You, Me, & God

By Karlynn Kimkade

From adolescence to adult hood seeds of discord were planted all throughout Whitleys life. For some, it was more than just that. In fact, some would say it was only the beginning of her demise. From beatings, lies, and even molestation her story seemed to be just conversation over coffee to the outside world. She was just another so-called Christian who lived a lie and in a same sex relationship. But, what unfolded would be more than most could ever imagine. Take a journey through the lens of a woman who overcame trials, tribulations, and finding God in the midst of it all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Oct 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781973600879

Karlynn Kimkade

From adolescence to adult hood seeds of discord were planted all throughout Karlynn's life. For some, it was more than just that. In fact, some would say it was only the beginning of her demise. From beatings, lies, and even molestation her story seemed to be just conversation over coffee to the outside world. She was just another so-called Christian who lived a lie and in a same sex relationship. But, what unfolded would be more words than most could ever imagine. Take a journey through the lens of a woman who overcame trials, tribulations, and finding God in the midst of it all.

Book preview

YOU,

ME,

&

God

KARLYNN KIMKADE

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Copyright © 2017 Karlynn Kimkade.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

Scripture quotations marked (NLT) are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

Scripture quotations are from the ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-9736-0086-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9736-0085-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-9736-0087-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017913805

WestBow Press rev. date: 05/29/2018

Contents

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10

11

12

13

14

You

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19

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33

1

W hen I first thought about writing this book, I thought it would be something I’d begin but never finish. Maybe I’d go through the motions of writing a few pages here and there, but I thought my story was too far extensive for book pages. If I did go through with it, would it be a book someone could relate to and remember? The thought of dissecting my life and laying my emotions bare was unrelentingly scary. I never cared about what people thought of me. But I was never depicting my every thought process and painting the very entities that compose me for the world to see. There are just some things better kept to ourselves. Besides, we all have a part of our lives we don’t read aloud, right?

Inferior

I’m energetic, funny, and very compassionate. I love people and making them smile. I’ve always wanted to make a difference in the lives of others, including helping people reach their full potential. I’d like to think of myself as a chip off the old block, if you will. Okay, maybe not a chip, but at least, a fragment of the block. I’m 26 years old, and like many others, my life isn’t perfect. I’d like to think I have myself together for the most part, but I’d be stretching the truth pretty thin if I based my life on what the world sees. I’m a motivator; I tend to encourage everyone I can, including myself. I’ve never been the person who had to hang the picture on my fridge to get out of bed and grind in the mornings. I’m diligent and disciplined when it comes to my work ethic and my values. I never take those attributes for granted because I know it’s all God given. I believe that each day is a day to build one another up. Having lived behind so many fake smiles and masks, I know what it’s like for the simplest smile and gesture to talk you away from a bullet and gun. We are all unique, important, and validated by God. I know that because if it wasn’t so, God wouldn’t have created you.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful; I know that full well. Psalm 139:14

Aside from my skeletons most people would say I’m loyal, energetic, and very strong willed. I like to think I am very talented, but if we were to take my skills assessment test I’d probably rate on a lower end of the spectrum. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket, though I try. Most would agree I should give that up, but heaven only knows it’s probably never going to happen. I can’t hum, I can’t do a cart-wheel, braid my hair, or snorkel. I’m an athlete and a vigorous competitor. I’m not one to sit on my hands and watch someone else take the lead; I’ll do whatever it takes to rise above my adversary. I’m a tom-boy, if you will. I don’t wear men’s clothes, or have a shaved head; I do wear make-up and the occasional dress, but it’s nothing for me to be in a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a pony tail on any given day. I have attempted to walk in heels, but have been unsuccessful. If you see me in a picture with heels on, I did it just for the picture. I was only standing with them on, it took me a minute to balance myself, and they were immediately taken off after. So, my skill assessment is not a catastrophe, but some of the more miniscule things are very appealing to me. If you can do any of the above things, just know I envy you a little.

