In my family, we each have our own monster. They don’t always show their ugly faces to us. Sometimes we’ll have a day that is fine. Nice and quiet. Other days, one of us will see our monster peeking around a corner, its grin ghastly and wide. I would tell the story of how I saw my monster for the first time, but I don’t really remember it. As far as I know, I saw it the day I was born. It was in the eyes of my mother, in the freefall of my father, in the cold heart of my sister, in the emptiness of a family so scared, the very fabric under its feet was coming undone and letting every demon through. No, this isn’t the story of how I first saw my monster. This is the story of how I killed it.