Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - 9-Hour Journey Through Dark Stories

Episode Date: November 4, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #nosleep #paranormal #creepy #darkstories #psychologicalhorror #nightmarefuel #hauntedtales “9-Hour Journey Through Dark Stories” is a chilling marathon of horror that takes you deep into the shadows of the unknown. Each story explores human fear, disturbing encounters, and sinister forces that hide just out of sight. From haunted houses to unexplainable events, this compilation will keep you wide awake—questioning what’s real and what isn’t. Perfect for fans of unsettling, psychological, and paranormal horror that lingers long after the final story ends. horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, darkstories, paranormalencounters, ghoststories, truehorrorstories, hauntedplaces, mysteriouscases, thrillerpodcast, nosleeptales, horrorcompilation, nightterror, spookycollection, supernaturalhorror, chillingnarration, eerieatmosphere

Back in the late 90s, right before the world really turned into one giant surveillance machine, I had this job at a big chain store. I won't say which one, trust me, after you hear what went down, you'll understand why. I was a cashier at one of their franchise locations, just a regular minimum wage teenager who worked at a counter with two registers. The kind of setup where you could just slide from one register to the next, and someone could hop onto yours if you ran to the bathroom. Super unprofessional. No real system in place to control theft or keep tabs on the cash flow. So, pretty much right after I got hired, I was handed my own till.

That's the little insert thing that holds the bills, and before each shift, it would be loaded up with a starting amount, about $150 in small bills. I was told to count it before starting work. They left me alone to do this, just out of view from the office. And for reasons I still can't fully explain, I just, took the money. All of it. Slipped it into my pocket. Then I told the manager the till was empty. He grumbled, filled it up with the regular starter cash, and I went about my shift like nothing happened. I didn't grow up with much.

My parents tried, but they had baggage, substance issues, financial failures, a messy divorce. I was a kid born out of wedlock. We always had these junky cars, and vacations were rare and cheap, usually camping trips a couple hours from home. Honestly, I liked those trips, but I couldn't help wondering what it would feel like to stay in a hotel, to have clean sheets someone else made. I used to daydream about having nice things. Like a car without cigarette burns in the seats were duct tape holding the fabric together. Like getting a Super Nintendo when it first. first dropped, not a decade later when it cost under $100 and the next-gen consoles were already

out. Being poor isn't just about what you don't have, it's this constant cold inside you, a hunger that never really leaves. Other kids seemed wrapped in warmth, insecurity, in abundance. I felt like I was out in the cold, watching from the outside. So yeah, I stole that first $150. And for a week afterward, I was a nervous wreck. I couldn't sleep.

I was convinced I'd be caught, fired, arrested, thrown in jail. My life would be over before it even started. I pictured myself ending up just like my parents, broke, broken, maybe addicted to something awful. The anxiety was suffocating. But at the same time, that money made things easier. I could breathe. I could buy lunch without counting pennies. That warmth crept in.

replacing the icy grip of fear. The next week, I did it again. And then again. And again. Before long, it was a regular thing, two or three times a week. But I wasn't stupid. I knew taking the full amount every time would get noticed eventually, so I started messing with the numbers.

I'd add random amounts like $27 or $41 to the till count before handing it in. That way, when they tried to be. balanced the books, the missing money wouldn't be in neat $150 chunks. It added just enough confusion to keep them guessing. The night managers were supposed to fill the tills at the end of the night from another safe. The day manager, the owner, was a jerk. Classic, My Way or the Highway, type.

He'd lose his temper instead of actually managing. There didn't seem to be any real oversight for the cash counts. No checks. No double counting. No security measures. I wasn't a great student, but even I could see how ridiculously easy it was to game their system. I was basically running my own little embezzlement operation, and no one had a clue. This went on for years.

No joke, years. And even though the books never added up, nobody seemed to care enough to do anything about it. The boss would yell at the night managers occasionally, but that was it. No policy changes. No investigations. No cameras. Back then, minimum wage was something like $5.25 an hour. That cash I pocketed basically tripled my income. And suddenly, I was living a whole different life. I wasn't rich, but I wasn't struggling either. I could buy decent clothes, go out with friends, pay for gas. I started doing little things for my family. too. I'd bring home takeout and tell my mom I was being smart with my paycheck. I'd sneak an extra hundred into the emergency fund or offer to help with a bill. I wasn't just stealing to have fun, I was helping in my own twisted way. I kept it low-key, though. I'd seen too many crime movies to know what happens when you get flashy. You start drawing attention, and then you're caught.

So I spread it out. I bought friends lunch here and there. paid for gas. Got someone a CD or a soda. I kept my, generosity, humble. Just enough to be cool, not enough to raise eyebrows. And yeah, I know what I did was wrong. I was stealing. I was committing a felony.

But I didn't feel bad about it. Not at all. The boss was a prick, flaunting his wealth, driving a fancy car, acting like a king while we were scraping by. Maybe he was in debt, maybe he wasn't. Didn't matter to me. What mattered was that I'd figured out how to beat the system, and it worked. Over the course of three years, I estimate I stole around $50,000. I was making more than some full-grown adults. I financed parties, road trips, and a lifestyle I never thought I could have. I got a fake ID. Bought booze. Hosted by bonfires with DJs, through themed ragers that were legendary at my high school.

I hung out with girls way out of my league, all because I had this invisible safety net of stolen cash. It felt like I was rewriting my life in real time, patching over years of deprivation with money I didn't earn but sure as hell knew how to use. I was warm for the first time. Confident. Safe. Then came the cameras. Corporate finally forced the franchise owner to to install surveillance. Suddenly there were eyes everywhere, especially in the spot where we'd count the tills. My gig was up. I knew it. So I did the smart thing. I quit. That was it. No dramatic ending. No confrontation. Just a clean exit. I never looked back. I didn't feel guilty. I didn't miss it. I had pulled off a full-blown teenage heist for three years straight

and walked away untouched. No one ever suspected a thing. No one got fired. No one even knew what had happened. I had been a teenage criminal mastermind, well, kind of. It wasn't Ocean's 11, but for a kid from a broke home with no prospects, it was a masterpiece. I built a little empire out of $5 bills and carelessness. I didn't get caught. I didn't self-destruct. I didn't ruin anyone else's life. I just played a flawed system and walked away when the game got too dangerous.

And yeah, I know it sounds crazy now. Maybe even stupid. Maybe you think it wasn't worth the risk. But when I think back to those days, when I remember what it felt like to hand someone a soda and know I could afford it, to pay for gas without checking my balance, to bring home dinner like a hero, man, that feeling was real. That warmth was real. And for the first time in my life, I didn't feel like the poor kid anymore. I felt like a king. And the best part? I got away with it.

The end. Hi, I consider myself a very sociable person, which means I know a lot of people, I greet everyone I know, joke around with them, etc. Because of this, I never really fit into a singular group of friends, and I never thought much about it until I turned 18-19 and saw that many people were going to places far from where they lived, going to parties every weekend, etc. Well, I always thought I would have liked to belong to a group like that. I started university a year and a half ago and, of course, met many people. I get along well with most of them, so far, and among them, I met two guys with whom I felt an

immediate connection. We liked the same topics, had a similar sense of humor, etc. I formed a really great friendship with them, but I always noticed that the two of them hung out more without me and never told me about it. Still, I didn't pay much attention to it. The thing is, they always indirectly asked me for things, like helping them assemble furniture. I remember once I helped one of them carry a desk all the way to his house without a truck or anything. I tried to help because, in the end, that's what friends are for, right? Well, I remember one time I had a panic attack in the middle of the street because of several issues I was dealing with.

I called one of these friends to ask if I could see him for a bit, just to, I don't know, feel safe. I didn't ask for anything material, not even much time, I just needed someone to help me calm down. What happened was that this friend, I remember it very well, came up with a lot of excuses. To see if what he told me was true, I sometimes joked with him saying, yeah, no way, dude, that time I had the attack and called you, I don't even remember what you were doing. And now, twice I've asked him this, and both times, he gave me different answers.

What triggered everything was that today I went to the gym with one of them. I know he's in a tough financial situation, who isn't with this economy? But while I was putting my things away and changing, I turned around, and my headphones, which I had left on the bench with my phone and water bottle, were gone. My first reaction was, I probably put them in my backpack without realizing it. I looked for them, and they weren't there. I checked my pockets, and they weren't there either. So I used the iPhone Find My App, for those who don't know, Apple headphones make a sound

when you lose them and press the button to make them ring. I used this feature, and it turned out that he had them in his bag. Only after I pressed the sound button a second time did he say, are these yours? Sorry, dude, I confused them with mine. I didn't think much of it at first, but then he started acting weird and didn't talk to me much for the rest of the day. Later, reflecting on it, I realized that I had never, not once, seen him with a pair of headphones. This revelation really hit me hard because, I don't know, I felt incredibly betrayed. If he had asked for help in a different way, I would have helped as much as I could, but what he did really broke my heart.

This story is still unfolding, so I don't know what will happen next. My first action will be to slowly distance myself from them. Unfortunately, they know things about me that I wouldn't want to become public, not because they're bad, but because they're very personal. Well, I needed to write this to vent a little, and it also gives you a bit of gossip about the life of a person you'll probably never meet, ha ha. Greetings to everyone. I'm 17.