So here I am, sipping this bitter water I call coffee, clashing away at the keys, watching my thoughts run across the screen in front of me. God had spoken to me the last few weeks about beginning this journey and letting my experiences unfold. I’d often push His still, small voice aside, and mutter thoughts under my breath about how I wasn’t ready to explain my life. I could feel His presence abounding within me, being patient, as He continually urged me to begin. God believes in us even when we don’t believe in ourselves. He sees the quarter of the potential we use and encourages us to access the rest. Where we are weak, He is strong within us. It’s just giving it to God and allowing Him to cover my weakness where I fail. You may see yourself as being unqualified and unable to minister. I don’t know how many times I’ve looked at the blood on my hands and the filth in my life and asked, God how I can be used like this? I’d try to clean up my mess and end up in downward cycle, picking up the same disaster, despite the different intent. I’d eventually become anxious, discouraged, hurt and back to where I began.

I’ve been through a lot. Like most of you, I’m sure. Everything can be rainbows and dandelions for a while, but eventually the raging fires of life come. I knew my story wasn’t the worst, but somewhere in my head and heart, I felt as if it was. Sounds selfish? Maybe, it was selfish. But, I was affected, damaged, and sometimes barely breathing. But God—yes, God—He always has the final say. Now, despite the back and forth, the rebuttal, the doubt, I’m offering a vulnerable side of me. Not for my glory, but all for His.

I’m weak, but God is covering my weaknesses, just as He is covering yours. I’d enjoy spinning this web and telling you that I am well, healed, and joyful while pouring my heart into these pages, but it would be only another web of lies. I’m inferior; I’m not above anyone, and I’m healing.

This isn’t your average Christian book. If you are expecting all the glitz, glam, and charm of a Christian life then I think you should stop reading here. What I am about to give you is very raw, brutal, and a potent concentration of my life and sin. This is the uncut version.

In the beginning…

"For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope." Jeremiah 29:11

The innocence and joy of a child is captivating. It softens your heart, puts a smile to your face, and creates a joy like any other, especially if the child is yours. I don’t have children, but I do have two amazing nieces. I love their spirits. They are unbroken; they are fearless, and care-free. They have been protected from the cruelty the world can inflict. They are dreamers. They believing that they can fly, jump higher than the sky; they are what I wished I could still be. I love kids. Hands down, God has given me the potential to be a mom. I hope to one day to be able to fulfill that. What I mean is, I can’t wait to see my little ones attempting cart wheels like their mom. We may even learn together! I will boost their confidence with my humility. I hope that right now you are smiling with joy at the fond memories of your childhood, of you growing up and becoming who you were intended to be. For some of you, your childhood may recall a lot of pain and hurt. Like you, I have experienced a lot of hurt and pain, and tons of confusion. Don’t get me wrong my childhood was not the worst by any means. Everything I have learned and become is from my experiences. Wherever you are in your life right now, know that God is stronger than our flesh. Though we may fail, He will never fail within us. Don’t give up! I believe in you.

I pray that the Holy Spirit within you has healed your brokenness, patched your exposed wounds, and allowed the latter of your life to be better than the former. Let’s take a minute. Have you ever thought of how God looks at you? I mean before the world told you who you were, categorized you because of what you did or didn’t do, before you were judged upon your economic or social status and fed into the cynical, hypocritical, and judgmental people. A lot of times these people aren’t relevant to our lives, but we still allow them to impact how we view ourselves. We look at social media and the people that feed us their lives, their song and dance, and we think, That’s it, that’s how life should be… Then, we subconsciously compare to what the mind has recorded. I don’t have this type of car, I can’t ever be that weight, and I will never look as good as her. Have you done that? Even to a minor degree? If your answer is no, I would like to meet you and shake your hand, or tell you to sit down and truly be honest with yourself. I think at some point, whether as children or adults, we compare our lives to the image of what we think it should look like. If you are here right now, then you are not alone. I’m shoulder-to-shoulder with you on this.

