslated and in reality means that the 'blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb' which is to say that the people who you fight in the army with have a stronger bond with you than your siblings. And no, I did not need to look that up beforehand to write it, I'm just a treasure trove of facts.

In other words, I cherished the bond we had created. I couldn't imagine losing it. I didn't want to imagine losing it.

Was my commitment to the Brotherhood lacking? Was I slacking in training? I played my memories back again, searching fervently for my offense. I didn't remember anything. Surely, it was just the tea. But what if I was wrong? What if I was lacking so much, that even I didn't know what I did wrong?

I tried to forget about it for the time being. At the appropriate hour, I took my things to the airplane. Watts would be taken care of by the others.

I arrived at the plane and seated myself in a seat in the back, as far away from Father as I could. Father didn't seem to notice. Instead, he stared straight into the seat opposite his own blankly.

I tried to distract myself but many of my thoughts revolved around his opinions on me as a son, so I found I kept staring at him.

I was zoning off for just a minute when suddenly we made eye contact. His eyes widened and he raised one eyebrow. His expression practically said, 'What? You thought I wouldn't notice someone staring at me?'

"Electron." He gestured for me to sit at the seat opposite him. I got over there, mindful of the minor turbulence that made me a little unsteady on my feet.

Was he angry at me for staring?

"Yes, Father?" I forced myself to meet his eyes. He didn't like it when I looked away. it was a bad habit of mine that liked to rear its head when I didn't feel very confident.

To my surprise, he sighed and said, "I'm sorry."

"Wha- What? I- I mean... Why? What do you mean?" I said, careful to mind my words. Simply saying 'what?' to him was disrespectful and merited a lecture.

"You didn't deserve that outburst that I had today or the very harsh scolding I gave you the other day. You had long since learned your lesson." He looked composed, but his eyes spoke of regret.

"You don't think I'm a failure?" I asked silently. I dreaded his answer.

When I dared to look up to gauge his reaction, his contorted face showed his regret.

"No, never. I- I didn't mean for you to…" When he heard my question he visibly cringed. He composed himself before continuing. "No. No, Electron, you haven't failed. I have."

Father failing? The idea seemed almost impossible. All the trouble I had gotten into, it was my own fault. Often, I had disobeyed him- that's how I got kidnapped the first time. The idea of him failing when it came to disciplining me and being unfair with that discipline seemed absurd.

"Fathers give their children confidence- the knowledge that they can do anything. I clearly failed at this- my words devastated you. I can see the hurt in your eyes. I..." He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "I was too wrapped up in myself to even notice. Too focused on the tragedies that happened decades ago." He looked down nervously.

"I- I thank you, Father. It's okay. I've done bad stuff too." I absentmindedly looked away for a moment, fiddling with my hands

He chuckled at this, though it didn't sound happy. It was a grim, black, kind of laughter. "But Electron, you're also a sixteen-year-old boy. More is expected of me, as I am the parent."

Father didn't, and I don't think he ever will, understand how freeing it was to hear a sentence like that. I wasn't expected to be the mature and responsible one. I was expected to act my age. I loved it.

We arrived in Poland and after securing our lodging and putting our clothes away, we took a taxi to our destination. As we got closer and closer, Father's grip on my hand tightened. I looked up at him. His mouth was set in a thin line, eyes locked on the road.

"I'm here Father," I said quietly.

He nodded, gave me a small, quick smile and let go.

I knew that as the child in the relationship, I shouldn't suppress my feelings to make him feel better. According to him, that was his job. I had had time to adjust, but it still felt odd. I wanted to help and offer support but instead, he focused on me.

When we got there, I stared at the gate reading the large black letters with more than enough space between them.

'Arbeit Macht Frei'.

Which translated to 'work will set you free'. What damned lie that was.

I felt like I wouldn't be able to go in. It was as if I could feel the pain and suffering from all the people that died there. As if I could actually hear the screams.

In my mind's eye, I could see people in their striped uniforms. Emaciated, overworked. To think so many people suffered here, that father suffered here, as well as my grandmother.

Father's face was cold, stern, and stiff, like a slab of concrete. He paused for a moment, before beginning to walk inside. After a few paces, he realized that I was not following him

"E- Chris." He fumbled for a moment remembering that we were in public.