Just a regular guy trying to make it through school and all the chaos that comes with being a teenager. I live with my family, and while it's not a person, perfect setup, we make it work. One of my few joys in life is food, more specifically, the food from this one little Mexican joint about 15 minutes from our house. They're carnisada tacos. Absolute heaven. They're burritos. Life-changing. Every time I eat there, it feels like the world stops being awful for a bit. It's my happy place. So, a couple nights ago, I went there and got my usual. I was hyped. Like, legit excited. I even had leftovers, which made it ten times better. You know that feeling when you open the fridge the next day and your favorite food

is waiting for you. That's the kind of joy that's hard to put into words. So I did what anyone would do, I put a note on it. Actually, I didn't just put a note on it, I went around and told everyone in the house, don't touch my food. Now, my little brother is 14. He's one of those kids who's always sneaking snacks, touching stuff that's not his, and acting like he's five years old instead of a teenager. I love the kid, don't get me wrong, but he can be annoying as hell. We fight like all siblings do, but usually it's small stuff. Harmless bickering. This time. It went way beyond that. I woke up the next day, dreaming of that leftover burrito. I went straight to the fridge, ready for bliss.

But when I opened the door, gone. Nothing. Nada. Just the empty container sitting there like some kind of cruel joke. I swear, I could see red. My blood boiled. I stormed around the house until I found him in the living room, just chilling like he hadn't committed the biggest betrayal since Judas.

I went off. Full-on rage. I yelled at him like I've never yelled at anyone before. I called him names, said things I shouldn't have, stuff I can't take back. I was seeing red, man. Just pure fury. He sat there, kind of stunned, and I could tell he was scared. But I didn't care in that moment.

I just turned around, ready to walk away, still fuming, and that's when it happened. I slammed the door. Hard. Not just your average, I'm mad, slam, this was a full body, adrenaline-fueled, anger-powered door slam. And then I heard it. This sickening thud, like something got caught. I looked down, and I felt my stomach drop out of my body. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. All I saw was him, Maui. See, Maui wasn't my brother. Not a human one, anyway. Maui was my dog. My sweet, stupid, loving little rescue mutt.

The best thing that ever happened to me. He had followed me into the room without me even noticing, probably thinking I was just going to chill or something. And I, God, I didn't even see him there. I was too focused on being angry. Too focused on yelling. Too focused on stupid damn leftovers. He tried to slip through the door as I was stormed.

out, and I slammed it right on him. I don't even know exactly where he got hit, his head, his neck, maybe his spine. All I know is that he yelped. This horrible, high-pitched scream that I still hear every time I close my eyes. He collapsed on the floor, twitching, eyes wide with pain and fear. And I just, froze. Then I panicked. I dropped to the floor, cradling him, trying to do something, anything. I called his name over and over. Maui, buddy, it's okay, it's okay, I'm here, I'm so sorry. But it wasn't okay.

He looked at me with those big brown eyes, and I knew. I just knew. There was nothing I could do. He was dying, and it was my fault. Entirely. No one else to blame. Just me. He was gone.

within a minute. Maybe less. I don't know. Time kind of stopped. I sat there on the floor, sobbing, holding this warm, lifeless body in my arms, and the weight of what I'd done hit me like a freight train. I killed my dog. My best friend. My reason for smiling some days. Because I was mad about food. I haven't been okay since. I don't even know what okay looks like anymore. I don't even know what okay looks like anymore. I can't eat. Can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. Hear him. Feel that horrible moment replaying like a movie I can't shut off. I wake up crying. I go to bed crying. Sometimes I just sit and stare at the wall, completely numb. Maui wasn't just a pet. He was a lifeline. My parents got him for me two years ago when I was going through it, like, really going through it.

Depression Self-harm All that darkness that swallows you whole and makes you feel like you'll never be normal again. They thought maybe a dog would help. And man, did he ever? Maui wasn't just a dog. He was a therapist, a guardian, a silent friend who never judged me, never left me. He'd sleep at the foot of my bed every night.

Follow me from room to room. Cuddle up next to me whenever I was having a bad day, which was more often than I'd admit. He made me feel seen. Loved. Worth something. And now he's gone. Because of me. My anger issues have always been a problem.

Since I was a little kid, I've had this volcano inside me. Teachers would write notes home. My mom would talk to counselors. My dad would try to teach me to control the fire. But I never listened. Or maybe I did, but I just didn't care enough. I always brushed it off. Like, it's just who I am, but it's not just who I am.

It's what killed my dog. I think that's the worst part. This wasn't just an accident. This was preventable. If I had taken one deal, deep breath. If I had turned around and looked, if I had paused for even a second to think. But I didn't. Because I was too caught up in my own rage to care about anyone or anything else. That's the truth. And that truth is what's going to haunt me for the rest of my life.

My parents tried to comfort me, but they're grieving too. Maui was a part of our family. My mom cried for hours. My dad didn't say much, but I saw the way he looked at me. Like he didn't know what to say. Like he wanted to help but didn't know how. Like he didn't recognize me. And honestly, I don't recognize myself either. I haven't left the house in days.

I can't look at his bed. I can't touch his toys. I tried once and broke down halfway through. The guilt is too much. The house feels too much. too quiet without his little paws tapping around. Every creak of the floor makes me think it's him. Every soft sound from the other room makes my heart jump, just for a second,

hoping maybe, just maybe, he's still here. But he's not. And I hate myself for it. I've thought about getting help. Maybe talking to someone. A therapist or something. But part of me feels like I don't deserve to be helped. Like I should just say.

sit in this pain and live with the consequences of what I did. That's fair, right? Maui doesn't get another chance. Why should I? But then there's another part of me, a really small, barely there whisper, that says maybe Maui wouldn't want me to drown in this forever. He was love, you know, pure, unconditional love. The kind that forgives you when you don't deserve it. The kind that stays with you even when you're at your worst. Maybe he'd want me to forgive myself. I don't know. I'm not there yet. I don't know if I'll ever be. All I know is that I can't keep living like this. Something has to change. I can't let anger ruin my life. Not anymore. I've already lost too much. Maui paid the ultimate price for my inability to keep it together. And I can't let his death be

meaningless. So I'm making a promise. Right here. Right now. I'm done letting my temper control me. I'm done thinking that being mad justifies hurting people, or pets. I'm going to figure out how to be better. For him. For me. For everyone around me. Maui, if there's some version of heaven where dogs go, I hope you're there. Running through fields, chasing butterflies, barking at squirrels. I hope you're happy. I hope you know how much you meant to me. I hope you can forgive me. I'm so sorry, buddy. You didn't deserve what happened to you. Not even close. You were the best boy. The sweetest soul. The kind of dog that only comes around once in a lifetime. And I'll miss you every day until I see you again, if I even deserve that chance. I love you. I love you.

you, Maui. Forever and always. Goodbye, my sweet boy. The end. So, picture this, I run a small, kind of niche business that uses some seriously rare equipment. We're talking about the type of gear that, like, only a handful of people in the world even know how to use, let alone buy. Naturally, that means it's hella expensive and super important to what I do. I had this one project coming up that I absolutely needed to finish, so I went ahead and ordered this specialized equipment online, paid a small fortune for it, and even shelled out for the fastest shipping possible. I wasn't taking any chances. A few days go by, and I finally get that glorious delivery notification. You know the one, your package has arrived. I was pumped.

Walked out to the front of my studio, scanned the porch, mailbox, bushes, even checked with the neighboring businesses. Nothing. Zip. Zero. Not a. No box, no package, not even a sticky note saying, sorry we missed you. I go back inside, open up the tracking details just to make sure I'm not losing my mind, and that's when I notice something weird. The delivery address. Not mine. It was showing an address I didn't recognize, some random place about 10 miles south of my studio. That set off all kinds of alarms in my head, but whatever, I figured maybe UPS just screwed something up. Happens, right? So I hop in my car and start driving to this mystery address. After about 25 minutes of cursing traffic and trying not to go full detective mode in my head,

I pull up to the place. It's a house. Not a business, not a warehouse, a house. And not just any house, but one that looked like it was being renovated. Like, tarps on the floor, paint buckets by the door, no curtains, totally gutted on the inside. I park across the street and peek through the front windows just to see if maybe, by some miracle, my package is sitting there. Nope. No sign of it. I walk over to the neighbor's house, knock on the door, and a sweet older lady answers. I ask her if she knows who owns the place next door. She tells me someone is flipping the house, you know, buying it cheap, renovating, and reselling it. Then she says she actually has their business card and lets me snap a photo of it. Total Lifesaver. As I'm walking back to my car,

this dude, and I mean, total random, starts walking down the middle of the road in a Comcast shirt. like full-on branded shirt and everything, just strolling like he owns the block. He passes a bunch of houses without even glancing at them and head straight toward me, like I had a neon sign saying, talk to me. Weird, right? I'm standing out front of this vacant house that isn't mine, clearly not trying to be shady, and this dude zeroes in on me like I'm the only person on the street. He walks up and asks what I'm doing.