So, where does God fit in? He should fit in, right? The Author and Creator of our lives should have at least some input, right? Truth of the matter, He should have all of the say in our lives. He should be the first person we listen to, long before we seek the world’s opinions. God doesn’t make mistakes! You are not a mistake! I am not a mistake! We may not always see things this way, but there is nothing more true than that. He created you as His masterpiece. You are fearfully, and wonderfully made. God died for you at your very worst. He knew you’d reject him; He knew you would lie, cheat, and steal. He knew you’d betray him, hurt others, and use His name in vain. And He still chose to die for you. You are chosen.

But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5:8

2

Background and Changes…

Children are a heritage from the LORD, offspring a reward from him. Psalm 127:3

I felt my little cheeks get warmer the longer I sat outside. My three-year-old heart was set on seeing my dad pull up. Any minute now, I kept saying. I sat on the sidewalk staring down the street in the direction my dad would travel. He was supposed to get my brother and me for the weekend. He had a bad habit of not calling and never showing up, but I didn’t hold it against him. Every Friday was a new day for him to try again. This time he’ll make it, I kept telling myself. My bags were packed and dangled at my side as I made my way to the end of our drive where I sat and waited. My dad’s name was Brad. He was a few years younger than my mom. He was very handsome with brown hair and blue eyes. My little brother and I looked a lot like him, at least when we were younger.

My dad left my mom before my first birthday and eventually, they divorced. He decided he wanted her best friend instead, and no parental responsibility. My mom had fully assumed the role of both parents to the best of her ability. She was a single mom raising three of us—two boys and me, the only girl. She had recently gotten her GED and began working as a Dispatcher at a local sheriff’s office. At that time, we lived in Callahan, FL. It was a small, rural area, tucked away in Garrison County. A few convenience stores, a school, and a few red lights would describe the town perfectly. My mom didn’t make much, approximately $12,000 a year, which was enough to put some gas in her car and pay the bills, though barely.

My older brother Mannie, had a different father than my younger brother and I. Mannie’s father was very involved in his life. Mannie was five years older than I was and resembled his dad to the T. Mannie spent most of his time with his dad’s side of the family. He loved it there and him being away created less tension at home for us all.

My dad was a tough man—very driven, and destined for success. At the time he was a Law Enforcement Officer and was in the military before that. My mom was head over heels in love with him, despite their relationship being toxic from the beginning. He was manipulative, cold hearted, and egotistical. My mom was different. She always thought of others before herself, and gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. She never quits and is, to this day, the most relentless person I know. She gave their marriage and their relationship all that she had. She said her vows intending to pursue a fulfilling life with my dad.

Sadly, my dad had a gypsy soul and was always destined to leave. He was always one foot in and one foot out the door. The pursuit of a family was not a priority for him. Even after the marriage and the kids, it was best to escape the responsibility and run. To hear my mom tell it, he never loved her. For a short time, he did his best to play a small part in his role as husband and father. But he was abusive, controlling, and spiteful. He despised my older brother, who was seven at the time. Mannie resembled his biological father so much that it would put my dad in an almost immediate fury. He beat Mannie severely, just because of the resemblance. When my mom interceded, which she always did, she would be beaten as well. Before my little brother Tyler was born, my father proposed that my mom abort him. When she refused, he beat her intermittently throughout her pregnancy.

But, God—yes, God—had other plans. Tyler had been born with a few minor breathing complications and was put on oxygen. He usually slept with his oxygen mask; without it, he could die. My dad left one rainy night during one of Tyler’s asthma attacks. We had recently moved to a single wide trailer outside the city limits of Starke. It was a desolate area with about 15 sq. miles to the nearest town with only one vehicle to share. In the midst of moving Tyler’s medicine and mask had been forgotten. My dad agreed to go get Tyler’s medicine from the previous residence and bring it back to tend to Tyler’s needs. While he was gone, he called and asked for a divorce and said he wasn’t coming back. Despite the havoc, confusion, and pain, my mom quickly called for help, and Tyler eventually got the help he needed. A couple years later, I sat on the sidewalk with my bags packed, and waited for my dad.

