When Your Child Becomes Your Killer

the bitter taste of the tea my d

e in a secluded D.C. apartment. Stella, the brilliant Yale gradu

eo had already shredded my reput

ing by the hand of your own child, the one you sac

detached eyes the last thing I saw. How could the daughter I pushed to greatness

a gasp, I

old wood and fried o

eathbed. And there she was: a seventeen-year-old Stella, rebe

of my first life began, the path leading directly to