March 16, 2017 | Publications
“Daddy,” says the little beast. “Come look at me in the mirror.” And he goes because he has to, because the alternative is worse. He stares for a long count of five, because any less and there’ll be tantrums and shattered glass and prising little flecks of it out of baby fingers. “Don’t you love me, Daddy?” she’ll say, face wet with tears and an adoration that’s well-practised enough to mostly hide the malice.
“Don’t you love me?”