I tell him flat out, hey man, I don't live here, I was just looking for a mis-delivered package. That seemed to be enough for him, because without another word, he just turns around and walks off. Doesn't stop at any other house, doesn't knock on a door, just walk straight back the way he came. Suspicious as hell. Anyway, I go back to my car and call the number from the business card. A guy answers and, lo and behold, he knows exactly what I'm talking about. He says he was at the house earlier that day checking on some contractor work, saw a package sitting on the porch, figured it might be for him, and took it. Turns out he and his wife are realtors, and she had just picked it up and brought it to their office. Bingo! The next day, I go over to collect the package from them, and sure enough, it's mine. Address label and everything. But the weirdest part. The delivery address printed on the label was not even removed.

remotely close to my business address. Like, not even on the same block or zip code. This wasn't just a, hoopsie, typo, it was a full-blown reroute. I was pissed. Like, seriously mad. This was nearly $2,000 worth of equipment, and if it had vanished, I'd be screwed. Not just financially, but professionally. That gear was essential to my project, and I wouldn't have been able to replace it in time. So I did what any furious customer would do, I called UPS and let them have it. Polite but firm, you know. The lady on the other end was surprisingly chill. She listened to the whole story without interrupting, and then asked me if I had ever lived at that address or shipped anything there before. Nope. Nata. No connection whatsoever. She was just as

confused as I was. Said she would open up an internal investigation to figure out what went wrong and make sure it didn't happen again. I appreciated that. Still didn't make up for the stress, but at least someone was taking it seriously. Fast forward a few weeks. I'm finally past the drama and just trying to move on with my life. Then one day, I get a message from my wife. She sends me this local news article with the caption, You are not going to believe this. I open it up, and my jaw hits the damn floor.

Turns out, UPS in my city was in the middle of a full-blown internal scandal. A crime ring had somehow infiltrated the system. Their whole thing. Rerouting high-value packages to vacant homes and then sending people out to snag them off the porch

before the real owner ever figured out what happened. It was straight-up organized theft, like some oceans 11 level stuff. The kicker. They were caught during the very investigation that the nice customer service lady told me she was opening. So, yeah, pretty sure my call helped set that whole thing in motion. I mean, I basically stumbled into their crime scene by accident. If I hadn't been stubborn enough to drive 10 miles south, confront a realtor, get a business card, and question a fake Comcast guy, who knows how long this scheme would have gone on. Thinking back,

that weird dude in the Comcast shirt makes way more sense now. He was probably part of the ring. Maybe he was checking to see if the package was still there, or maybe he thought I was part of their crew and came over to make sure I wasn't stealing from them. Wild, right? Anyway, moral of the story. Always double-check your tracking info. If something looks sketchy, trust your gut.

And maybe don't underestimate how helpful an old lady with a business card. can be. You just might end up helping bust a crime ring and saving your project in the process. And that's how I accidentally stumbled into a delivery heist and played an unintentional role in taking it down. All I wanted was my gear. What I got was an accidental front row seat to a criminal enterprise. Life's weird like that. The end. When my mom was just 14 years old, something wild happened that she's never really forgotten. At the time, she was in high school, a tough public school where everyone knew better than to mess with a dude will just call Johnson. Now Johnson wasn't your average troubled team, he was legit feared by almost everyone.

He had a rep for violence. If you crossed him, you could expect to end up with a swollen face or limping home with bruises. Dude was basically the school's unofficial bully, and everyone stayed out of his way. Everyone, except my mom. See, my mom. See, my mom. mom wasn't the type to back down, even at 14. She had this fire in her that made her stand out. She was assigned the role of sergeant-at-arms in her classroom, which basically meant she was supposed to maintain peace, keep things orderly, and settle disputes when kids got out of line. It was kind of a big deal, especially in a classroom like hers where tensions could explode at any second. Now, their classroom had this system where they split the chairs into five rows, with 12 seats in each,

Every weekday, a different group was assigned to clean up the room, group one on Monday, group two on Tuesday, and so on till Friday. This wasn't optional, it was a school rule. Everyone took their turn. On the day in question, it was my mom's group's turn to clean, so she was busy sweeping the floor. That's when Johnson decided to be a jerk. Out of nowhere, he came over and kicked her broom, scattering the pile of trash and paper she had just collected. Now, anyone else would have stayed quiet, picked up the broom, and tried again without saying a word. But not my mom. She bent down, started cleaning again, and Johnson did it a

second time, kicked the broom, sent trash flying, laughing while doing it. That was it. She had enough. She looked him straight in the eye and said, Can you not? Her voice wasn't shaky. It was firm. Clear. The whole class froze. You have to understand, no one, and I mean no one, talked back to Johnson. People didn't even look him in the eye. But here was this 14-year-old girl standing her ground like she wasn't afraid of anything.

Johnson blinked at her, stunned, and then spat out, do you know who I am? And she just shrugged and said, why should I care? I'm the sergeant at arms in this classroom. I'm here to keep peace, not bow down to you. Her friends were already tugging at her shirt, whispering for her to drop it, to let it go. But my mom wasn't the type to let injustice slide just because the person was scary. And so Johnson, clearly pissed off, shouted that he was going to tell his older brother. Now, Johnson's older brother had a reputation that was ten times worse.

Rumors swirled about him stabbing someone in the street during a fight. He wasn't just a school thug, he was someone with real criminal energy. No one dared mention his name without a little fear creeping into their voice. So when Johnson threatened to send his brother after my mom, people thought she was done for. Days passed. Then, during lunch one day, it happened. Johnson's brother showed up at the school gates. He was a grown man.

clearly out of place among the students. He stomped into the school like he owned it, demanding, where's the girl named My Lane? My mom didn't hide. She stepped right up. Yeah. I'm My Lane. What's up? He got all up in her face.

So you're the one who thinks she can mess with my little brother, huh? My mom crossed her arms. And? You think you're tough. You think you can discharacter. respect him and get away with it. And she just stared him down and said, are you going to hit me? Go ahead. Everyone's watching. He paused. There were students around. Teachers watching from windows. If he laid a hand on her, there'd be real consequences. And my mom knew that. He gritted his teeth,

clearly furious but trapped. He leaned in close and hissed, you better watch your back. But even then, she didn't flinch. Cool. You done now. After that incident, her friends were shook. They warned her over and over again. You have no idea what you just did. That family.

They're trouble. You brought a target on yourself. For a while, things got tense. My mom's friends wouldn't let her walk home alone. They stuck by her like glue, afraid something might happen. But it never did. Eventually, word about the confrontation reached the school principal. And not just about Johnson, but about his criminal older brother storming into school grounds and threatening a student. That was it.

The school expelled Johnson and banned his older brother from ever stepping foot near the campus again. My mom felt like maybe things were finally over. Life returned to normal, or at least it seemed to. Then, months later, the news broke. Johnson and his brother had broken into a house. It belonged to an elderly couple, just two harmless senior citizens living out their retirement in peace. The details were horrifying. They killed the old man.

Then they assaulted the old woman in the most brutal way possible. And after they were done, they killed her too. The whole community was shaken. The news spread like wildfire. A manhunt was launched immediately. Cops were everywhere. Helicopters hovered. Every roadblock in town had their photos. The brothers had gone from schoolyard threats to full-blown monsters overnight. Eventually, though, they were caught. After weeks of searching, they were finally arrested and charged with multiple counts, including murder and sexual assault. There was no mercy in the truce.

trial. No leniency. The evidence was overwhelming, and the community was demanding justice. The brothers were sent straight to prison, where they'd spend the rest of their lives. And my mom? She watched it all unfold with this eerie sense of relief. She didn't gloat. She didn't say, I told you so. But she knew, deep down, that standing up to Johnson had probably saved her from becoming a victim herself. Sometimes she tells me the story over dinner. Not to scare me, but to remind me that fear can be used as a weapon, and that courage, real courage, means standing your ground even when your knees are shaking. She always ends it with the same words, don't ever let someone make you feel small just because they seem big. And that's how my mom,

at 14, faced down a bully and a criminal, and walked away stronger than ever. Want more detail on what happened next. Because things didn't exactly go back to normal after Johnson and his brother went to jail. Their absence actually left a huge void in the school. You'd think kids would be happy the bullies were gone, and they were, but that kind of fear leaves behind a weird silence. Like a room where someone just screamed and then vanished. My mom found herself a bit of a legend after that. People whispered her name in the hallways, not because they feared her, but because they respected her. Some of her classmates who never even spoke to her before started asking if she could sit with them at lunch. It was weird. She didn't do what she did for popularity,

but that's kind of what she got anyway. Teachers took notice too. One of her favorite teachers pulled her aside and said, that was brave, what you did. But be careful. Being brave all the time can wear you down. My mom didn't really get what he meant at the time. but it stuck with her. Over the years, she's told that story to a few people. She never embellishes it. Never paints herself as some kind of superhero. She just tells it straight.

And every time she does, I get chills. Because I think about what it would have felt like to be 14, standing up to someone who could literally have had you killed. And doing it anyway. I'm not saying my mom's perfect. She's stubborn as hell, and sometimes her confidence can come off as intimidating. But after hearing this story a few times growing up, I started to understand where it came from. That strength wasn't just in her DNA, it was earned, tested, sharpened.

So yeah. Johnson and his brother are locked up for life now. They're just another cautionary tale in the local papers, a reminder of what happens when anger and violence go unchecked. But my mom She's the real story The one about how you don't need muscles Or a bad attitude to stand your ground Sometimes, all it takes is one person saying, no more

And meaning it The end I think I finally cracked it, how he did it, I mean After all these years of following the case, Diving into every scrap of information, Every blurry photo, video frame, Every second of court footage and every word of witness testimony, I think I figured out exactly how Scott Peterson killed his wife Lacey.

