YXX syndrome

My mom was pregnant with my little brother, Liam. During a checkup, they discovered he had XYY syndrome. Everyone told Mom she should terminate the pregnancy. She refused, crying her eyes out. I asked her what XYY meant. She told me it meant Liam would be "extra strong, a real man's man," and that he'd protect me. I sort of understood, until Liam was seven and started bashing my mom's head in with a brick. Then I think I really understood what she meant.

I was six when Mom got pregnant. After a few months, they secretly paid for a test and found out it was a boy. Mom was ecstatic. Dad always said I was all the family he needed, his little princess, but Mom always wanted a son. Then the amnio results came back, and everything changed. Liam had an extra Y chromosome.

I eavesdropped from outside the door. Dad pleaded with Mom, "Let's just… let it go. We have Emily. It's enough. The doctor said kids like this… they can be troubled, violent. We can’t handle that."

Mom sobbed, shaking her head, hands cradling her belly. "No, I can't. He's already… so big. You want to… end his life just because of something a doctor said?"

Dad's face was crumpled. He went out to the balcony to smoke, leaving Mom crying in the living room. I went in and asked, "Mom, what does 'extra Y' mean?"

Mom looked at me sadly, thought for a moment, and said, "It means your brother will be super strong, a real tough guy. He’ll protect you, sweetie."

"But will you… will you love him more than me?" I asked hesitantly.

Mom stroked my hair. "Never. You're my precious girl. I'll always love you most."

I smiled.

A few months later, Liam was born. Everyone said he was beautiful, big eyes, perfect skin, like a baby from a magazine. Mom beamed with pride whenever someone complimented him. How could such a cute baby be violent, she'd ask? She'd devote her life to him.

Surrounded by Mom’s love, Liam grew, started babbling, then talking, expressing his emotions. Except, his way of expressing himself wasn’t quite like other kids. If he didn’t like his carefully prepared baby food, he'd fling the bowl across the room. If his toy car’s batteries died, he wouldn’t just cry, he’d stomp on it until it was shattered. He had this intense destructive urge. No toy survived longer than a day. Then he’d move on to other things. Breaking things seemed to give him immense pleasure. Dad's attempts at discipline were useless. Mom just encouraged him. "Good job, Liam! You’re so strong!"

I felt wronged. I complained to Mom, "Why do you spank me when I break things, but not Liam?"

Mom sighed. "Liam's different. He needs gentle guidance. You’re his big sister. You need to understand."

I didn’t understand. It felt like blatant favoritism.

To encourage gentleness, Mom bought us each a pet bunny. "Be kind to your bunnies," she said, smiling. "They’re living creatures."

Liam touched the bunny’s ears, nodding enthusiastically.

The next morning, Mom screamed when she went to change the bunnies’ food. I r...