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Turning to the pictures, I examined them one by one. There was one of my brother smiling as he rode his bike up our driveway, and another one of all of us that my grandmother had taken outside of the beach house we rented every summer on the Cape. There was even one of me with our old dog, Daisy, laying on the floor watching TV.

The memories of my childhood started to flood my mind, and I could hear the sound of past voices, good and bad as they replayed in my ears.

The people in the pictures looked so normal, like this was the home of a typical American family. And for all outward appearance, it was, we were just like any other family on our street.

But that the was magic of plaster and wood. No one could see inside, no one could see the truth. They didn't see the boy who grew up to become a mafia hitman, they couldn't see how lethal my hands had turned and how these walls had laid the foundation for a killer.

Running my fingers over the last picture, my mother came around the corner, her eyes swollen and red. She was nervously rubbing her hands in front of her chest, lips turned down in a sullen frown.

Stopping in the doorway, she stared at me blankly as her breaths jumped, trying to hold back her tears.

Furrowing my brows, I quickly walked to her side and cupped her elbow. “What's going on? Where's Zander? I want to know what the hell he did.” Looking around behind her shoulder, my mother suddenly slapped my face without warning.

“Ahh! What the hell was that for?” Scrubbing my jaw, I glared at her.

“This is your fault!” screaming, she hit me again. “This is all your fucking fault!” Slapping wildly, her hits came in hard and fast, an endless barrage of sharp stings I couldn't understand.

“What is? What's going on? What the hell did I do?” Blocking my head, I took a step back, trying to create some space between us.

But she wouldn't let up, stepping forward she smacked me again and again. My mother kept striking me, her hands not really aiming at anything, coming in rapidly and chaotic.

“Why did you come back?! Get the fuck out! You don't belong here!”

Snatching her arms, I held her wrists, trying to get her to focus on my eyes. “Mom, stop! Stop! Tell me what's going on!”

She was shaking wildly, her entire body a vibrating machine in my hands. Yanking her in, I hugged her tightly, trying to stop her from going into full blown convulsions as she started to weep.

Her hands came up and clenched my shirt, tearing at the fabric. Her face pressed into my chest, rolling side to side as tears flooded down her cheeks, soaking through to my skin.

Rubbing my hands up and down her back, I kissed the top of her head. “Mom, what's wrong? Tell me what happened.”

Through heavy tears, her voice crackled in broken words. “Your brother. . . your brother isn't. . . Porter, he's gone.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Gripping her shoulders, I pushed her off my chest so I could look in her eyes. “What do you mean he's gone? Where is he?”

Sobbing uncontrollably, the water streamed down her lips as she tried to speak. Her sentences were all mangled, a mix of gasping for air and finding her voice between shredded thoughts. “He. . . I don't know what happened. He was—Zander. . .” Swallowing hard, her eyes froze on mine. “He's dead, my baby is dead.” Falling back into my arms, she wilted in a pain that she should never have to experience.

Holding her close, I brushed my palm down her hair. “Shh,” I soothed, doing my best to calm her. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”

Her body trembled as she cried, her moans growing in volume as she lost herself to the unspeakable hurt of losing a child. My mother's legs began to shake, losing their strength to hold her up anymore.

Bracing her to my chest, I kept her from falling, refusing to let her drop to the ground as her knees grew weak and her muscles began to shut down. Every ounce of her turned brittle and broken, crumbling into pieces before my eyes.

I felt for her, for what she was going through. No mother should ever have to experience that type of heartache.

The last time I saw my mother this distraught was the day I left. Her eyes were giant saucers, swirling with disappointment and regret. She screamed at me to get out, she begged me to stay and get help, she slapped my face and told me she never wanted to see me again.

That hurt, to see the pain I had caused her, it hit me in a way that I never expected. I never meant to disappoint her, I never set out to destroy her very existence.

She didn't raise a monster, I transformed into one.

But this, this was something entirely different.

My brother wasn't being held behind bars, he wasn't a phone call away or a three hour drive. He was lost forever.

Damn it! Why didn't I come home sooner?!

Regret caved in around me, making me wish I had done things differently. But isn't that how life goes? You make a choice, one that you think will solve all your problems, only to see it wash your very existence out to sea.