I wasn't looking for some grand reveal that night. Just rereading the court transcripts, scrolling through lines I'd probably read a dozen times before. Then I stumbled across something, just a throwaway sentence, really, but it hit me like a punch to the gut. It made everything click. That one line not only gave me a clear picture of how he killed her, but also nailed down the timing. Suddenly, everything made sense, the absence of a struggle, the clean house, the timeline inconsistencies. All of it. So let's rewind. Back when this all happened, I got obsessed.

Not in a creepy way, just. I couldn't stop thinking about it. Lacey was eight months pregnant, glowing, excited, prepping for Christmas. And then, gone. No note, no brain. break in, nothing. And Scott. He was calm.

Too calm. Like he already knew she wouldn't be around much longer. Everyone knows he lied. Lied about going fishing. Lied about what he did that day. But the problem has always been the how. How did he kill her without making a mess? Without anyone hearing anything.

Without leaving a single trace in the house. It was that transcript, man. He was up there on the stand, trying to sound all sincere, and he said something about how in the weeks leading up to her disappearance, Lacey had started swimming late at night. Just little dips in their backyard pool. Said it helped her swollen feet and aching back. Floating in the water made her feel weightless. Gave her some relief.

And that's when it hit me. That's how he did it. That's when he did it. Imagine it. It's late, maybe around 10 or 11 p.m. The stars are out. It's cool, quiet. Lacey's floating on her back in the pool. Maybe she's even smiling, her belly round and buoyant with their unborn son, Connor. She trusts Scott, of course she does. He's holding her up, maybe cradling her under her arms like they'd done a dozen times before. But this time, he doesn't just hold her. He shifts.

Slowly, carefully, he tilts her head backward into the water. Maybe she laughs at first, thinking he's playing. But then the pressure doesn't stop. His hands get firmer. He pushes her head under. Her eyes open. Panic sets in. She thrashes.

Not because she doesn't trust him, but because her body's panicking, fighting for breath. But she's eight months pregnant. Sigm. Small, tired, heavy. She can't overpower him. Scott is a tall, strong man. And he's ready. Calm.

Focused. He's been planning this. Her arms flail. Maybe she grabs at him. Maybe she grabs at her belly. Her instinct, any mother's instinct, is to protect the baby. So maybe she doesn't even fight back the way someone else might have. Maybe part of her is still hoping he'll stop. But he doesn't. He holds her there

until she's still. Then, he pulls her out of the pool. Dead. Quiet. No blood. No mess. No screaming. He wraps her in plastic, maybe something he had ready nearby, and hides her body. Maybe behind the house. Maybe in the garage. Somewhere close, just until morning. He doesn't panic. He's methodical. He goes into the laundry room and strips off his wet swim trunks. Maybe he throws them straight into the wash.

Maybe he even does a load of laundry. He mobs up the water trail from the back door. He's careful, thoughtful. He knows what to do. Then he goes to bed. Sleeps, even. Like nothing happened. Early the next morning, December 24th, before the sun's even up, he moves.

He loads her body into his car. Covers her with tarps or umbrellas or blankets, whatever he can grab. The blinds in the living room and kitchen are still closed. He forgets, or maybe he just doesn't care. Then he lets the dog out. Mackenzie, their golden retriever. That dog always confused people. people, how it ended up outside with its leash still on. This explains it. He let her out

right before he left. He drives to the warehouse where he keeps his boat. Picks up the boat, the anchors, those custom-made concrete weights he poured weeks earlier. This part was prepped in advance. He knew what he was doing. Then he heads out to the bay. Says he's going fishing. But what he's really doing is dumping the body of his pregnant wife into the freezing water, hoping it'll never be found. Hopes the salt and the tide in time will take care of everything. When he comes back, he goes through the motions, washes off the sand, changes his clothes, mops the floor again, maybe even does another load of laundry. It's all just clean up. Like it's just another Tuesday. And that's it.

how I think he killed her. No blood. No bruises anyone could see. No neighbors waking up to screaming. Just a late-night swim, a quiet drowning, and a man with ice in his veins cleaning up before dawn. It also explains why the timeline always seemed a bit off. People had trouble pinning down exactly when Lacey vanished. Some thought it was the morning of the 24th. But this theory lines up better. She was already gone by then. There are other details that fall into place, too. Like the mop water found in the house. The washing machine that had just been run. The dog being outside. The weird calm in Scott's voice during those early interviews. Like he was already a step ahead of everyone else.

And here's the real kicker, this theory doesn't rely on fantasy. No breaking into the house. No dragging her through the street. No complex cover-ups. Just a man killing his wife in the most quiet, controlled way possible, using the one place she felt safe, the one time she felt relief. That's the part that gets me. She thought she was safe. Floating there, her body light, her baby moving inside her. And he just, ended it.

I've waited years for someone to mention it. for a reporter to pick it up, for a podcast to do a deep dive. But no one ever talks about it. Maybe because it's too simple. Too quiet. Not dramatic enough for TV. But I think that's exactly why it worked. I've told a few friends about this theory.

Some think it's crazy. Some say it makes too much sense. But every time I reread that line in the transcript, about her story. swimming late at night, I can't help but hear alarm bells. It just fits too perfectly. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's all coincidence. But I don't think so. Scott never slipped up much. But that line. That was his mistake. That was him trying to sound like a loving husband, like someone who knew his wife so well. But in doing that, he told us exactly how he took her life. and he almost got away with it.

I think about Lacey sometimes. About how excited she must have been to become a mom. About the baby clothes she picked out. The nursery. The Christmas morning she never got to see. I think about Connor, too. He never had a chance. Scott didn't just take one life.

He took two. And he tried to erase them like they were just, trash. But they weren't. They were people. A mother and her son. A family that never got to be. Rest in peace, Lacey and Connor. You didn't deserve this.

And maybe, just maybe, people are still thinking about you. Still piecing together the truth. Even if justice never got the full story, maybe someone out there sees it now. Maybe someone's still paying attention. Maybe that's something. And hey, full disclosure, I'm Australian. So if I got any weather details wrong, forgive me. Our winters are summers and our summers are upside down.

But still, the story. It holds. The end. Content warning, murder, and one. You're live. A voice notified him from his earphone. Welcome to young builders of today's nation, where we talk to the young influencers who will inspire the next Chinese generation.

My name is Sue Uding, your host for this show. A woman in a sleeveless scarlet turtle neck appeared on the computer screen. She arranged her flowing ebony hair over her pale shoulders. What better start this brand new season off than to interview the person who brought China another step closer towards unification? Yes, you've heard me right, here's the one and only Chin Pugia. With a click of the mouse, the guest's face appeared on a panel right next to his hosts. Every time he looked at his face, his signature army buzz cut, those charming actors. and don't forget that penny-sized dark mole above his right lip, he just could not get enough

of himself. Why don't you tell us more about your bestseller? His trance was interrupted by his host's question. I think my book needs no introduction, but just in case some of the audience lives under a rock, it's called How to Get Away With Murder, an autobiography of Chinpugia. Now 200 yuan at your local bookstore, hurry while stocks last. He winked into the camera as he shuffled on his chair to be in a more comfortable position, I still remember it as if it were yesterday. I was on a trip with someone special to me to Taiwan. Everything was going so well. Until it didn't.

Turns out that woman was bearing the child of someone else. So I gave her the punishment she deserved, death, and what makes you think you are no different from all the murderers who are in prison and on death row. Sue rubbed her sharp chin as her other fingers twirled around her hair and raised an eyebrow. Whoa there Miss Sue. He raised his hands before his chest. Jumping to the big questions already, huh? I'm no lawyer myself, but a trusted legal advisor of mine,

Professor He, has taught me a thing or two about our country's laws. Please enlighten the audience then, Mr. Chen. The host placed her crossed fingers on top of her desk. Territorial principle. He slammed his desk so hard, it made the camera of his laptop wobble momentarily. Then pointed his fully extended finger in the air like some spiky-haired lawyer. from a video game. The ability for a government to exercise exclusive jurisdiction over individuals and other legal persons within its territory. You see, Ziengang is not part of the rogue province

of Taiwan where I killed the woman. And therefore the government of Ziengang has no right to exercise its jurisdiction over there for my actions, right? Is this clear so far? Well, the rogue ruffians in Taiwan wished to extradite me back to be tried in their circus of a court. Problem is there is no such arrangement between us and these rebels. We will never negotiate with these terrorists. Do you see where I'm getting here? If I can't be punished, then I've done anything wrong. I am therefore innocent. He had his two thumbs pointed towards himself as he gave a grimace stretching from one ear to the other. Let me just make this clear, then you're legally not a murderer right. Sue brushed some of her hair behind her ear, studded with a diamond earring that

looked like it was worth a minor's year's worth of wages. According to Ziengang's best lawyer, Definitely not. Hey, even the former chief executive said that I am a free man myself on TV. He waved his hand before his face like there was an imaginary mosquito trying to land on the penny-sized mole above his upper lip. Please, let's not get hung up by the legal stuff. We've already spent enough time on this. What matters, I say. What matters is we've caught these rebels in a sticky situation.

