JUDE

Once upon a time, I wanted a son, not a daughter.

As said: we all needed love in our lives. Some even believe it held the most proportion of human survival.

It was stolen away from me when my mother died, and I was forced to live with my stepfather who held me hostage as I was only eleven and had nowhere to go but do as he said.

There are certain memories that never fade, and mine were those days when that man would make me please him in ways we both know were abusive and improper for a child, in exchange for food for my stomach and a roof over my head.

The thing is I only saw men as beasts.

I mean if you look at it the same way I do; my father was the kind who used his belt to whip me until he was satisfied with the marks he had left.

And then I was raised by a child molester. A bisexual pedophile. Who was obsessed with liquor and baseball games on his fucked up cathode-ray tube television.

Those did it.

The pain lived in me. Even pushed me to study hard in school and gain scholarships so I could stay away from the shitty man.

I know I am a grown-ass man, and this isn't the kind of thing people will expect to get from me, but this is the real me.

That's what I've managed to cover smoothly with business appearance and powerful impression.

And warmth, I never had until Jennifer. The mother of my child.

I thought she was my medal for resistance. For being strong and able to fight my radiant path in this unfair world.

Jen came with something rare, very delicate, almost maternal.

I had lost that since my mother passed away. And I swear my mother was the only love of my life.

But Jen finds her way into my heart and carved her space there.

She became everything I needed and even those I didn't deserve.

She was an angel sent from heaven just for me.

She gave me the world when I didn't ask. And in return, I worked triple hard to impress her.

To be able to provide her with anything she desires.

But pregnancy came along the way, I was excited but I was nervous.

I couldn't wait to see my daughter as we had assumed.

I was delighted to see the mini hybrid of Jen and me.

The single child we were expecting.

Then at the delivery room after the kisses and support, the promises and commitments, a son was presented.

I scoffed and rejected in an instant, hoping the child was anyone other than ours, even though Jen was the only patient in the room.

I should disagree when the doctors claim to sight an undetected twin. But I was desperate for another option. I didn't want a boy.

Well, not undetected because Jen missed her late pregnancy blood tests, measurements, scans, and all those processes because she wanted us to trust our instinct. And I only wanted to support her. Since that's all I can do, is not like I was the one walking around with the womb in my stomach.

So we both presumed we were having a daughter and shopped all adorable tiny dresses that look cute for a baby girl.

I didn't know Jen's reasons but for me: I was rooting for a daughter because I knew I wouldn't want to unleash and propagates my kind. I knew damn well I wasn't going to be able to face a boy, a man... Anything with a dick that could have power over something someday.

Then Cara happened. She was like a miracle.

She was the desperate gift I had been praying for.

She rescued me.

I held her tiny figure in my arms and stare into her barely opened eyes, forgetting the fact she had a twin who was in the hands of the nurses.

Instead, I swaddled and rocked Cara back and forth, and I didn't stop until the day I lost her to that bastard, Kane Esteban.

The thing is; women had given me comfort so in return, I tend to please Jen and Cara and left out her twin.

It was my lack of interest in my son that distances Jen from her son, also.

She loved him, just like a mother should love her child, as Maddie had claimed to love him.

But the love Jen had for me was overwhelming than the love a mother had for her child. It was insane, people speculated. But Jen never cared.

She never asked why I treated Caden unfairly. Rather, in order to gratify me, even though I never told her about my abusive past, she alienates our son from her.

And took the only choice she had, to love Cara unconditionally.

Sometimes I feel disgusted by myself for choosing one child over the other, but I've hated my species for years. Then mostly when they're a carbon copy of me.

With Caden around the house, those soul-razing past that Jen had mended seems to rouse, that every time I look at him, all I see was me and my father in a room. Me and my stepfather in the room.

Those tricky eyes that held too many resemblances had haunted me every day and stole away the happy life I thought Jen and I would grow.

Boys! I hated them.

God, I did most of my business with women and it was entirely smooth.

I got rid of those species around me but there was nothing I could do with the fact I have one in my house who wouldn't stop staring at me from across the table hoping I'd call him one day to come to play basketball with me.

I never did.

If truth be told, I cleared the court and brought it down for Cara's treehouse to deny him.

He was my child, but I was blinded by something I have no words for.

Foolish, I know.

I believed that having women like my mother and Jen in my life would make things easier, so I preferred daughters and loathed boys.

However, God gave me a son, and he stuck around.

With that, unable to give my son the love he deserves, Jen and I ensured his protection by hiring professional nannies and babysitters. We even paid extra fees for our children's safety around the school premises.

Despite denying him ourselves, I was unwavering about the safety of my children, whether a girl or a boy.