Like the Fridays before, I sat with anticipation, occasionally getting up and peeking around the corner as far as my eyes could see. It was beginning to get dark; the street lights came on and I could no longer see the color of any vehicle passing on my small street. I glanced back at my mom sitting on the patio behind me occasionally and told her that he would be here any minute. She always reassured me, never once disrespecting my dad. She stared down the street too, hoping it wouldn’t be like all the times before. Eventually, my mom got up from the patio and carried me inside, usually kicking and screaming. My heart had been crushed again. Another Friday gone. No call, no answer, no dad.

Tyler and I were 18 months apart. We were very close—similar, but different. I was his big sister and took pride in that role. He was usually on my heels, mimicking my every move. I had two brothers, so to me, I was one of the boys. I always wrestled and played the games they played. We were power rangers, teenage mutant ninja turtles, and we were resilient. I can still see us all running around in our underwear, no shirts, doing some of our best karate kicks. We laughed and chased one another with our imaginary swords. Mom, watch this, I said as I’d high kick in the air. Mama was our biggest fan and she still is to this day.

We were poor. There was much opposition from the time I was old enough to understand. Someone stealing mommy’s car was just another bill we couldn’t pay, and a repo company coming to take our vehicle away. There were occasions where we didn’t have any electricity and would walk to the nearest police station to bathe. But my mom knew how to stretch a dollar. She could make us a hot meal out of anything, and we always ate even if she had to go without. My grandparents helped tremendously and would ultimately play a huge part in each of our lives. We walked everywhere with my mom. We never complained even though at times we were super tired. Mama usually pushed Tyler in the stroller while Mannie and I followed beside her. On occasion, my mom would save enough change to get us an orange flavored- push-pop ice-cream. With our ice-creams in hand and the biggest smiles on our faces, we’d walk to the baseball field across the street. There was always some game going on. We’d sit with expectation and watch as the teams transitioned on and off the field. Although I barely understood the sport at that age, I enjoyed watching the players’ enthusiasm. Watching them cheer one another on and laugh brought so much warmth to my heart. After the game, they celebrated and cut jokes at the defeated team. It was all in fun. That memory has always stayed with me.

Seeds…

But I am afraid that, as the serpent deceived Eve by his craftiness, your minds will be led astray from the simplicity and purity of devotion to Christ.

II Corinthians 11:3

As a child, I remember how deeply I processed things. I was a protector. I hated to see my brothers hurt, but especially my mom. I tried to do everything I could to help her. My mom reminded me of a superhero. She could do it all. To this day, I have so much trust in her. God really made this woman special. I know that we may all be a bit biased when it comes to our moms, but mine is unlike any other.

I was mom’s little helper. If I could reach it, I’d grab it; if I could open it, I’d hand it to her; if I could clean it, I’d scrub it until I could see my face in it. I did the dishes, swept, mopped, and performed most household chores before I was five. My mom always left me in charge, which included leaving me to babysit alone from time to time. I was level-headed and very aware. But the Department of Children and Families always had an eyebrow raised at my being left alone at such a young age. I can’t count the interviews I’ve had with them about being left alone. By the time the meetings were dismissed, they’d tell my mom how I was more conscientious and responsible than most teenagers.

In the small town of Hudson, FL, my mom worked at the local sheriff’s office, which was about a fifteen-minute drive from where we lived. The sheriff’s office was a convenient location for all of us since it was nearest to our daycare and school. It was about four miles from the jail. We were taken to school in the morning, then finished the day at daycare. I was in pre-school at the time. My teacher, Mrs. Roach, whose name always stood out so much to me, was a very sweet lady. Imagine introducing yourself to your preschool classroom with that name! Maybe an older age group would have reacted a bit more maturely, but even now I still get a kick out of it. School was the time I acted most like a kid. When we were allowed to roam on the playgrounds I finally felt at ease. The only responsibility was to play.