They can either try to come over and arrest me and negotiate an extradition treaty or they can hide on their little island. and pretend nothing happened while being but hurt that I am still here. What I'm saying is that if they want to access their so-called criminals on this land, we should also have the right to exercise that on them as it should have been since the war. I am sure the people of Ziengang must be very grateful for your contributions, albeit the, um, necessary sacrifices. It sounded like Sue had swallowed a stone when she read that line out of her papers. But I'm sure a vocal minority would disagree with your actions that led to this outcome, of course.

He nodded and gave a salute at the camera. Despite my heroic acts, I get attacked when I am on the streets doing my own business to the point where my life gets endangered. Which is why I need to thank the Zyangan police force as I am heavily indebted to them. They have designated an entire wing of the Zyang Police Force headquarters as my permanent residence for the sake of my protection. For a small price of my freedom, my new home is fully protected with armed guards, also fully equipped with my personal office, gym, bedroom suite, in closet, open kitchen, sauna. I'm afraid I will have to stop you there, Mr. Chen. The host took a large breath of relief, as if glad that she could finally disconnect this call. There you have it, our one and only Mr. Chen who helped the nation take a large step closer to reunification.

Don't forget to check out the upcoming live-action movie and second anime season of the book Adaptatio Dash. The panel with the lady in a turtleneck sweater disappeared. Leaving a mirrored view of the interviewee's face. His eyes naturally landed on the penny-sized mole on his face and he gave himself a wink before closing the app. It took him ten minutes before he turned the camera off and another twenty minutes to stare at the reflection of his black screen after he shut the laptop down. Your mains today, sir. An elderly gentleman uncovered the dish before him.

A five rib-eye wog you, well done. As you instructed, sir, very well. Leave me alone. He waved him away like an annoying stray dog before grabbing his gold-plated cutlery and sawing down the meat that had a leather-like consistency before him. Every moment he would still think of her. He would also think of his great inspiration, Chairman Mao himself. When there is not enough to eat people starve to death.

It is better to let half of the people die so that the other half can eat their fill. With every great leap comes a sacrifice. She had to die. It had to be done. I had to do it. Or else who else would? Tired from cutting through one inch of steak and having another to go. He decided to take a rest.

He grabbed the wine glass next to him, Romani-Canti 1999. He raised his cup high. The light seeped through the sanguineous mixture before his eyes. He should make his daily toast. To the taxpayers of Zyangang. Thank you for this life. And the books you help me print. And the movie production.

And you know what? Fuck it. Then he poured the contents of his wine down his gullet. A stream of crimson flowed over the pan. many-sized mole above his upper lip, dripping down his chin, and stained the silk napkin on his lap maroon. Though he may not be able to step foot out of this building, he certainly had no intention to at all. After all, why would he? Authors note, this story was inspired by the murder of Poon Hugh Wing. Let justice be done though the heavens fall. Last week I had a

brief encounter with a young lady who had just become homeless due to domestic abuse, the number one reason for women to become homeless is by far domestic violence, often being further abused once homeless. I gave her almost all my available food, talked to her to calm her fear, maybe terror is a more fitting word, and got her a resource that was able to swoop in and get her out of there. I got back to my tent and this sub popped up and I thought, maybe someone here would like to read about what just happened.

So, I put it all down there the way it was and posted my little deal here and pretty much forgot all about it. The thing is, I do stuff like that all the time. My life is in a holding pattern right now while I wait for a disability decision. So, I sit in what's left of my tent and write. I make a few bucks off my co-fi page and there are a few good people who kind of look out for me. So I'm hanging tough. I decided a few years ago that I wasn't going to try and be a nicer person, but rather that I was going to practice radical kindness.

It wasn't good enough for me to pull a help and run, instead I had to make sure that person was safe, as could possibly be, had access to food and water, got hooked up with any resources that fit their situation, etc. I could start writing about some Ike projects and put a post a day up for a year and still not tell all the stories. I'm not trying to virtue signal or boast, rather just giving a little insight into the person I am. You know. It's not like being kind to folks came naturally for me. Ha ha ha. Shit is hard work. If all I have at the time that someone can use is a joke, then I'm ready to tell it. Just whatever I can do to help lighten the load for a fellow human being. I do the things I do without a single passing

thought about something good coming back to me. I never think or act like anyone owes me anything for things I've done. If it's a random act of kindness then it is my firm policy to turn down any repayment, even turning down money when I didn't have a nickel to my name. Along these lines, I won't lend money, I will give it to someone in need, but I won't lend it. I want people to know that I put friendship and love above pieces of paper no matter what powers they may hold. With that in mind, I was totally unprepared for how the beautiful souls cruising this sub decided to make sure karma hit me. You guys swamped over to my co-fi page, read some more of my works, left me inspiring words, bought my book and just dropped donations.

I have been blown away. I don't even know where to begin. So, let me just let you all know what y'all did for me. Today, I did something that I haven't done in so long I can't remember when. I bought a pair of pants that I picked out, found just my size, and had never been worn by anyone else, that I know of, at least. Right after putting them on I felt compelled to take a little walk around. Steelin. A friend of mine saw me and asked me if I had lost weight. I then yelled at him that I just wanted to go for a walk without some dude hitting on me. I am worth much more than a nice pair of pants. Ha ha ha. I also bought my campmate and myself some sausage, egg and cheese biscuits from the mom and pop's place besides the woods where we camp.

There is something that makes breakfast so much tastier when someone else cooks it for you. I don't know, but we both had to pull over from walking down the sidewalk after eating to let our hot, hearty meal settle. I wished that I would have had a couple cigars to cap it off, it was so fulfilling. Almost decadent to my current lifestyle. Tomorrow, I plan to get on a bus to Wally's world of reasons to become a hermit and find a new tent. The one I'm in now was abused by Helene's rain and wind bands. It's a lot like most of our states of mental well-being, just holding itself together enough to look like it's normal and not about to cuss out the boss, stripped down naked in a McDonald's parking lot, smear strawberry jam all

over, and chase a possum through the woods while singing, I'm easy like Sunday morn, and laughing uncontrollably at the people all mad honking their horns. Um, was I a little too specific? This will be the first time I will be choosing the tent I like, the one I want to get. I'll stand there and consider the prices, compare floor and ceiling height, window placement, quality, etc. This one will truly be mine. Not just the luck of the draw. I am about as excited as I've been in a long, long, long while.

My deepest and most sincere thank you's. To everyone who read my works, gave me words of encouragement, or just plain let me know that I was seen. You folks took one random act of kindness, multiplied that by a thousand, and then returned it. To truly understand today's case, we need to dive into the life of one specific individual, Lee Chunjay. Born on January 31, 1963, in Waizong, South Korea, Lee's early life remains largely undocumented. What we do know is that he lived in Wazong for the first 30 years of his life. This was a place he called home, filled with family, friends, and work, but also a sight of his most harrowing memories. One of these was the tragic drowning of his beloved sister, a loss he reported

reportedly never overcame. However, his life took an even darker turn when, according to accounts, he was subjected to abused by his elder brother. This experience left him deeply confused about sexuality and relationships, viewing them not as intimate or mutual experiences, but as sources of pain and aggression. This warped perspective would later play a crucial role in his horrifying actions. After finishing high school, Lee joined the military in 1983, where he trained as a tank pilot. He served for three years before transitioning into civilian life, taking up various jobs in construction, as a driver, and even as a salesman. Those who knew him described him as unremarkable, quiet, friendly, and low profile. In 1992, he moved to Changju, a city far from

his hometown, in search of a fresh start. He found a new job, got married, and seemingly began a new chapter. However, things soon took a turn for the worse. Report suggests issues at home, possibly linked to his escalating alcohol abuse. This led to frequent domestic violence, which ultimately caused his wife to leave him in late 1993. It was this abandonment that pushed Lee over the edge. Filled with anger and a desire for revenge, Lee didn't just blame his wife for leaving him. He also directed his hatred toward his 18-year-old sister-in-law. He believed she had been a supportive confidant to his wife, fueling her decision to leave. His twisted sense of vengeance culminated on January 13, 1994. On that day, Lee went to his sister-in-law's house,

drugged her, and tied her up with her own undergarments. He then brutally strangled her with her stockings before placing a plastic bag over her head. After wrapping her body in a tarp, he left it in a hardware store's garage, banking on the cold winter weather and heavy snowfall to hide the evidence. He thought his plan was foolproof, but things quickly unraveled. Hours later, the victim's father came looking for her. He knocked on doors, spoke to neighbors, and even contacted Lee to help search for her. Lee, in a chilling act of deception, joined the search, called the police, and even suggested she might have been kidnapped.

For two days, they searched tirelessly until melting snow revealed the tarp-covered body. The police were notified and quickly began their investigation. Lee, who had made himself suspicious by casually asking how many years someone might serve for murder, was soon arrested. Only the police and the perpetrator knew the details of the crime scene, making Lee's knowledge a glaring red flag. Initially, Lee confessed in vivid detail, but he later retracted his statement, claiming the police had coerced him.

Regardless, his conviction was swift. In May 1994, he was sentenced to death, a punishment later commuted to life imprisonment in 1995. He would be eligible for parole after 20 years. While Lee served his sentence, life outside prison moved on, but his story wasn't over yet. Fast forward to 2019, and the world's media was a buzz with reports of new developments in cold cases from nearly two decades earlier. These cases involved a string of unsolved murders of women, young, old, and even teenagers. Documentaries, movies, and TV series had speculated on these crimes for years, but the killer remained unidentified.

