Chapter 33 - August 23, 1987

Ra'Shelle, I know you have every reason not to, but I hope you'll read this. There are some things that you should know.

I'm not the monster that you think I am. I'm not the great guy that other people think I am, either, but I'm more than the person you knew.

Your mother and I were friends once. Your aunt and I went to high school together, and I really thought of your mother as, I don't know, not a younger sister, but as a friend, at least. But then she started using, and I couldn't be around a junkie. I just couldn't. Sometimes I wonder if I could've saved her in her teenage years. If I had helped her when she was sixteen, maybe she would have gone on to make something of herself. Then again, you probably wouldn't exist.

I know you want to find your father–or hope that he'll find you–but he won’t. He died, Ra'Shelle, a long time ago. He wasn’t the hero you’ve created in your mind. He stuck around for a few months, but his dreams were bigger than his heart, and he used your mother’s addiction as an excuse to abandon both of you. If he had really loved you, he would have taken you with him, away from all of her insanity. But he didn’t, and that’s your answer as to who he was.

His side of the family doesn’t want you either, Ra'Shelle. You are a stain on the Dawson name. You’re the mistake, the kid from a crack addict who shouldn’t have existed. Let that fantasy die, Ra'Shelle. Let it die.

I was always a little damaged, a little dark, but I kept it together pretty well during my early years. Becoming a father messed me up, and I never adjusted. I didn't know how to be that guy, and I never did, but Debbie wanted a kid, and I loved Debbie. I will always love Debbie.

When Debbie died, something just snapped. I broke. It's as if I was barely held together anyway, as if the darkness was always just below the surface, waiting. Her death was the catalyst, the final nail, the cut that let the damage ooze into the world. I did things I never would have done while she was alive, and no amount of philanthropy could make it right.

It wasn't my idea, initially. If she was still alive, I wouldn't tell you this, but now that she overdosed, I don't see a reason to protect her. Your mother offered you as a bargaining chip. When I climbed those steps, I didn't even know what I was going to do. But with Debbie dead, and my fury at your father, I just thought… well, it doesn't matter what I thought, but that first time wasn't premeditated. Maybe you know that. Considering how things progressed, I'm sure you understand more than people realize.

Things spun out of control, Ra'Shelle. I'll admit that. The cuts, the burns, the things I did to keep you quiet… I couldn't handle your small voice. Your pleas, your sadness… I didn’t want to hear it; I wanted you to be stronger than you were. I wanted to make you stronger.

Regarding Tillerman… Ra'Shelle, you couldn’t have handled being a teenage mother. You were already so weak, so damaged, that having a kid would have just sent you down a spiral you never would have escaped. I didn't want to see you become your mother. I couldn't be a father again, and God knows Gabriel would have made your life, and the kid’s life, infinitely worse, but that wasn't why I involved Tillerman. Becoming a mother at that age would have ruined your life. And even if I could have stopped myself, your mother wouldn’t have stopped the other men. It was inevitable. Don’t you see, Ra'Shelle? That was actually the best solution to prevent a life-shattering problem. Ultimately, I did you a favor.

You've probably figured this out, but, yes, Tillerman removed the left ovary after he caused an infection. Incompetent idiot. He’s as good as Stiedbeck could come up with under the circumstances. Originally, I thought we could do something temporary until you were an adult, but a permanent solution was the only solution. I heard you have a baby now. I'm glad you have the chance to be a mother after all. God knows you could never be as bad as yours.

When you went to live with that woman, your teacher, part of me was relieved. I found another outlet, another way to quiet the voices, and at least you didn't have to deal with all those other men. You owe Daly for that; you know that, right? Without him, you’d probably still be there, living the life of a crack whore.

I'm afraid that Pete contains too much of me and not enough of his mother. There's a reason I'm not leaving him much. He needs to make his own way, and he wouldn't use the money wisely anyway. He's a victim too, I suppose, but don't buy into his innocent act. If he tells you that he hasn't spoken to me since he "found out," that certainly isn't true, and he already knew. He didn't know all the details, maybe, but he knew that I was hurting you. He’s not as blind as he makes people believe. He's right to hate me for being a bad father, but he's no angel either. Be careful how much you trust him.

You probably think I left you all that stuff so that you would have to relive all your worst moments. Maybe I did. I can't say that it gave me no pleasure thinking of you in my house, but that's not the main reason. Do you know how much all of that is worth? I own furniture from nine apartments. I never gave away any of Debbie's jewelry or my father’s antiques. Sell it. Tell Lorez that you want a bank to handle all the planning and just cut you a check. If Pete gives you a hard time, give him part of the money or let him take what he wants. If you really won't take the stuff, donate it all to charity. But, I'm betting that you'll sell it and set the money aside for your daughter. Pay for her college or, God forbid, medical bills.

All that said, if you really do want to just give everything to Pete, tell Lorez, and he'll follow my instructions. But you can't reverse that decision. Weigh your options carefully, Ra'Shelle–as you do in everything.

If you think that taking my money makes you cheap or like you're selling yourself, that ship has already sailed. As soon as your mother treated you like a harlot, you didn't have any room to feel like more than a slut. Maybe think of this as reparations. If you'd sued, this is probably what you would have wrung out of me. And you're unlikely to see anything from anyone else.

Life is cruel, and I prepared you for it. Look at you now. Married mother and still in college with a paid internship. You're more resilient than you realize. You know how terrible life really can be, and you've adjusted accordingly. You're wise beyond your years, and if nightmares are part of that, well, that's just the price of wisdom.

Maybe you want me to say that I'm sorry, but it wouldn't make any difference, and it wouldn't be honest anyway. I feel no guilt, and things worked out for you, so maybe "sorry" isn't the answer. I'll always be part of your goodness.

Instead, I'll say this. I really do want good things for you. I hope the damage heals. I hope that you enjoy motherhood. I hope you find a job that you love. I hope you finish college and achieve whatever other challenges you set for yourself. I hope your daughter lives a good life.

Life is too short for misery. I hope you're happy, Ra'Shelle, truly.

And you owe part of that happiness to me.

–Peter.