Son

I didn’t think you could inherit nightmares, until my son inherited mine.

He never knew—had no way to—my secret past. My other identities, my many languages, my deep training, my lethal skills. Everything I’d done for my country’s alleged principles, although they’d disown me in a heartbeat if necessary.

I’m especially worried that, when the men finally discovered where I’d been all this time and came for me…I slept through it. I woke up to see my son had dispatched all 20 of them. He’s eight years old.

I fear for the future. Yet perhaps those nightmares served their purpose.