Even as I battle denial and anger, the image of a smiling man rises in my mind. I barely remember him, but he wasn't Dad. Mom introduced us, one day at the park. He drove us around in his shiny convertible and bought me ice cream. I remember wondering why Mom smiled so much.

"How could she do that?" It's weird for me to take Dad's side, especially considering he never has taken mine. But I always thought my parents were happy. Until I came along. I blamed Dad's hate for me on ...