Dr. Du Maurier told me to go to her so she can help me, and I soon found myself sitting opposite my godmother that same morning. It was a therapy session. She had me tell her everything that burdened me, and I was more than willing to do so. I told her about my childhood that was just as cold and hollow as the castle in which it was spent. I told her about that incident ten years ago, which I had successfully repressed until I met Papa. I told her about the creeping chill that signals my rage and loss of control. I told her about that inexplicable warmth I had felt around my fathers, and my conversations with them. I told her of the wrathful urges I had always fought so hard.

My godmother listened patiently, her face never betraying her thoughts. "Will Graham is right," she said after some consideration. "By denying your parentage, you are also betraying yourself."

"It is not easy coming to terms with the murder running through my veins." I replied.

"But you should," she said. "That is, if you really want to 'break the pattern' as you have said."

I smirked. "You're saying I should come to terms with whatever it is I'm breaking."

"Exactly." She inhaled deeply. "What you are trying to break, Abiel, is not just a pattern, but also your roots—the very core of your being."

I scowled. "They are not the 'core of my being'."

"Your parents are your parents, Abiel, no matter how much you dislike that fact. Even if the poles reverse, you can never change that."

"But they are not who I am!" I reasoned.

"They are part of who you are, Abiel."

I pursed my lips and thought. My godmother was right and maybe I was even close to accepting them as part of me. With every moment I spent with my parents, I was slowly and unconsciously acknowledging what I had refused to acknowledge before. "But," I said. "I had felt myself breaking since I first came in contact with them."

"Maybe 'breaking' is not the correct word for it," my godmother replied. "You were just feeling something alien to you. 'Overwhelmed' would be fitting perhaps."

"No," I said. "There's a positive connotation to the word 'overwhelmed' and there is certainly no positivity when I held those Christmas cards from the people I've loathed all my life."

"Why did you loathe them in the first place?" She asked.

I was not able to answer right away. Wave after wave of numerous answers crashed into my mind. I had so many reasons to loathe my parents. My godmother asking thus ignited a spark of doubt in me. 'Why does she have to ask?' I thought, 'when I had made it clear. Even my fathers were certain that I hated them and they knew why. Why does she have to ask?'

Just as I was about to question her method, my godmother's mobile phone rang with what I knew was her alarm tone.

"Abiel, I'm so sorry. There is an important engagement that I have to attend to now." My godmother said as she stood up.

"I understand," was all I could say as I stood too.

She drove me to the apartment I shared with Morrie and sped away as soon as she dropped me off. Just as I was about to enter the building, a hand clamped itself upon my shoulder.

"Dad!" I said, with a start.

"I did not mean to startle you." Will Graham said with a grin as he tucked his hands into his pockets.

That was when I realized he always shows up randomly. "Have you always been following me?" I asked.

"Not necessarily 'follow'," he replied. "I've been keeping an eye on you since Freddie posted your picture in Tattle Crime dot com."

I nodded in acknowledgement. "I appreciate that."

"Have you had lunch?" He asked.

I shook my head.

"Come, let's grab some lunch. My treat." He said and we went to a nearby diner.

The odd warmth was present as I sat in the diner, facing my father and nibbling on a sandwich. I might go as far as to say I felt glad to share that moment with him, just like when I interviewed Papa. It felt like I was experiencing for the first time what I should have had if I remained with my parents. That was also the first instance I actually embraced that warmth instead of wishing for the cold.

"I thought you'd walk the dogs today." My father said as we ate together.

"My roommate took them to his parents' for the week." I replied.

He nodded. "By the way, where did you go earlier?"

"Oh," I said, "I went to Dr. Du Maurier's."

"Why?" My father asked, his brows furrowing with suspicion.

I titled my head, confused as to why he was suspicious. "I was not feeling well," I replied.

He looked at me for a few moments before asking, "In what way?"

I drew a deep breath before answering him. "I felt like breaking, Dad."

"And you told her that you felt that way?" He said in a manner that suggests I should not have done so.

"Of course," I replied, my temper rising without my notice. "She was more of a parent to me during the past four years than you ever were." I added with spite.

Will Graham sighed and sipped his coffee. He looked outside the diner's window, buried in deep thought for a long while. "Son," he began, and the way he called me brought the chill back to my fingertips. "If you saw a wounded bird lying on the sidewalk, what would you do?"

"I would sympathize with it." I replied. "And I will hold a lengthy deliberation with myself on whether I should nurse it back to health or kill it in mercy. But the ultimate answer is that I would identify myself as that bird."

My father smiled patiently at me. "I don't know if I phrased the question the way she did but, your godmother asked me the same question around 25 years ago."

"Really?" I asked rather sarcastically. "What did you answer?"

"Almost the same as yours." He replied. "But Bedelia," my father locked his gaze with mine "your godmother said she would crush that bird."

I was breathless for a moment. I never realized what my godmother was doing up to that point. From the very beginning, she was set on breaking me. She offered to sponsor my education if and only if I was to study in the United States. When I arrived, she informed my parents so that they can get in touch with me, knowing how I would feel if they do. Before I told her I was breaking, she had known that I held a grudge towards my parents and never even tried to quell it. That is until I directly told her of how it was affecting me and urged me to calm that grudge by acknowledging them. It would also probably explain why she had insisted that I get a haircut, knowing how much I would resemble Dad, and how people would surely notice. She had created dissonance within me. She had been trying to break me. This was her design.

As I sat with that realization, my father had crouched over the table with his hands buried in his hair. "I should have realized what she was doing." He muttered. "I should have realized sooner."

I took off my glasses and pressed my wrists upon my eyes. Sighing, I took my father's hand and squeezed it. "Dad, it's okay." I said. "Now we know."

"Abiel," my father said weakly as he lifted his head to look at me.

"I have to go now." I said and stood up.

"No," he sat up straight. "Abiel, don't."

I smiled and shook my head. "You can't talk me out of this, Dad."

Author's Note:

LOL PLOT TWIST! Man, that's so gratifying to say.

More may come as we get closer to the climax. For now, leave a review, fav, or follow!