It was a warm, sunny afternoon. Shelby and I took advantage of the unseasonable weather by walking through Central Park.
We watched the dismantling of the Gates (at last!), holding hands as we strolled. She kissed me in the Ramble.
We shopped for groceries. She practiced her cello as I cooked dinner. Afterward, we talked and made love until falling asleep.
Overnight, a cold front moved in, bringing a snowstorm. A rough start to the day. But it would get worse—before nightfall, I would have murdered Shelby.
As I settled down to do some work, I found this missive:
your sweetheart by whatever psuedo name [sic] you chose is my daughter. Since you have chosen to engage her into this perverted life of yours, she now belongs to you. I suggest you rent her a uhaul and come pick her things up because her other home no longer is her home. I vomit inside everytime [sic] she leaves to come into your perverted world.
Her father and I wash our hands of her life. She has two choices to stop her trips to your world or remain their [sic].
Shelby’s mom read my blog. She was pissed.
She discovered it while snooping on her daughter’s computer. As a parent, I can’t say that I blame her for snooping, or for being angry. Her daughter is an adult, but still her daughter.
Shelby was sickened when she read the email. She had to go home to straighten this out.
Shelby wrote later.
Right now . . . I'm crying. I've been crying for almost three hours. I'm currently at my aunt's house. My dad backhanded me across the face and threw me up against a wall then across the room. They took my car. This has gone too far and I'm frightened to go home.
I also heard from Shelby’s mom.
she's yours . . . move her in and keep her . . . Shelby or whatever psuedoname [sic]you choose . . . the perversion has no place in her old world . . . move her in with you. She is no longer welcome in the world that raised her to be beautiful, talented and brilliant. Beware your perversion will tire of her childish self centered consumption and you too will send her back to us to heal and suffer with the healing.
The mother she hates.
The mother whose pain is beyond words as she watches her daughter self distruct [sic].
The mother who has supported her.
Shelby met me through my blog. My blogging on Shelby has exacerbated existing tensions to the point that her parents use physical violence and force her from her home.
I can’t tell how this will go. But I do know that it will happen offline. This blog will not fuel the family’s anger.
So far as this blog is concerned, Shelby is now dead. The real Shelby is safe. She will survive this.