THE BEGINNING OF THE END

Certain moments cleave a life in two, killing off one life in order to birth a new one. This labor and delivery sometimes creates a phoenix. Other times it creates a monster.

These pieces of myself I sorted into before and after. Before marriage I was an untethered version of myself. After the “I do,” I slipped on new flesh that resembled my husband, every decision captained by compromise. “Leave and cleave,” my mother once told me. She never mentioned how painful the rip could be.

Then my firstborn child arrived. The most vicious tear, separating me from my husband, my sleep, my friends, my dreams, my life as I recognized it. Before the baby, my time was mine. My body was mine. My life was mine. After the baby, everything was hers, as this tiny suckling infant wrapped in perfect creamy skin owned my entire world. And I willingly let her take it.

These were the thoughts that had followed me across the backyard of a house that wasn’t mine. Then in through a creaky door that should have been locked but wasn’t. I stepped into an unfamiliar kitchen, with only the purr of the fridge and the dim light from the oven hood orienting me. I shouldn’t have been in that kitchen. I shouldn’t have brought that letter. It was that single ill-fated choice that cleaved my life for the last time:

Before, when my daughter was alive.

After I killed her.

All it took was one ruinous secret, one deadly mistake to cut my life into pieces. The transgression was a scythe, and one swing of the sickle took everything away from me. The worst part? It was All. My. Fault.

The envelope holding my confession was still in my pocket when I flicked on the light, then slipped my way across the bloody floor to my daughter’s fallen body, her legs and arms splayed out between the sink and oven. Red smeared across the linoleum like a child’s fingerpainting. I dropped to my knees next to my daughter, coating my kneecaps with two crimson blossoms. She slumped in my arms, eyes fluttering closed like morning glories bidding farewell. Gently lifting her neck and head, I rested the weight of her on my lap, trying to figure out where the bleeding was coming from.