Pre-CreepyPasta Sonya

My father wasn't an affectionate nor caring man.  He was very distant and harsh with his words.  Even as my mother became terminally ill, the thought of losing his wife didn't bother him at all; it excited him.  He never loved my mother and only married her because his hump-and-dump had gotten her pregnant.  His excitement grew as my mother's condition got worse and it peaked when she became bedridden.  I was seventeen when it happened.  My mother was miserable; she couldn't take care of herself, she could hardly speak, and she could barely move.  She was completely dependent on our care.
Father refused to take her to the hospital in the final year of her life.  Instead, we moved to a small, wooden cabin in the middle of a large forest.  He loved the solitude, even if it took hours to get to work.  As her death crept closer, I began to sleep in the same room as my mother.  I wanted to be with her when her pain ended and she could be in peace.  I read to her Of Mice and Men, one of our favorite books, on the nights that she couldn't sleep.  I would stay awake with her until she fell asleep, no matter how tired I got, I wouldn't sleep until she did.  I loved her very much and I told her that every day.
Early one morning, my father walked into the room with a gallon sized container of gasoline and a packet of matches.  He tossed me out of the room before I could resist and coated my beloved mother with the flammable liquid and made a trail out to the door.  He grabbed my wrist tightly before lighting a match and dropping it onto the trail.  He pulled me out of the house and began dragging me through the trees as my mother screamed and cried in agony.  I tried to resist and run back to the burning cabin, but my father was stronger and forced me to keep going forward.
It was a long run, but we eventually reached a clearing.  There was a large prison-like building with barbed wire around and on the fencing that surrounded it.  Two men in black suits stood in front of several male and female nurses in crisp, white scrubs and surgical masks.  My eyes were puffy and red from crying and I was out of breath from the lengthy run.  The suited men glanced at me, then smiled and nodded at my father.  Two large, male nurses marched over and painfully grabbed my arms before dragging me towards the asylum.  I screamed and kicked, trying to break free from their hold.  I cried to my father for help...
It was the first time I had witnessed my father smiling at me.  The suited men handed him a suitcase, making his smile stretch even further.
“It takes many sheep to satisfy the wolf, Sonya.  Sometimes, the wolf must wear sheep's skin to get what he wants.  Farewell, little sheep,” my father growled as the doors of hell closed.
The wolf, indeed, wears the sheep's skin... and, in time, the wolf will be eaten, along with the sheep.