That changed in September 2019, when advancements in DNA testing linked Lee Chunjay to one of the victims. DNA found on a victim's undergarments matched Lee's. Further tests connected him to four additional victims, confirming suspicions that had haunted investigators for decades. Lee was, in fact, the infamous Korean zodiac killer. His last known crime, the murder of his sister-in-law, shared an identical modus operandi with his earlier killings.

This consistency, coupled with his physical resemblance to composite sketches of the suspect, sealed the case. Lee eventually confessed to a staggering 30 murders, including numerous sexual assaults. However, due to the statute of limitations, he could not be prosecuted for these additional crimes. Officially, he was only convicted for the murder of his sister-in-law, though the families of his other victims knew the full extent of his atrocities. The timeline of Lee's crimes is as chilling as it is methodical. It all began in 1986, shortly after he completed his military service. Wei Zhong, at the time, was a quiet, rural town, a place where everyone knew each other, and violent crime was almost unheard of.

The idyllic piece of the town made the sudden string of murders even more shocking. The first known victim was a 70-year-old woman named Lee Wanim, who disappeared on September 15, 1986. She had spent the afternoon visiting her daughter before heading home on foot. Despite her routine journey, she never made it back. Her body was discovered four days later in a rice field near her house. She had been brutally beaten and strangled. The police initially dismissed the case as an isolated incident, reassuring residents

there was no cause for alarm. But just a month later, another victim emerged. On October 20, 1986, 25-year-old Park Yensook vanished after getting off a bus. Her body was found three days later in a canal. Like the first victim, she had been strangled, and the circumstances of her death bore eerie similarities to the earlier murder. Despite this, authorities continued to downplay the connection. The pattern grew more apparent when, in December 1986, another woman was killed, this time right outside her home. By the following spring, the body count had risen to four, and the community was gripped with fear.

Women were warned not to walk alone, and local residents began organizing night patrols. Despite these precautions, the killings continued. Lee's victims ranged in age and background, but they shared a common vulnerability. They were women walking alone, often near bus stops or along poorly lit paths. Lee would follow them, strike suddenly, and use their own clothing as murder weapons. The brutality of his crimes shocked the nation, and as the body count rose, so did public outrage. In response to growing pressure, the police launched one of the largest manhunts in South Korean history. They interrogated over 20,000 suspects and collected nearly 40,000 fingerprints.

Despite their efforts, they failed to catch Lee. Public trust and law enforcement eroded, and citizens began accusing one another, leading to a climate of paranoia. Amid this chaos, Lee's methods evolved. His victim's ages ranged from teenagers to elderly women, and his choice of location shifted from outdoor fields to residential areas. In one particularly horrifying case, he broke into a 14-year-old woman. girl's bedroom and killed her while her parents slept in the next room. This brazen act marked a turning point, intensifying the community's fear and desperation. In the midst of the investigation,

authorities arrested a young man named Yun Sanyo. Jun, who had a physical disability, became the scapegoat for one of the murders. Under intense interrogation, he confessed, but it later emerged that his confession had been coerced. He spent nearly two decades in prison for a crime he didn't commit. Meanwhile, the real killer, Lee, continued his spree. Lee's audacity knew no bounds. At one point, he was arrested for an unrelated crime, breaking into a house, but he served only a brief sentence before resuming his killings. His final known murder occurred in 1991, marking the end of a five-year reign of terror. By this time, the Waison murders have become a national obsession, inspiring films, books,

and widespread speculation. Decades later, DNA evidence finally unmasked Lee as the Wai-Zong killer. During his confession, he expressed no remorse, chillingly recounting his crimes with detachment. He even admitted to feeling unfulfilled after some murders, revealing a disturbing glimpse into his psyche. The revelations brought some closure to the victim's families, but the limitations of the justice system meant that Lee would only serve time for his sister-in-law's murder. The Wazong murders remain one of South Korea's darkest chapters. Lee Chunjay's crimes shattered the illusion of safety in rural communities and exposed the flaws in the country's investigative processes.

While advancements in forensic science eventually brought him to justice, the decades-long delay served as a sobering reminder of the cost of systemic failures. Today, the case stands as both a cautionary tale and a testament to the perseverance of those who seek truth and justice, no matter how long it takes. I am from Peru, from a provincial city, when I was 18 years old my cousin, who is the same age as mine, accused me of having raped her, she and I were very close since we were children since we used to spend time together. Due to family problems, she began to have depression. It wasn't like before, now all she did was scream, get angry or even blame me because I didn't

have the same problems as her. The truth is I was trying to help her, but my own mental health was beginning to deteriorate, so I decided little by little to move away. Months passed and I had no contact with her until one day my father came to my house and called me, I went out to meet him and he received me with a slap in a face, it should be noted that my father had never hit me before, who did that was my mother and only for specific reasons. When I ask him about the reason behind the hit, he slapped me again and told me to get out of the house, that his brother, my cousin's father, had told him that my cousin said that I raped her and that's why she was so depressed. Apparently her dad realized that she was cutting herself

and to get out of it she just blamed me for everything. My cousin didn't press charges, obviously because there is no proof, but still my dad told me that my uncle, wanted to beat me up, my dad was disappointed in me, he hit me again, called me an abuser, insulted me and told me to get out of his house, my mom was always a submissive person with him so she didn't say anything to him. I simply with my lip bleeding grabbed my most valuable things and left, thank God I had my savings on my card from what I had worked for and I was able to go to the Capitol by public transportation. Once in the Capitol I managed to rent a small room, I had a bad time for the next few years, I had a couple or two for a few years and jumping from

job to job to survive. When I was 20 years old, my partner at that time told me that I could work at the KFC where she worked as a delivery order receptionist. The part-time job paid well and with the bonuses you could even earn double or triple my salary, so I worked there doing the best I could while studying a technical degree in administration. Years passed and I ended up becoming a supervisor and then manager of that store thanks to my technical degree in business administration. At the age of 25 I became a partner with a former university classmate with whom I still had contact, she is a lawyer, and the age of 27 we got married, it was a small wedding because both she and I are modest with expenses and because I had no family to invite, we currently

have a one-year-old son whom I love with all my soul. It was after this that everything went to hell, today in the middle of the afternoon there was a knock at my door, it was my parents, it had been more than a decade since I had seen them, I was frozen, but not with fear, but with anger, my dad asked me if he could come in, I told him no, so we talked in a nearby park, in short. They told me that my cousin had committed suicide and that in her letter she confessed the whole truth, that the person who actually abused her was her mother's brother and that everything was orchestrated by him to be able to cover up and other things. The truth is I was very indifferent.

For me, whoever accuses of those crimes deserves to suffer them in flesh, so I didn't feel sorry for her, I told them kindly, and resisting my urge to yell at them, to go away and never contact me again, that they were dead to me. When I stood up from the bench to go home my dad grabbed me by the shoulder, he told me that we have to keep talking, I told him no, he insisted, I told him no, he insisted again, so I turned around and instinctively gave him a hit, I don't know when my dad became so weak, any Latino knows that countrymen are quite strong. But one hit was enough to break his nose, he stood stunned looking at me with his eyes open and his nose bleeding and my mom was covering her mouth, for some reason that I don't explain, my next reaction was to throw myself at him, it wasn't difficult to knock him to the ground. and I continued hitting him. When he started to cover his face I started hitting his head or forehead, I'll not lie, it felt liberating, I felt like I was crying while I hit him and I continued until my right hand was hurting.

My mother stood still, for some reason she didn't do anything, she just stood there watching and crying, by that time it was already night and in our area it was difficult to find people on the street, even less so considering that today there is a soccer game, my mom helped my dad and took a taxi, she didn't say anything to me, she didn't scream, she just cried and as soon as she grabbed my dad she ran away, I'm not lying, if she had tried to intervene maybe she would have gotten the same treatment. A few hours later my mother writes to me on my cell phone, apparently they contacted a friend from university, I still have my social networks active, who told them where I lived, saying

that my father needs a septum reconstruction because it was perforated in dental reconstruction for having four broken teeth. Everything was going to cost the equivalent of $4,000 US, which is a lure of money here, not a fortune, but it's a lot. I have already been clear with her, I am not. going to put in a single scent, for my sake she and my dad could end up just like my cousin, I don't care, she has been calling me, asking for forgiveness for everything, that she wants to come back into my life, that she was afraid and that she should have protected me or at least

believed me. According to her, my dad felt the same and according to him he deserves every hit I gave him, I guess we agree on that. I told my wife everything, she already knew what happened in the past with my parents, she just told me that she understood, that, according to what I told her, my father died when he kicked me out of his house, so who did I hit was just a stranger with his face, I found her comparison funny and I agreed with her. She told me that if they tried legal measures we would simply say that it was in self-defense. A law was recently passed in which lethal force can even be used when it's about self-defense, so if something happens to him we can rely on that. Right now I'm glad I have a lawyer-wife, I can't help but feel more liberated

