Page 103 of Hell Hath No Fury

A hand on my shoulder draws my focus, and I turn to see Antonio has joined me. A glance at the door confirms everyone else is still waiting patiently, and I smile gratefully at Patty, who’s standing with the others, a knowing expression on his face.

I suck in a deep breath as I open the envelope, sliding several pieces of paper out and carefully unfolding them.

Lils,

Me again. Still dead dead.

I know you likely don’t think that’s funny yet, but I can assure you it will be after a bit of time has lessened the sting.

I roll my eyes, relatively certain I will never find anything concerning his passing even remotely funny. And that’s saying something because normally, the ‘this could never be funny’ is a challenge I happily accept. Antonio’s hand on my shoulder flexes, and I lean into him as I continue.

I have to say what a relief it was to me knowing that someday I’d be at liberty to share all of my secrets with you. I always second and third-guessed my decision to keep these things from you, but I hope you’ll remember that any secret I ever kept was only to keep you safe. Some truths are not worth the risk that comes with them, and if nothing else, I always kept my promise to your mother to make sure you survived at all costs.

Even if, quite often, the cost was too steep to fathom.

My only comfort for the times in our lives when I wasn’t able to protect you from the horrors in the world is that those horrors gave you Antoinette and Agatha. And I’m assuming, someday, Antonio.

I make a face, turning the pages over to find the date when it was written. Finding none, I go back to where I left off.

While how you got them was truly a horrific experience, you never once blamed them for your pain, instead choosing to embrace them as gifts earned for your great sacrifice.

I won’t waste time waxing poetic or droning on about how fantastic it was knowing you because you already know I have very few regrets about how my life turned out. Sure, I sometimes wished we could’ve lived normal lives sans the darkness and demons, but I also recognize that in the grand scheme of things, that’s where we were meant to be.

Frowning, I reread the paragraph again, not at all accustomed to Mickey sounding even remotely poetic, especially when he has literally stated he wasn’t going to do so.

My only true regret is not being able to share your true identity and relation to me. They stole you as retribution for a crime that did not belong to your immediate family, but at the end of the day, no one cared about the truth. No one cared if they had the right person or not, and no one was going to admit to their screw-up once it was done. Therein began the long and arduous process of attempting to undo what was now years of pain and anguish at the hands of a man who truly felt he was owed a great debt, a man who didn’t care who paid the price of it as long as he felt triumphant in his position among the treacherous.

I initially took the role of Mickey Sullivan as ameans to save me from myself. My deep instinct to scoop you up and tuck you safely away was soul-crushing, and the only way I learned to ignore it was to remind myself every day that to do so would be a sure death sentence for both of us. I would have easily accepted such a fate for myself had your safety been secured, but the most likely scenario is that they would have killed me and then shipped you off to a fate worse than death. A fate even worse than the reality you lived through.

My hands grip the page tightly, my heart pounding in my chest at the growing implications of his words. I look at Antonio, who’s watching me intently. “Are you reading this?”

Nodding, he replies, “I’m skimming it, yes.”

“Do you think…” I let the question hang out in the universe, almost unwilling to allow the words to fall from my lips for fear the truth behind them will break me.

His lips press together, and his shoulders lift. “Keep reading, love.”

Scowling, I turn my attention back to the page, ignoring my urge to toss it on the floor and stomp on it.

I know what you’re going to say, and I won’t deny the validity of your thought process, but please believe I never took my decision not to speak the truth lightly. I could have told you once we’d eliminated the Ferro family, and it’s likely it would have been business as usual with the same old everyday dangers. But so much time had gone by, and you’d gone through so much that it didn’tseem important anymore. We were who we were and changing the titles of who we were seemed unnecessary, given the relationship we’d always had and would always have.

And also, there was the fact that I’m a bit of a coward, and my fear that you would be so angry and hurt you’d banish me made me keep it to myself. I know that’s quite dramatic of me, but even old men like me have fears of abandonment that truly never go away.

As if there would ever be any secret so treacherous that I would have pushed him from my life, but I understand the fear, the deep paranoia that keeps us from sharing harsh truths with those who may be hurt by them. My heart in my throat, I read on:

I’m sure you’ve guessed by now that my name was not always Mickey Sullivan. Just as you know, Mickey Sullivan was never your uncle. As you will see from the birth record, your given name is Deidre DiMera, the daughter of Phaedra and Michael DiMera.

I am Michael DiMera.

It’s such a Mickey thing to do: make a massive announcement without actually saying the words. A quiet sob breaks free as I read that line over and over, unable to look away. Antonio’s arm tightens around me, his hand squeezing my arm where he’s trying to comfort me. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“I’m sure he had his reasons,” Antonio murmurs. “Just as we have all had at one time or another.”

“Asshole,” I mutter, a watery laugh escaping as I swipe at the tears on my cheeks. I give myself a little shake, then focus once more on the words in front of me.

This building was our home, so many decades ago, kept safe by means of the few trustworthy men left in this business. Now, this home and its contents are yours. Anything of real value, sentimental or monetary, is in this room. Jewelry, general keepsakes, and diaries—it is all here, and I’ve done my best to provide small details on most pieces, so you’ll know some of their history. Otherwise, the house is as it has always been, and I expect you to do what you will with it, whether that be live in it, sell it, or burn it to the ground.

As for the darkness and the demons, it’s your decision how you handle them from here. You have an out if that’s what you choose, or you can carry on fighting them until you’re unable to fight any longer.

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