I knew how dark the world is; I've been through it hell. I didn't wish that upon anyone, especially my children, and I was willing to spend whatever it took to shield them from what I experienced as a child.

Through this process, tragedy struck again: Cara died, and Jen left. I did everything I could to ruin the life of the driver who ran over my baby girl, the root of my family's destruction.

I didn't know who to blame afterward, then my eyes found their prey. And so, I blamed Caden; the cursed one closest to me. I believed he was the reason behind it all.

He was a boy, I thought, and I've always felt hostility toward that gender.

Deep down, I knew I was wrong, for every time he sat in the backyard alone, without his sister and mother, I hated myself for not being the perfect father he needed when things had gotten so bad.

Knowing I was the one accountable for Cara's death struck heavier than all those difficulties I've been through.

I was the adult in charge the day the incident happened. I gave the nannies a day off and decided to make dinner. I just had to blink, and then I lost my daughter.

I was told getting remarried would help, and it did a little. With Martha and Madison, a beautiful and loving family, but the inner wound in my heart wasn't healing this time.

And there was nowhere to cry; I was a grown-ass man after all. I shouldn't be vulnerable. So instead, I used Caden as my punching bag. I became even more impatient with the boy growing up into a duplicate copy of myself.

Only he became rebellious and showed no concern for the treatment I gave him.

At times, I wanted to change for him, and so I became obsessed with sketching his life. I mean, he's the only child I have, and I wasn't letting him misuse the opportunities the world was offering to him.

Look at me, for instance, if I hadn't made use of the chances I had and become the person I am today, I don't think I'd have survived the trauma of abuse and all those ridiculous things that weren't my fault but I got punished for them either way.

Money and power—it was a strong fence to a lot of elements and attacks.

I wanted Caden to have it, just like I provided him protection when Jen and I couldn't give him the warmth of parents.

He needed that remedy. I knew it because I had gone through pain and anger myself. And he was just like me.

Though I didn't get to avenge theatrically, my power did it for me.

My father died of a stroke, and my stepfather did the same in prison when my people exposed his dirty work.

I wanted my son to be strong, even though I couldn't give him what he needed, and now I was confused. But he grew up to be so defiant and rebellious. His cockiness and obstreperous attitude exhausts me and pushes me to the limit.

I wasn't dumb; I knew he had demons. And I blame myself for it.

I knew he was abused; I saw that in his intense tone-changing eyes. He was harmed physically and emotionally. Not likely as the way I was, but he had his own battle.

And once again, a child lacked a pillow to rest on.

I hated I only stood back and watched. I hated I let the circle continue instead of pulling him closer and assuring him he wasn't an orphan. Assuring him I was here for him and always have his back.

But I wasn't a good father to the male species; I doubt I was even a good father to all species. I didn't know how to be. I grew up hating men and the world itself.

I hurt my child. Who am I kidding? I hurt both my children. Both Cara and Caden.

And now I was breaking my rules, hurting my stepdaughter and my wife.

The women.

God, I am a monster.

This is the worst Christmas I ever had. Not that the past Christmases were good, but this was eventful.

I spent the last days of the year alone. Martha had disappeared. She wasn't picking up her phone. And my pride wouldn't let me check on Maddie and ask if her mother was with them.

Finally, I had exposed that harmful side I've inherited from my paternal side—the violence.

I had hurt my son with my hands; I had developed to be a monstrous father. Just similar to the one I was afraid of. The one who I claimed to have conquered.

Caden had the power and ability to fight back, but he didn't. He had his chances, but I think I guessed wrong; he might be the mirror reflection of me, but his heart wasn't the same as mine.

He was rare and brilliant. And he was my son.

Throughout the days I've been alone, all I thought of was regrets.

Jen abused our son physically, and I denied it even when I knew it was true.

I knowingly abused him emotionally, since he was an infant, for something his grandparents did.

I blame him for the death of his twin sister because I needed to deceive myself: it wasn't my fault.

And I got my hands on him for finding love somewhere when I was the thief of his happiness.

I sure was an awful father.

It was the second week of the new year when I was drowning in my grief and loneliness. I received a call from Shawn, one of my men who was supposed to take care of all my crises.

However, they didn't, because the news I got had me instantly shooting up from the messy house and booking a flight to Palo Alto.

The instinctive need for my children's safety was alerted and irresistible, just like when I thought a car was going to hit Caden, the day after Christmas when I learned Caden and Maddie had a thing for each other.

Wrath was an understatement as I left New York.

No, not this time.

He took away my daughter; I am not going to lose the last child I have left.

Not my son.