My Beloved Children,
I wish I could do what all fathers do and tell you that monsters aren’t real. But it wouldn’t be true.
Life can create things of exquisite beauty. But it can also twist them into hideous beings. Selfish. Violent. Grotesque. Monstrous. It hurts me to say that your mother has turned into one such monster, inside and out. And I’m afraid the disease that afflicted her mind has taken hold of me as well.
It sickens me to think what we’ve put you through. There is no excuse. I only ask of you, though I know I do not have the right to do so, to try and forgive us. I despise what your mother has become, but I love and pity her all the same.
Rose, I wish I could see you blossom into a strong, beautiful woman. Thorne, Walter, I wish I could be there for you. But I can’t. This is the only way.
Goodbye.
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