I smile when I think of my Papa.
He laughs when I call him that. So do I. It's always in my voice when I call him Papa, Papa-san, Pape, Tateschi, Tate... he and I laugh at the joy in my voice. There's only three of us who have gladly called by such a name, and my sister has been dead for near forty years.
I cry for her when I hold her Yortzeit.
Papa never comes when I hold it, it hurts him too much. But it hurts worse that the... Others don't even know, nor does he think they would even care. But Brother and I know, and we care. That's enough for him.
I don't smile when I think of... Him. Papa thinks I hate Him, but I don't. I hate what He did to Papa; Papa may say he deserved some of those things, but lovers, even former lovers, shouldn't have to face what Papa did. I don't hate Him, I won't give Him that much from me. All He means is pain to Papa, therefore all He means is possible pain to me. I have enough pain, I am not adding to it.
It doesn't matter. He does not know we exist. In some corner of His mind, He knows the *possibility* of our existence, but Brother and I shall never prove it to Him, unless nothing less than The End Of The World, or Papa's imminent death. And only in the latter case when we reveal our presence to Him at the end of Papa's life, causing him great pain by disappearing forever afterwards. Revenge is best served cold, and I am Queen of the Cold.
I don't smile a lot.