"I can't, Father," I said, voice breaking. "I can't. I- you- you suffered… So- so much-" Halfway through the sentence I started sobbing.

He walked back and grabbed my right hand. "It's okay. I'm here and I won't leave you, you're safe."

I squeezed it tightly and together we walked inside.

Father pointed to a bend in the fence and began to speak in a tone low enough that only I heard. "They separated me from my Mother here. I tried to get back to her but..."

As if I traveled in time, I imagined the men, women, and children, babies still being nursed in their mother's arms, being lined up. The rain was pouring, making the ground soft like clay. Each step threatened to take your shoes off your feet, as you had to rip your foot out of its muddy embrace with each step. I could see young children, not even 6 years old being wrenched away from their family members as men were lined up in one row and women the other. After the separate lines were led away most never saw their families again.

And there was a new development. There was a boy, not even eight years old, screaming for his mother who was separated from him by a fence, trying to claw his way back to her. Like me, he felt something, a connection to something not too far off. Somehow, he knew that the connection brought strength and so he pulled and pulled and pulled against the fence, making the metal screech. He didn't reach his mother. Instead, he was beaten over the head with a gun.

"Chris?" Father said. I blinked. When had my eyes started watering?

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, my focus wavered."

Seeing my father's forlorn expression, I added, "It's not your fault."

His eyes closed for a moment, before opening them again. "No, it wasn't."

Rather than take the tour, Father showed me around. It disturbed me that he remembered where everything was, even after so many decades. And if he remembered the layout so well, just how vivid were his memories of the events that had transpired here? The idea made me shiver. Yes, I could definitely see how this hellhole could be the source of such a strong man's nightmares.

I just wanted to go home. I wanted to go home and play chess with Father, play fetch with Watts, and beat Toad at Underwatch. I even preferred to be stuck at home doing boring homework for hours on end to this.

I asked him multiple times if we could go home, begged even. But he said that we couldn't. For someone who had endured so much, he was being extremely patient towards me, I had never suffered as he had, and yet I was the one who wanted to run away.

Still, he did say, "We won't linger here any longer than necessary."

"Yes, Father."

In desperation, I took one arm and wrapped it around his waist. I was just terrified. This place was the definition of bad vibes for me. Father was surprised, but also noticed that I was shaking.

"You need to know... what could happen if we fail." I didn't bother looking up at him.

"Yes, Father."

And so, we continued. Father stopped at what looked like a long rod of metal which had been bent three times, with each bend's pointy end forced into the ground.

Father cleared his throat and spoke again, "Those were the gallows. They hung people in public to terrify us. Often, the guards would choose a victim at random. There was no way of knowing if you were going to live to see it the next day. That's how they killed…" He stopped talking suddenly.

I dared to ask, "The person that you were talking about, was he your friend?"

Father's face turned into a frown. "There was no such thing as friendship. Anyone could have been spying for the guards. They bribed a few with little morsels of food, turning us on each other. Men fought over bowls of soup that consist of mainly water and a few leaves of cabbage. The bread had to be divided four people to one portion of bread, small as it already was. Disputes would break out as people felt like they were being cheated. I- when given the chance I stole food from those who were muselmann, those who were on the verge of death. They weren't dead yet, but you could see that they had lost all hope of living. They no longer swatted the lice from their bodies, they stopped washing. They could no longer give energy to those things."

He looked away, ashamed.

He spoke of stealing crumbs that fell to the ground, or snatching the food of those who were caught unawares momentarily, and how often they blamed the man next to him and fought, though at times he was caught and beaten for it by grown men- sometimes into unconsciousness.

I spoke with absolutely no malice, and said that what happened wasn't his fault and that if he hadn't done all those things he wouldn't have survived. Still, he was so ashamed it hurt watching him.

"They did whatever they could to divide us, to make sure we didn't band together and try to escape. I know a few who did but I never had the chance to, Sh.."

He abruptly stopped speaking. He froze, staring off into the distance.

At this point, I stopped saying anything at all. I didn't want my concern to be misconstrued as pity. My father was a prideful man and wouldn't want to hear any of it.

Eventually he started talking again, but that was the last time he referred to personal details. We did some more walking and in time reached the last part of our visit- the gas chambers and crematorium.