after this. My parents aren't poor so I know they'll get the money for the operation. I hope they just aren't idiots enough to come back to my house, this is my home now and if I have to beat them both to get the hell out of my life, I will, at the end of the day, they are the ones who started all this, I was just offending myself. I still feel a little euphoric and happy, the truth is, I am a little happy that they are suffering, they deserve it, I am happy with my life and my family, and I would protect them at any cost, that includes my parents. I needed to get this off my chest somehow so I'm writing this to release it, somehow telling it all has made me feel better. I, 17m, had some leftover Mexican food that I got from my favorite

restaurant and I told everyone in the house to not touch it. But my little brother, 14m, ate it anyways. This obviously infuriated me and I yelled at him for it. As I was leaving the room, still raging with anger, I slammed the door and was horrified to see what I had done when I looked down. I guess he was trying to slip through real quick as I was exiting the room and I was too angry to notice. He just laid there and screamed for what seemed to be about a whole minute and then he passed on. I tried comforting him in his last moments, but I was panicking and I could tell he was in too much pain to be comfortable. I am traumatized and I know that I only have myself to blame. I will never forgive myself. He was a gift to me from my parents two years ago when

they figured out I was depressed and self-harming. He brought me a lot of comfort slash love. knowing that I repaid him by cutting his life short will haunt me forever. I can't eat or do much of anything. Even sleeping isn't peaceful because I keep having dreams about him and I wake up crying. Anger issues is something I've struggled with my whole life and this is my biggest lesson of all. I just wish that it didn't have to come at the price of my sweet boy's life. I'm done letting it control me. All because my brother ate some stupid food.

Maui, I'm sorry that I caused you so much pain and suffering in your last moment. You deserve a better owner. I will love you forever, Bud. My girlfriend, future ex-girlfriend, and I met at university when I was 18 years old, in my country you can start university at 17, there are five years of study for general degrees, both of us studying the same degree and we started our relationship formally when I was 20 years old and she was 22 years old. Our relationship had its ups and downs, but everything was fine, there were no problems

and we were both quite clear about our limits regarding infidelity as a breaking point for a relationship, when I turned 22, I graduated from university and she graduated in the same year. Currently, we both rent a small apartment while we saved together to get a mortgage loan to be able to buy an apartment with installment payments. Well, both she and I are accountants, so a good part of our work can be done from home, in our room we each have our own computer where we connect to work remotely. At one point when she went to the bathroom I sat at her desk to hang out because I was temporarily left with nothing to do and I saw that she had her WhatsApp web open with a message a friend of hers, who I know as her best friend, her best friend is a woman, too, about a conversation

about something that happened years ago. Curiosity got the best of me I began to check the conversation, and it turns out that almost six years ago she and her friend had an adventure to prove if they were lesbians or not, or if they like women too. I was absolutely stunned and didn't know what to do, I knew that she used to go out with her friend and spend long hours working because they used to be in a group during university days, but I didn't know anything about that, as far as I could read the conversation. It seems that the friend had a kind of attraction for my girlfriend because of what happened years ago, and now she has been thinking about it and thinks of her more than a friend, but that is beside the point. When my girlfriend

came out of the bathroom I confronted her about it, first she tried to minimize it by saying that it was a one-night thing and that it was for self-discovery. I told her directly that I don't give a shit about her, self-discovery. The exact words in Spanish were, me importer three Correjos, Flaca, that this is an infidelity with all the letters that why the hell didn't she tell me, she responded that she regretted it and that in fact she didn't like it in the slightest, that it was just for experimentation. I was absolutely clear with her, for experimentation is the time of being single, if she wants to swallow the first organ of either a man or a woman that she finds, then she should do it while she is single. For some reason those words made her

cry or at least she seemed to pretend to cry well because I didn't see her shed any tears, she only managed to apologize and that it was a one-time thing, that she didn't enjoy it and that she wanted to close the topic, but her friend from from time to time she takes it out. I told her that her friend has nothing to do with it, she doesn't matter, I care about my girlfriend and the fact that she cheated on me, she keeps saying that it wasn't an infidelery, that it was an experiment, that there wasn't even penetration, that she wouldn't have cared if I also experimented with a man at that time. I simply told her that this idea is stupid and not to bring up that topic because it is irrelevant,

I told her to please take her laptop and for the next day set up his desk somewhere else or go to her parents' house. The truth is that I am seriously thinking about ending the relationship because who knows what other things she may have done under the excuse that she was discovering herself, infidelity is something that I do not forgive and even less so if it was at the beginning of the relationship. I was thinking of asking her to marry her when we have our apartment, but now I just want her to go away from here. All this happened yesterday, today she is at her prince house asking me to think carefully and not throw seven years of relationship overboard for something of. of one night. The truth is I don't know what to do, I want to break up with her, but the apartment's lease expires in November, I have no problems with looking for another partner because I'm still young, but it hurts to know that I threw away seven years for someone who her twenties wasn't sure about who she was. Forgiving her is not in my options, but having

to live with an unfaithful woman for the rest of the month seems stressful to me, even more so knowing that she could return from her parents' house at any moment. I don't know how to confront her and make her understand in a simple way that this is over, that she knew from the first day of our relationship my opinion on infidelity, yes, we included on the topic of infidelity with someone of the same sex and she knew about it too, and yet she failed with that. I honestly don't know what words to say without sounding too aggressive, but at the same time I want to be clear enough to leave no room for doubt. Received some very terrible news and it seems to have affected my wife pretty heavily. My wife, Tara 30F, and I, Luke 30M, have been together for

six years now. We met through some mutual friends at a Christmas party. We struck up a conversation, mostly about our workout routines, and before the night was done, we decided to meet at the gym two days later. As it turned out we both had memberships to the same gym. Just I typically worked out in the morning, and she worked out in the afternoon so we had never seen each other there. We became gym partners from there, I switched to working out with her after work, and as you probably guessed what started out as a Platonic Gym relationship turned into a romantic relationship within two weeks. Our relationship went pretty fast from that point on. We only dated for eight months before getting engaged and were married about 13 months after. We have a ton in common.

Besides prioritizing our fitness, we have the same taste in movies, love to try new restaurants, and are always down for a trivia night. Meeting each other's needs was also a big priority for each of us from day one. I have a high libido and Tara was the first girlfriend I ever had that could, or even wanted to, keep up with it. On the flip side she loves being massaged, calls it being rubbed on, and I am almost always happy to oblige. The biggest thing we had in common, though, was being a perfect match when it came to what we wanted our family to look like.

Tara and I both wanted exactly two kids, the hope being one boy and one girl, but two of the same is also great. We also want to have them young. Our agreement was that her last day on birth control would be the day before our wedding. The thinking here is just that we want to enjoy our kids when we are still in top shape, the other being we would like to still be around for any grandkids, even if our children wait to have their own. While those are a couple of reasons for this, a more self-focused reason is that our kids would likely be out of the house by the time we hit 50, allowing us to focus more on each other in retirement. The plan was going great. We had to have gotten pregnant within the first couple of weeks after our wedding. The pregnancy

went pretty well. Tara had the stereotypical issues such as morning sickness, swollen ankles, stuff like that. Celeste was born on December 8th and we couldn't be happier. Over the past three and half years she has been a source of constant joy for Tara and I. We waited for Tara to fully recover before trying for baby number two. It was about four to five months. Tara had gotten right back into the gym once she got the okay from her doctor and was looking as amazing as ever. After getting a bit out of shape myself during her pregnancy and in the first couple of months following Celeste's birth, I also found myself in need of gym time. We made it work pretty well. Tara and I always had a healthy sex life throughout our entire relationship

and it was turbocharged initially when we started going for baby number two. Honestly, I think we both thought we should make the best of this because she would probably be pregnant right away just like after our wedding. That's when the months began to click on. We were still having sex regularly, but after the fifth month Tara decided to talk to her general practitioner about it and they said it can take time. That typically most fertility specialists will say you should give it a year. So we did that. Towards the end of that year I will admit the sex part was starting to feel more chore-like.

I still enjoyed it, but a lot of the passion seemed to have evaporated and it became just part of the weekly routine. After that first year, Tara had her OBGYN do some preliminary tests. They came back relatively normal. We continued on for another six months of trying, being very diligent to do all the recommendations we got from our doctors. We were taking the right supplements, eating the right things, following the ovulation charts, having sex every other day, pretty much anything we were told. After some months of this it was time to see a reproductive endocrinologist. Between initial consultations, basic appointments, follow-up appointments with less common tests, this whole process ended

up taking around seven months. By the end we had figured out that we were both the problem. I have an extremely low sperm count. On top of that, what I do have is not the the best. Doctor says my swimmers have low motility and most are not very viable anyway. Tara got very bad news too, she has some blockages in her fallopian tubes making the path for both sperm and egg much more difficult. That wasn't it though. They did an antibody test and found that Tara's immune system was anti-sperm. Meaning her immune system was treating my sperm cells like they were strep throat and going for the kill on site. During our last appointment when we learned about the immune response, I just point blank asked the doctor how we

managed to conceive right away despite all these issues. The doctor very bluntly said, honestly, your first child is a miracle baby. The fact you managed to conceive naturally at all was overcoming very poor odds. The fact you managed to have an issue free pregnancy follow was even more unlikely, but it happened. I just said back, so it was just a total fluke. He responded, If you want to put it that way, yes, that child was born against all odds. We didn't give up at this point, the main option being IUI. We did four of these, but between the cost of the procedure and the trigger shot, none of which was covered by insurance and cost us $700 out of pocket.