That’s where I first kissed a girl. Now, I know what you’re thinking. What? You are a girl and you kissed your first girl? Yes, I kissed my first girl. Was I gay? No. Was I attracted to girls? No. When we played on the playground, it usually ended up with the girls going one way and the boys another. We were in the stage where, Girls rule and boys drool. We took that seriously enough, because to us, at that age, boys and girls were polar opposites. Us girls, we wanted to play house. It’s almost comical how even as kids God gave us the identity as women to tend to the family without ever being told. We all had our roles and played our character as best as we knew how. I vaguely remember how I always played the dad during these games. Maybe it was because I always dressed like a tom-boy, or perhaps it was because no-one else wanted to play that. Everyone wanted me to be the dad so, I was the dad.

My mom often tried to put me in dresses, but I always put a pair of jeans underneath it and changed when I got out of her sight. I wasn’t like most girls and I was okay with that. I didn’t play with dolls; I never wanted to have my nails painted, or my hair groomed. I was different. So, here I am, the dad in our game. There were the parents and the kids. We worked, we shopped, we gave the kids bedtimes, discipline, etc. So, when it came time to say goodnight, or during our pretend wedding, we would kiss.

Looking back, the kiss didn’t mean anything to me. I never thought much of it. I was just a kid playing. In that time, I had never been exposed to same sex anything. My mom and I never had that conversation until my teenage years. Honestly, I was never really aware of it. It was natural to assume that women and men were to be together. I never told my mom about the kiss because I didn’t think anything of it. None of my other classmates looked at me differently, and I didn’t feel any differently because it was all pretend.

Now that I’m older I realize the danger and the premeditative state the enemy has on us. Who is our enemy? Satan and his demons are our enemies. From the time we are created in our mother’s womb, the Devil and his demons have one intention to destroy us and our offspring. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full. John 10:10

Satan is patient, he plants seeds of discord, and he waits to see them harvest. If you have your eyes closed to your children with even the pretend activities and things as miniscule as the games they play, the music they listen to, and the TV they watch then you should start stirring the pot. I understand that you may not want to be an over-bearing parent, but leaving the horse with too much slack in the reins puts one at risk for a potential disaster. Same with kids: allow them space and grace to grow, but give them protection, instruction, and most of all, insight. Don’t allow a seed of discord to harvest and become potentially life threatening because you don’t think it will happen to your child. Things happen that are out of our control, but you as a parent have a duty to your child. Your children deserve your protection. Do what you can do for them and allow God to do the rest.

The Devil will use every bad situation to open a hole and plant a seed-bearing fruit of destruction. We know that life isn’t fair, but God is just and merciful. Jesus has won the war, but we as Christians and you as a parent have a responsibility to fight. You must fight in order to survive life and spiritual warfare.

Abuse & Despair…

We were only a few minutes from the sheriff’s office, which made it much easier and affordable for my mom to take us to school. I begin acting out in both preschool and daycare. I was very dominating; I was a four-year-old biting bully. Yes, biting. My teeth were my weapon of choice. The principal and the school counselor called my mom repeatedly. Eventually, they decided I would be sent home from school the next time I decided to bite. I remember the principal saying, What would you do if I bit you? I replied, I’d just bite you back. Thankfully, that faded, and I grew out of wanting to put my teeth on everyone.

Around my 5th birthday, my mom met a man named Steve, who would eventually become my step-dad. He was attractive and seemed to have the right words to captivate my mom. He was short and lean with an athletic build. He had beautiful blue eyes, curly hair, and a small gap between his front two teeth. He was a single father raising two girls mostly on his own. In the beginning stages of their relationship, I had my first counseling sessions with a psychologist. The absence of my biological father played a significant role in my life. When my classmates asked where my dad was, I often replied, He’s dead. I had an inventive imagination, and convincing myself that something tragic happened to him allowed me to be able to cope with his absence. My father gave up his parental rights to my brother and me. He also changed his last name so that he wouldn’t be listed as a deadbeat dad. (Apparently, the military exposed deadbeat dads by publishing their names in an article in the local newspapers, so he did what he could to avoid the embarrassment.) I can’t remember the good that came of the counseling. I just remember feeling important when the psychologist came in in his suit and tie. I’d sit in my chair with my feet dangling, my back as straight as his, and pretend I was in his position. The counselor would ask me a series of questions, none of which pulled at my heart strings, thankfully. I was released after the second visit.

