Dear Little Brother,
Sorry. I know you do not like being referred to as my “little brother”. It’s better than me calling you by name, though, right?
For a long time I thought you were the “normal” one. Opinionated and stubborn, perhaps, but all in all you were ok. I know what you went through after I got kicked out. We talked about the daily interrogations and such. I was sorry for what you went through.
I loved you. I always loved you, and I missed you dearly. I was so happy we were able to re-establish ties.
You and I were good until Dad died. You never tried to find out why I had the audacity to call you three times. Instead you bitched about me behind my back, accused me of having a Jesus complex. For what it’s worth, you were the one who left me. But you wouldn’t try to pretend it was any other way, so I need not press the point.
What you did later, when my STBX and I were arguing over custody arrangements?
I am still stunned. I can’t even write about it directly. It’s too much. It hurts. It can still bring tears to my eyes.
If it had only been me that you were fucking with, that would have been one thing. But you… you fucked with my kid.
It is my failure that I can find no compassion for you now.
I hope there is no peace for you.