Most of the world knows me as Hayes Morrison, the daughter of the former president; a wild child and the sister of Jackson. Why I'm that way, no one really knows. Most of my life is out in the open, but my inner secrets are ones that I've been keeping inside.

They're what really mattered. The sadness I keep inside the constant need for approval. For heaven's sake, I was raised by nannies, housekeepers, and chefs instead of parents. I felt privileged. It was something I would never admit. Yet somewhere in there was a decent human being I had never been able to find.

Now I'm here to tell you about those things that I've kept inside for far too long, things I've kept in the darkest corner. There is a reason I am the way I am. I've seen too much. I've done too many things I've regretted. Sometimes I wonder if there's a completely different person in my body. One that I can't control no matter how much I try.

Before I get into that, let me take you back to life before I was the first daughter. The time I like to remember the most is when I was eight years old. We lived in a two-story house. My brother was my protective older brother, who would often throw more baseballs into the rose bushes on either side of the house than into the mitt. We would run around those bushes and poke ourselves to death as we ran around our yard surrounded by a white picket fence.

Those were the days when I could truly admit I was happy; back before my father cheated on my mother. Even then, my brother ended up the golden child, my mother became a hardcore politician who only cared about herself. My life had somehow spiraled out of control after that. That's when I turned to drugs-when I became the wild child that nobody seemed to know how to control. The deeper I got, the more fractured my relationship with my parents and friends became.

Jackson seemed to be the only one who didn't give up on me. As annoying as it was, he always felt the need to save me. When I met Conner Wallace, he seemed to be just exactly what I needed. He was the other part of me that I couldn't seem to give up. That was until I lost my job and decided to move out of Chicago.

He wasn't gone from my life for long for though. When my mom called him to clean up my mess and spring me from jail on a cocaine charge, he was happy to do it. Not that I wanted him to. I stupidly thought that part of my life was over. Now he was my boss and had something over me because I was a criminal. I made a mistake that I couldn't change. We all did.

For instance, I knew that Wallace had dubbed Sam Spencer to watch over me, which felt a little more like babysitting. It was clear Sam felt rather cheated knowing he was supposed to lead the Conviction Integrity Unit, then had to watch over the person he lost to.

Tess Larson's witness testimony put the wrong person in prison after her aunt was murdered. There was always something fishy about that one. I understood everyone had their secrets, but if she convicted the wrong person, what was she hiding?

Frankie is a smart ex-con with both a temper and a bad mouth. If it weren't for Tess, he would have given up and left the CIU by now. I would also like to think they have more than a little crush on each other.

Last but least, Maxine: a second generation cop with many dark tunnels surrounding her. Many I haven't figured out just yet. I guess in time, those secrets had a way of coming out and biting you in the butt. I knew that all too well from experience.

What I'm trying to get at is we're all broken in some way or another. And even though I didn't know everything about my team, I also had no idea how to admit I needed help. I highly doubted any one of them would give a second to listen. I was their boss. The pusher of nerves. No one wanted to be around me. I knew that only because the second work was over, they were gone and heading to their cars. They didn't have to listen to or face me until the next day.

Every day was a new day, but sometimes it felt like too much to be there at the CIU. Being the boss of people who hated my guts. Or in the least, disliked me. I was in no way a role model for them, nor did

I think I could be the role model they needed. Even if I did become someone they liked, would I manage to screw up their lives like I had screwed up mine?

It was all a vicious little cycle. People didn't think I cared. Truth was, I didn't know how to care. How does a person when everything is handed to them? If I had known it, the whole thing would have been lost on me. Morrison's don't have friends, they have lots and lots of enemies. In fact, I had been called every name in the book. There was nothing I hadn't heard. I was what people called a "sitting bomb". Either those enemies would get to me first or I would blow myself up before they got to me.