We paused before reaching the building. However, it wasn't me who stopped, this time it was Father. He inhaled, gathering his strength and muttered quietly. I didn't know what he was saying. It sounded German and involved the words 'doctor' and 'hurt' but I didn't know what he was talking about.

"The ones who they deemed too sick to work were sent to the gas chambers," he finally said. Then, he took a breath. "They were told they were taking a shower, and to take off their clothes and leave their belongings. Then, they were marched inside. And- and I-" He was now biting his lips so hard I knew they must be bleeding.

"You don't have to say anything, Father," I said softly. Telling me all this was obviously upsetting him. It was hard to figure out how much support I could give him before it hurt his pride. Could I hold his hand? Would that make him feel comforted or vulnerable?

In a moment, his face calmed, and he returned to his previous ice-cold mask. He seemed a bit irritated due to this display of emotion.

"Yes... Perhaps another time." He drawled.

At this point, the tour group that we decide to skip on had come around to where we were. The guide was a woman with shiny brown hair and a pinched expression that wasn't there the last time I saw her.

"These were the gas Chambers," she explained. "The victims were led here and poisoned with a gas called hydrogen cyanide."

There were quite some children in the group of people she was guiding. They all listened to her intently, looking disturbed or distressed. Those who recognized what she was talking about gasped and held their parents tightly. One girl, around ten, started crying quietly. I wasn't crying, but with the vice grip, I had on my Father, we were pretty much doing the same thing- seeking the protection of our guardians. The parents however all looked as rattled as the children. It was too much, really.

I struggled to listen to anything that the guide was talking about. I couldn't hear a lot, only every fifth word or so, but it was more than enough.

While she was explaining things, the word 'Sonderkomando' came up several times. I was being taught German at the time, and while I wasn't a native speaker just yet I was pretty decent already. I had a good teacher after all. Still, I had no idea what the strange phrase meant. Sonder clearly meant 'special' and Komando meant 'unit'. What was this special unit? What did they do?

What I did know was that whenever that word was used, my father's body became rigid.

I decided that whatever that word meant, Father was so affected by it that I would avoid words that sounded like it at all costs. There were enough synonyms for 'special', I would manage.

After this, the group went inside the gas chamber and we followed. The room was dark and grey. I examined the walls and noticed that they were damaged, scraped by what looked like tiny seashells. I soon learned from the guide that these were the scratch marks the victim's nails made as they tried to escape.

I clutched my father tighter and he gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

From here, we entered another hallway, entering the crematorium. Several massive brick furnaces were lined up together, one next to the other with no space in between. They had put the bodies of the gas victims in there. Hundreds of people would be burned every 24 hours. Any bones that remained were ground into powder and used for fertilizer or dumped into the nearby rivers or ponds along with the ashes. Alternatively, the ashes were used to level uneven ground.

Once again that word, Sonderkomando, came up and once again my father flinched. This time it was used by a German tour guide who had entered the room after us. He spoke quickly and his group was much more noisy, so I almost couldn't hear him. If I strained my ears I could make out the words "valuables", "remove", "metal teeth" and finally "bodies".

I got the picture.

Since this was our last stop, we started to begin to leave.

"They must have been pretty stupid to get caught here," someone huffed.

My breath caught. I hoped father didn't hear that. For once could he just be an old man and be half deaf?

To my horror, he turned around with a speed that gave me whiplash as I was still holding him.

With the eyes of a predator searching for its prey, he quickly spotted the offenders, two teenage boys.

I pull on the back of his coat as hard as I could, not allowing him to move another step, and shook my head.

"Not here. Cover." I whispered. He stilled, eyes still trying to burn holes through the boys.

"Guess they must have deserved it," The other teenager laughed.

My father, despite my pleas, moved forward. Since I had lacked steady footing to begin with, I fell to the wayside.

Father is going to kill them!

I couldn't let that happen. If our identities were revealed, it could endanger everything! All of our plans, everything! We'd be hunted, constantly in mortal danger. Plus we'd have to leave Poland, fast.

I got up and started to run as fast as I could, but even with my quick pace I wasn't going to beat him. Two steps from my short legs equaled one of his long strides. I wasn't going to make it there before that he did. Father closed the gap in a moment, spooking the boys.

"Who are you?" one asked.

I could see the cold determined look in his eyes, the predator like gleam in them. "Mag-" He started. I could hear the menace and anger in that one syllable.

