Narratorical Essays: Summas ', 'The Three Musketeers'

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The Three Musketeers
My father didn’t like me, my mother tried to make it seem like she didn’t like me. Though my mother put in effort in her attempt, my father did not as much. My father only put up with me because she put up with me. If she’d ever wanted me gone, he’d simply ask her when. I don’t think I was supposed to happen. Not for him, at least.
Upon hearing of my mother’s pregnancy, he optioned for her to abort me. He asked her again two weeks later when she said she would but never did. Again, he reminded her into her fourth month, like the many times he did beforehand. His agitation growing along with his child that lay breathe her stomach’s convex shape. She said she would, and she also said she would when he offered his plea once more during her third trimester. By the time of my delivery he realized it was too late. He didn’t bother to show up to the hospital the day of his wife’s labor. No one was there to hold her hand, no one to encourage her through. When she was
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She 'd always used to fawn over me. Comb back what used to be my stark white blond hair. Dress me up in the finest clothes. Brag and brag about me her precious, precious boy. My father could only watch from afar. He 'd resent me more with each new day. The boy he despised to be loved and cherished by the woman he so much loved and cherished. But my father in turn got the love he so wanted from my mother, when I was no longer her precious boy after my scars were no longer easily ignorable. However, my father’s effort was wasted. Even though my mother may have disliked me, what we did share was our mutual dislike of my father. If anything, we tolerated him. I told him that once too, said the only time she’d ever pay him any attention was when he had her on her back and even then not so much. He’d wanted to murder me then, only my mother was two rooms

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