Before dying one last time

It took decades for it to hit me, like a slow-moving cancer.
 You married my father by misunderstanding. You were beautiful and desirable; he was already old, but rich. He had a whole life behind him and two children from his first marriage.
 Reasonably, he didn't want any more children.
 The misunderstanding is me.
 The surprise package.
 An old man's child. I could easily have been his grandson, Desired and imposed upon by one, rejected and endured by the other.
 You stole my childhood. A first little death.
 You betrayed my father and did not spare me
 your cries of pleasure
 in the arms of your lovers.
 A second little death.
 Before dying one last time
 times, I present you the bill,
 Mom.