28th July 1973
To my dear father ~
I see it now, that I found you weak.
I see now, how that made me loathe you. When
mamma passed on, and you lost your grasp on everything. But even before that - the way that your brothers looked at you, and grandma and grandpa.
They worked hard, I know this. They worked hard trying to lift the family back into the status it had once had, in the Pureblood sense. It was a struggle for them, the fall from grace, as they saw it.
But I see now, how a mother should never talk about their child, their son, like grandma did. I know that you stepped away from them to follow your dream - you loved your writing. And you did so, knowing that you would disappoint. They wanted you to join the Ministry, be powerful and successful. But you were a kind spirit, albeit lost, and I know that mamma saw this. She saw you, like she saw all of us.
Grandma did not speak kindly of you, and when she stepped in to take charge when you could not - her words coloured my vulnerable, motherless child-mind. All I did was see you lost, and I felt forced to look strong. I had to step in and be for grandma what you couldn't.
And I looked down on you.
I remember how Cat screamed, and how lost you were, and how I distanced myself from everything. I clung unto her, my grandma, because I could not carry the weight of responsibility as a mere eleven-year-old.
I was such a child.
And you were so broken.
But I am more like you than I thought then.
And I do love you, daddy. I do love you, always.
Always, your son,
Marcus.
