Chapter 17

SEVENTEEN

Sunday July 4, 2010

Dr. Forster says I should write my thoughts in a diary to work through the stress of becoming a mother again. The psychiatrist thinks my worsening health is linked to my heightened state of anxiety, and he could be right. I went through pregnancy once already, but this feels like uncharted territory.

Last time, I lived in the Salentino mansion with Giorgi, his mother, his sisters, and a small army of staff. The housekeeper, maids, and cook, took care of all my needs. All I needed to do was to stay pretty, go to my appointments, and avoid his fists.

Living there was like stepping into a gilded cage, not realizing it would be lined with barbed wire. I didn’t know a thing until it was too late. While we were dating, Giorgi told me the crematorium was his family business.

I was already married when I discovered it was a front for the mafia, and I tried to run. That first time, Giorgi beat me unconscious. The second time, he ripped out my birth control, locked me in a room for months, and didn’t let me out until I was visibly pregnant.

The third time I left was with Lyle’s help. I’ll never forget how he risked everything to save me and my baby girls. He loved being in the FBI and was so close to taking down both the Salentino and Montesano families. He’d worked so hard to establish his cover, yet he engineered our escape.

When they fired him for breaking protocol, we fled to New York, changed the twins’ names from Dahlia and Amaryllis to Dolly and Amy, and started a new life together. Then, shortly afterward, Giorgi ended up in one of his own ovens at the crematorium.

I should be happy to have left such an abusive marriage. Even happier to have a husband who treats my girls as his own. Lyle never raises his voice, let alone a hand. I should be grateful to have him, but I’m overwhelmed.

Dolly has inherited Giorgi’s cruelty and his ability to mask it under a veneer of charm. She’s only ten, but she already has the makings of a psychopath.

When I stopped bringing pets to the house, she turned her sadistic attention to Amy. I’ve had to stop Dolly from attacking her multiple times, even with weapons. It’s a horrible thing to admit, but at times, I’m afraid of my own daughter.

Amy isn’t so innocent. Instead of reporting Dolly, she retaliates. Sometimes, she even instigates with her spiteful pranks. Buckets of water in Dolly’s bed, thumbtacks in Dolly’s shoes. She even destroyed Dolly’s favorite figurine, leaving fragments scattered across her bedroom floor.

Every day, the violence reminds me of Giorgi so much that it feels like a knife twisting in my gut. Lyle says they’re mirror images of me, but all I see is their father.

The house has become a battleground. Lyle works late at the adoption agency to avoid the chaos, leaving me to referee their disputes. When the girls were expelled from school for the incident with the knife, Lyle showed me a pamphlet for a program designed to help troubled girls.

It’s the Three Fates Therapeutic Boarding School. A peculiar name, but the prospectus showed a countryside location, and a quaint brick mansion converted into a school. They offer counseling to address behavioral issues, emotional difficulties, and even academic challenges.

The photos showed girls their age playing in meadows, studying in cozy libraries, and even horseback riding. It’s the kind of idyllic environment I’ve always wanted for my daughters. Lyle assures me that the counselors have dealt with troubled twins and will separate them so they can be free to express their individuality.

They’ve been gone for two months, and I don’t miss them.

Not one bit.

There. I said it.

But they’re returning tomorrow, and all I feel is an overwhelming sense of dread.

Lyle and Dr. Forster say Amy and Dolly will put aside their animosity toward each other for the sake of the baby. But I’m worried he’ll get hurt.

Maybe I should have left them behind when I escaped Giorgi, but I had no way of knowing they would inherit their father’s worst traits. Sometimes, I feel that the Salentino family might have been a better environment for my girls.

It’s too late now. I’m stuck with the twins. Even with Giorgi dead, his mother is likely to throw me into one of their incinerators for daring to run. And his sisters would be corrupted by now. They were only ten when I left. I imagine Mother Salentino has poured enough poison in their ears to turn them into her loyal, ruthless enforcers.

I’ve just read through this entry. I’m ashamed of expressing such blistering resentment toward two innocent children. I’ll do better. I’ll get help. Lyle suggests a live-in nanny to lighten the load. Someone young enough to handle the girls, because this pregnancy is kicking my ass.

Even thinking about the future makes my blood pressure skyrocket.

Maybe Lyle is right about getting extra help. I like the idea of a British supernanny, who comes in and whips us all into shape with a firm hand and a warm heart. A Mary Poppins-style woman with a knack for taming wild girls.

I’ll ask him in the morning to reach out and see if this mythical woman exists.