I caught up to him and once more pulled on his coat.

He stared at me for a moment, and then the boys, then back to me, gaze settling on my forehead. His hands touched it and I felt a slight sting. He frowned.

"You're bleeding," he said, voice much more gentle all of a sudden. "We need to get that washed before it gets infected."

"My grandpa was just looking for me. Thanks, bye!" I sputtered, pulling him away. To my surprise, he continued following me. Once out of the hearing range of others, I asked, "why did you stop?"

"You're hurt. When did that happen?" He frowned. "Did someone…" The barbed wire fence 10 meters to our left started shaking.

I shook my head. "No Father. When you moved, I fell."

The shaking stopped.

His anger immediately deflated. "I see. I'm sorry, Electron."

"It's okay, I wasn't hurt badly."

The ride back to our hotel was done in silence.

When we returned to our hotel, it was dark. I made some tea and decided to make enough for two. Once it was done, I poured the tea into two cups and placed one on the table next to where my Father was sitting in a recliner. Once again, he was looking at nothing, just staring off into the distance. Although since it was a room 'the distance' really meant at a wall. He didn't even acknowledge my presence. The sharp smell of tea alerted him though, and he looked from the tea to me who was now sitting on the couch a few paces away.

"One teaspoon, right?" I said.

He smirked for the first time I'd seen all week.

"Yes, one teaspoon. Thank you."

He took a sip and with refinement I could never hope to match, held the tea saucer properly. I'd only taken out one tea saucer, specifically for him, because he liked to drink his tea this way.

He sighed. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"I forgave you already," I replied.

"I could have easily outed you. Myself- I'm a public figure. But you… You have so much to lose. You'd have to quit school, leave before graduating, and be just as paranoid about assassins as I am, and for that I'm sorry."

I nodded. "Thank you."

"I wasn't thinking of the consequences for you- which I should have, as your parent. And I apologize for that."

"It's okay."

After a few moments of silence, I go to my room and changed into my pajamas.

I returned to the room and saw that father hadn't left his spot. The teacup and saucer I had given him, however, were situated neatly in the sink for later washing.

I decided to fit myself in the small space in the recliner that father hadn't taken up. Yet another one of the many advantages of being a small shrimp. Father didn't protest this.

I then laid my head on his lap.

"I know it couldn't have been… pleasant for you... But thank you for taking me there. I- we can't let mutants suffer the same fate. I see that now."

I felt a warm hand on my head, ruffling my hair. I relaxed as all of the tension from the day left me.

"No, we can't," he said before going quiet again. The whole room was silent. The TV wasn't on, there was no music playing, and nothing was going on outside. It was just two people trying their best to comfort each other. Our own makeshift family. At some point, I hugged him, and he hugged back, and we just sat there like that. Eventually I went back to laying my head on his lap.

I woke up the next day realizing we had slept in that same spot for the night.

That was embarrassing but at least I didn't have any nightmares.

I then noticed the lack of warmth beside me. Father wasn't there. I sat up quickly, scanning the room.

"You gave the neighbors quite the scare, Electron," Father said calmly, sitting at the dining room table a few meters away.

My face reddened.

At this point, the door opened, and two men arrived with our breakfast. They quickly placed it on the table and left without a word.

Father hummed. "Less than 3 minutes. It's not often that I'm impressed." The man said.

He gestured for me to sit down and I ambled over to the table.

He'd ordered everything he thought I'd like: eggs, pancakes, bacon, hash browns, toast and jam, and orange juice.

"Thanks, but this is a lot to eat," I said. Still, I was pretty hungry, I hadn't eaten since yesterday. However, I didn't forget my manners and ate properly.

"You missed dinner," Father pointed out. "So you're going to eat everything."

"Yes, Father," I didn't like the idea of eating so much, but I knew he wouldn't relent on this one.

As I ate, he added, "I didn't say this before but... Thank you."

"Why?"

"For giving a damn." I stared at him, not caring about the eggs that had fallen off my fork. Father rarely cursed, only when he was infuriated, and generally in German. He never let me do it either, saying that it was the mark of a subpar vocabulary to use such words.

Still, I smiled and said, "You too."

