My family led a miserable life. I always wondered why it was like this and why things couldn’t be better. We barely ever had enough food, we took baths and used the same water for cooking, we were impoverished. My mom held so much resentment against my father. He always claimed to be working, he would be away from home for days or weeks at a time doing odd jobs in other cities, yet we were always just scraping by. Whenever mom would insist on getting a job to help with things, he would always dismiss immediately. The lack of money coupled with the frequency of dads absence from home led to heated altercations.

Mom berated father constantly. Claiming he was cheating. Questioning why the rest of the family was beginning to resemble Auschwitz victims, but he always seemed so fit and well-fed. Sometimes mom lost control and threw heavy objects at father, and she’s even lunged at him with knives, but dad never reports her. It’s like he knows what’s happening under this roof is wrong, and he’s trying to keep us a dirty secret. 

I don’t want to speak entirely negative about my father, though, some of my best memories are with him. Like when we gazed at the stars and he was explaining the cosmos to me. My father really was a brilliant man, that’s why it always dumbfounded me that he was never able to find success in life. There were times when I saw the hurt in his eyes. Like he knew this was an awful life and he was almost shameful for putting us in this position. But other times he was so cold and calculated. 

One day my curiosity got the better of me and when my father left for one of his extended work trips, I followed. He got off the train 3 hours away and entered into a wealthy neighborhood. He must be cleaning the homes or doing lawn work for the rich folk here, I thought. But then he was embraced at the door by some woman and 2 kids. I went numb, I couldn’t register what I was seeing. I proceeded to find a small basement window and broke in. I found photos of him with this woman and these two kids all over the room. I don’t think we have a single photo together. My heart shattered.

I ruffled through papers and saw the truth unfolding. My father was a doctor working with the CIA. His life’s work was studying the psychological effects of poverty and absentee fatherhood in households. He had photos of me, my siblings and mother. But we were labeled as ‘subjects’ not given names. 

Suddenly, from behind me, I heard a startled gasp and my name said aloud. I turned and locked eyes with the man I once thought I knew. He pulled out some device and spoke into it while his eyes began to water.

“Code 3, test compromise. Permission to terminate?”