So here was the new boyfriend, Steve. Like my mom, he had a passion for Law Enforcement. Since my dad was a cop as well, it made me feel like he was an alright guy. He was a city patrol officer and full of life. He seemed to be more on the wild side, the type of person you’d expect to jump out of planes. He liked everything fast, loud, and hectic. Even now, I can hear the familiar sound of heavy metal/scream-o playing through the speakers of his small, blue, Chevy Lumina. He would bang on the steering wheel with his palms. When the tempo increased, so did his crazy energy. Occasionally, he would tilt his head back and mimic their screams from the bottom of his stomach. He would often accelerate, depending on what nerve the song struck, and we would all sit back in amazement and fear as if we were his audience. The screams he could mimic felt so unnatural to me and always made me a bit fearful.

Steve’ two girls were Jessie and Jenna. Jessie was my age. She had curly hair, short, a stocky build, and looked a lot like her dad. Jenna was the same age as my younger brother Tyler. She had dark features and resembled an Indian. She was very quiet and scrunched her nose when she laughed. My mom and their dad were dating about three months when one day after school we all received the news of a lifetime. I still could feel Jessie and Jenna’s legs push up against me as we crammed tight into the small truck that Steve was driving. When my mom broke the silence, she looked at Steve and back at all of us and spoke aloud, We have something to tell all of you. It’s a surprise! We all lit up expecting money or something so sweet your teeth would rot. That was my kind of surprise. That’s when my mom showed us her wedding ring. She blurted out, We got married! I felt my stomach leap to my throat. I looked at Jessie and Jenna with disgust and said, You mean they are my sisters?! My mom’s excitement couldn’t mask my distaste. I went from being dropped off at school to my life changing within an eight-hour school day. I was almost angry at my mom; she and I were so close. Why didn’t she tell me? I was in shock that I had to find out like everyone else did. The next shrewd question that cut from my sharp tongue was, Do I have to call him dad? I glared at him hoping he would get the hint. I knew my dad was gone, but looking at this man sitting next to my mom made me furious. I felt betrayed, as if I didn’t have any say in my mom’s life. I knew that as a child we were to follow orders from our parents. I was disciplined and well mannered; I respected my elders. My mom didn’t tolerate even the slightest bit of disrespect from any of us. At that moment, I felt like I didn’t matter. I knew my mom wanted love. And she deserved love. I knew she wanted a happy family, but why was I left out on the decision? Before Steve, my mom didn’t date much. She’d sometimes meet people through mutual friends or on the occasion when she’d go out dancing. Every now and then, we’d meet these guys if she felt they had potential. I’d never forget my first impression of all of them. All their fake dazzle and charm was too transparent for me to ignore. Even at a young age. Most of them fizzled out before we could remember their names. I honestly felt Steve would be the same way. Little did I know…

3

It all falls down…

"Desire without knowledge is not good—

how much more will hasty feet miss the way!" Proverbs 19:2

I f you’ve ever watched fireworks, then you know the process: fire ignites the fuse, stem travels to base where it shoots up and explodes. Usually, the spectators are in amazement. You’ll hear the snapping pictures, cheering, and the oohs and aahs. As a child, I wanted to think of my mom’s relationship as a firework. At the end of the explosion I wanted to be amazed as an excited Fourth of July spectator; however, Steve and my mom’s relationship reminded me of the alter ego of a firework, if you will. Instead of being beautiful, it was destructive. Their relationship was a time bomb waiting to explode, and I had realized that far too early.

Things moved rather quickly with my mom and Steve. She became very attentive to his wants and needs. My mom was very affectionate, kind, and fun. Steve was different with his kids. His idea of affection was thumping