My name is Matt and my childhood wasn't normal. Not by any stretch of the word. Something happened to my family that is almost impossible to understand. But I'm going to try my best to explain those five years. Five years of my life I spent in terror. Five years we all lived in fear. Five years we'll never get back.
My father, Spence, wasn't a very strong man, both physically and mentally. He was the type of dad who often let our mother speak for the both of them. Now, he wasn't a complete pushover, but he often was content to just go with the flow rather than alter it. He worked hard and dedicated his free time to us, his family. He made sure our needs were taken care of, his soft assurances the unseen foundation of our family.
My mother, Megan, was the head of our house. She was outspoken, independent, and extremely loyal to all of us. She loved my father's quiet ways, and even from a young age I could see the chemistry flowing strong between them.
My little sister, Stephanie, was a year younger than I. She looked up to me and my father always told me it was my responsibility to look after her. We got along as best as we could, and even though I gave her all kinds of brotherly hardship, I did love her.
We lived in a suburban middle class community, a complete stock photo of the American Dream. My father worked a respectable nine to five job while my mother taught yoga classes out of the house. It was a neat life, organized and structured. Everything was discussed, considered, and acted upon as a family. It was a good home to grow up in.
But that was before he showed up.
That was before The Third Parent.
July 1989
I was sitting at the dinner table, waiting for my father to finish cooking. It was his turn tonight and my stomach roared for his rosemary chicken. My sister, Stephanie, lay on her stomach in the living room coloring. Her golden blond hair fell across her shoulders in waves and she looked up at me, smiling. She extended what she had been working on and I nodded, completely unimpressed.
She sniffed at me and continued her sketch. My mother walked into the kitchen, pulling her hair back from her freshly showered face.
"Everyone gone?" My father asked from the stove.
My mother nodded, "Yes Spence, the house is ours again. It's so much better teaching yoga in the basement, so much cooler. I'm glad we finished the basement over the winter. My clients are relieved as well. It's a scorcher out there today."
"Mom can you sit down so we can eat?" I begged from my spot at the table. My mother turned to me and laughed.
"Matt, the hungriest six year old this side of the Mississippi. Why don't you ask your dad to hurry up, he's the one cooking!"
I placed my forehead on the table's lip, "Daaaaaaaaaaad, I'm going to die."
Stephanie looked up from her coloring book, "Matt, don't be crazy."
"You're crazy," I muttered, not looking up.
"Nu-UHHH!" She said, sticking her tongue out at me.
"All right, all right," My father said, turning from the stove. In his hands he held a steaming platter of chicken.
"Come sit down Steph, the food is ready!" I ordered my sister, the sight of the seasoned meat causing me to salivate.
As she pulled herself up from the floor, my mother taking a place beside me, we all froze as someone knocked on the front door. My mother and father exchanged puzzled looks. My dad placed the food down on the table and told us all to hold on a minute.
Groaning, I watched him walk to the front door. He peeked through the key hole and I saw him visibly tense, his whole body cementing like a statue.
"Spence, who is it?" My mother asked.