After this, I got dressed and we took another cab to the city Pruszków. This was where my father, would have been adopted mother, and sister lived. When we got out of the cab, I thought that we were in the wrong place. Rather than a house or any sort of building, I saw a lush green park with plenty of playground equipment and slides. There were trees that would produce fruit and flowers. Several groups of children could be seen playing in the distance.

I couldn't read Polish, but I could definitely recognise the names Magda and Anya on the stone bearing the name of the park.

"I bought the property and had it refurbished almost 17 years ago. She'd love it here. Anya always wanted a proper swing… Though she made do with a tire and some rope."

I watched as a group of children chased each other, playing a game of tag, "It was very kind of you to open it up to the public," I said.

He watched them with me, smiling slightly. "She'd want that. She liked sharing her toys with her friends, believing it would be better for them to play with it when she was busy then for it not be played with at all."

My sister's and mother's ashes were placed in urns far in the ground underneath one of the swings. The swing was surrounded on either side with chrysanthemums. One side was flanked by yellow 'mum's, the other red. Yellow symbolized sorrow and red representing passion and romance. It doubted this was accidental. This was in addition to being next to swings, which my sister loved. Father, for all his tough words, had a touch of romanticism.

We hadn't said anything for a while, so I asked about the abundance of Chrysanthemums.

"Yes, they were her favorite flower. I knew when I started that Chrysanthemums would be everywhere. The flower has multiple meanings and I had to have them incorporated."

I stared at him, my expression blank and not saying anything. Something had occurred to me.

"My mom- she had to change my name. She had to change my birth name from Chrysanthemum to Chris because she thought I was going to be a girl."

He didn't say anything, his mouth slightly ajar. He then looked at the flowers before looking back at me.

"Oh," he said.

"Yeah."

He smiled again and I took this moment to hug him once more.

Before we left, I decided to grab a few chrysanthemums for myself and place them in a flowerpot I found nearby. It wasn't quite Fall yet, so the flowers were still in bloom.

I heard the yell of a very annoyed man. He was speaking Polish, so I didn't know what he was saying. I did know he probably wanted me off the premises for disturbing the plants.

Father took out some paperwork showing that he was the legal owner of the lot. Apparently, he had kept it on his person so he could remember what the address was because the street name had changed. Then, he snapped at the other man. It sounded pretty intimidating even if I didn't know Polish myself.

The man now started to plead for some reason.

But my father wouldn't hear it and the guy was presumably told to leave. He did just that.

Apparently, that was the owner of the gardening business that worked on the park. Father had told him that he would be doing business with another service since the contract was going to expire soon anyway. He added that he was previously thinking about renewing it. I'm sure he had added that last part to just rub it in.

I then said, "Isn't it a bit much to not renew the contract over him yelling at me?"

"The problem isn't that he didn't know that you were my child. It's that he would yell at a child for getting flowers in the first place. I have told him before that it's fine and have allotted funds for the replacement of flowers when children inevitably want to take a few home. It's getting colder and they wouldn't have lasted much longer out here anyway. I can only surmise that he yelled at you to avoid having more work to do, so if he did that to you how many other children did he also yell at?"

He had a point there. Afterwards, a few hours were spent admiring the park and talking outside. We left the park and took the plane back to New York. When we got home after greeting my very excited dog, I put my potted plants by the windowsill where they could get some sun.

My father, being the workaholic he was, had immediately gone back into his office after returning home. I went there and knocked on the door.

"Come in."

I entered and took a seat. I took a deep breath and gathered my courage. "Father, I accept. I'll be you heir and I'll train to do so to the best of my abilities."

"You don't seem as uncertain as you were before," he noted.

"I'm not. I'll admit, I'm a bit awestruck by the faith you have in me and the importance of the role you've asked me to fill. But, I thought it over on the flight. I want to help the Brotherhood the best I can. I want to prevent camps like these from imprisoning mutants like us. And I'm willing to do my best to do this. In addition, you believe in me. So, I'm going to push my insecurities aside and accept."

The man nodded and seemed a bit surprised. This wasn't how I normally spoke. It was far more measured, mature, calm and serious. I had thought about my words before coming in.

This was the young man Father wanted and knew I could be. What he had pushed so hard to mould me into.

He smiled, surprised but very, very happy.

"I knew I'd be leaving the organization in good hands."

I can only hope to be a tenth as good at leading as you are, but I will do as best as I can.