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Funeral of a nickname

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Ever since I can remember my nickname has been Jezabell. My birth name is Jessica, which in the year I was born was the most popular girl name. But my daddy called me Jezabell, if I was sad, upset, or just had one of those father daughter moments. And sometimes my mother would call me Jezabell, too. Most people knew my nickname. It was my screen name for some time. But I changed it, not wanting anyone else to call me Jezabell. I later heard what it meant. It means a shameless impudent scheming woman. But mine had two L’s, where as the shameless one had one L. and so I spent nearly sixteen years as being Jezabell. Until last week, when my parents told us they were separating. My father choose five second flings over his family. My heart was crushed, but watching my brother cry killed me. this wasn’t his first affair. There had been one a few years back. My brother and I never new why my mother had cried that day, until now. I didn’t sleep for a year, always worried my mother would leave us because of him. I told him that in consoling how much at one point I hated him. And how much now I love him. But that changed. My father is moving out. I left my mother notes just to tell her she was beautiful. I left my father notes to tell him I hated him. The last one I ever said simply read. You killed Jezabell.



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