After four of those and no success things were very tight. We didn't have much savings in the first place. The only option we really had left was IVF. The problem is that the whole process is over $20,000. It will take us forever to save up that much, we just work regular jobs and have one daughter already. Our families aren't any different than us, they don't have the funds to send our way, not at once or in that sum.

I told Tara we could start putting money away for that, but she seems to be in a state of despair over the whole thing. I know she didn't want to have kids after 30, and when she turned 30 she literally said out loud, you have to get me pregnant this year. I began putting a little money away each month, but Tara turns 31 in nine days and she told me to stop wasting my time. She says it too late, and that our dreams are over and we just need to accept that. These last eight months have been very trying. Tara has not been herself. She hasn't been going to the gym, and has indulged in comfort food more often than ever

before. Our dates have become infrequent. They slowed after we had Celeste, but we still managed to get some alone time two to three times a month. Now it's more like once every six or seven weeks. Our sex life has dropped off quite a bit. It's still there, but Tara seems to have this, what's the point, attitude anymore. I am doing my best to be comforting, she still lets me rub on her every night, so there is still some of that connection. I think that is helping as generally speaking she will be receptive to sex, cuddling, or falling asleep together afterwards. I've suggested counseling, but she doesn't think she needs it. Celeste seems to be the only thing that really gets Tara up and seeming like her old self. I'm just hoping

we can work through this disappointment. I know it's hard, it's been hard on me. We may not ever have a second child, but I think with a little time and a little work, we can be just as happy as a family of three. Part two, I'm getting to the point I don't even know what to do anymore. I haven't given up hope, but it is definitely getting harder. Our daughter just turned six years old, and Christmas is upon us. What should be a happy time for us every year between her birthday and the holidays is actually rather depressing. I find myself starting to resent my wife. Unfortunately, things have not improved one bit in the last few years since we found out that conceiving naturally would be virtually impossible. My wife, she's just not the same person she was. I know we always wanted to have

two kids, I know we wanted to have them young, but that didn't work out. Since it didn't work out, she just kind of quit. She is still a good mom. In fact, only when she is interacting with Celeste do I ever see the woman I fell in love with. I know she was depressed after finding out, I get that, I was too. The problem I have now is she won't do anything about it. I have encouraged her to go to therapy for a while now and she just flatly refuses. I can only do so much, although it often feels like I do everything. We both have always worked. Basically have the same schedule. She goes in an hour later than me and I get off an hour earlier than her. It's the at-home part that feels so unbalanced. We had always been somewhat even on sharing the load around the house. When we were

going through those years trying to no avail, I began doing more around the house, and giving her more relaxed time. When we found out, that went to hyperdrive. I was basically doing all of it. I figured it would course correct in time, but it hasn't, not even a little. I actually don't mind too much unless she's complaining about something I didn't get done, that's when we really have our arguments because I can't put that aside. It's really triggering for me. I try talking to her about it, or about how she talks to me when something isn't done, but she always says she is just having a hard time, usually sights being stressed and that when the house is out of sorts, it makes the stress worse. If I bring up how she talks to me about it, she usually apologizes, but nothing changes. Sometimes she doesn't do that, just plays the victim and asks why I want to make her feel awful.

I just wish I could have my wife back. We haven't been to the gym together in forever. She still works out, not as often and she almost exclusively does YouTube workout bids from fitness creators. We've only had sex like 14 times in the last year. Most nights she let Celeste sleep in bed with her, and I take the spare room. She says she won't be little forever, and I find it way too crowded. The only form of intimacy that is normal anymore is rubbing on her. I still give her a massage almost every night.

Most of the time it's a simple 10 to 15 minute thing. I do the calves, shins, ankles, and feet. Or, once or twice a week I'll do her shoulders, back, low back, and butt. Then maybe once or twice a month I'll do the whole thing plus thighs, chest, arms, and hands. We just call it the full body massage. This is where my resentment festeres, though, because I keep doing this, even though I receive very little in return. I often wonder if she still sees me as her husband, or if I'm nothing more than a convenience.

An in-house butler. I want to tell her I won't do it anymore, I won't pamper her anymore, unless she actually goes to therapy in deals with all her issues. I know why I still do it, it's because I've noticed it's the only way. Our sex life is already on life support, and this is literally the only thing that has led to any form of physical intimacy in over a year. I do it, because I'm just hoping it'll lead to something. I don't know. Don't even know what the point in writing all this is, just venting, I guess. Or maybe hoping.

I won't just give up, though. I know we can get through this. Part 3. I have finally fucking had it with this bitch. Divorce papers being drawn up. I just couldn't anymore. I kept telling myself it was all worth it to keep our daughter in a stable home with both parents. I wanted her to grow up in this house, with the big yard, and all that. I just can't anymore, it was the last fucking straw.

Five years of this shit for absolutely nothing. She never changed, she never got help, and I am so mad at myself for just taking it for so long. I am a fucking idiot. I have been at this point many times, especially in the last two years, where I was ready to just throw in the towel. Then something would happen. Celeste would get sick and I'd realize she needs us both. Or Tara would actually show some interest in me. We would have sex, or go out to dinner.

Then I'd think, hey, maybe this is it, maybe things are getting. better. What a joke. I just always ended up wasting another three months of my life. We have been in a 100% dead bedroom for the last 10 months. I may as well be asking for a decent wage because I am nothing more than a servant with a title at this point. I do almost everything around the house. She treats our bedroom like it's a suite. Texting me requests. It's embarrassing how easily you can find yourself just trapped in this, like it's normal. It becomes routine though, and familiar. I tried to get us into couples counseling, she always declined saying, we're not doing that bad. Yes, we are. And we have been for a long time. About a year ago she

even told me that if I just stopped talking about it and just made an appointment she would go. I did just that. She no showed the first one and claimed to have forgotten. The next two she canceled on me last second. When I arrived for the fourth appointment, after doing the first three by myself, I looked down and saw she was calling me. I knew she wasn't coming again and I just went and cancelled the whole thing. When I told her I cancelled all future appointments she told me that was, probably for the best. Anyway, it all came to a head about two weeks ago. We had a fight for the ages. It's not anything I haven't tried to talk through before, but I always tried to soften what I said before, this time I didn't soften anything. I just let it all

out. It started off minor with a dispute about laundry of all things. That escalated because I was relatively quiet, just giving one-word answers and direct questions. She apparently didn't like this and eventually asked, why do you have such a shit attitude? I don't know why, but I just lost it and said, because I'm the only who ever fucking does anything around here, the only one who puts any effort in. She got defensive and started listing off all the things she does around the house. This was comical. Her list literally consisted of doing our daughter's hair before school, and cleaning up her suite, which she doesn't vacuum, dust, or clean the toilet, tub, or sink in the master so what exactly she calls cleaning I'm not sure.

She fell back on her usual tactic of playing the victim, saying, I'm sorry I'm so awful, I guess. I cut her off and that point which I think caught her off guard. I just finally said it, I'm sorry too, because if you weren't I wouldn't be so fucking miserable. We stood there, her in stunned silence. I had always backed off, made peace, but today I was done. I just started unloading everything, you do absolutely nothing, treat me like a butler instead of a spouse, show me virtually no affection. I am just fucking tired of it. God, I would never do it, but I totally understand why people cheat now. Well, as of today, I'm done. I'm going to take care of myself and Celeste and that's it. At that point I walked out of the room. I was done arguing.

She sent me some passive-aggressive texts and tried to provoke me into coming back, but I just ignored them. It was the next night when the fuse that would blow up our family was finally lit. The next day she acted as though nothing had happened the day before. Just completely business as usual. That night I went to talk to her about our plans for the next day as Celeste had a school event we needed to coordinate for. After that was settled, she asked me to rub on her, and said, make it extra good since you had last night off. I told her, I'm not rubbing on you, I told you last night I was done doing that. I'm done doing anything until you start putting effort into the relationship. She got angry and said, what the fuck does that mean? I kept my

cool, go to therapy, show interest in me beyond just asking for things, initiate some form of intimacy. There's more stuff I can say but you get the idea. She shook her head dismissively, fine, if you are going to be like this I'll just start getting professional massages. I wasn't able to keep my cool at this point, okay that's fine, we will also be opening the marriage then. She fired back, I'm not giving you permission to cheat, I'll divorce you on the spot if you so much as text somebody. I said, then you're not getting a fucking massage from anybody else either. I will divorce if you on the spot if you so much as get a foot scrub during a fucking pedicure. Tara said, these are not the same fucking thing and you know it.

I took a deep breath, I see no difference, you want massages, I want sex. You made the decision that I was going to be celibate, so I'm making the decision that you no longer get massages. She rolled her eyes, we are not celibate. I raised my voice again, in the last few years you could count the times we've had sex on your fingers and still have a few despair. Meanwhile, I rub on you almost every fucking day. Well, I'm tired of this shit, if you get to fucking decide how much sex I have, I get to decide how often you get a massage. It's a deal breaker, cross it and it's fucking over, there were a few more choice words before Celeste came up wanting to go to bed. I was fuming and left for the spare room.

That very weekend my wife had an appointment to get her nails done. This was pretty typical. She's been doing this since before we were together. Usually she's gone for about an hour, hour and 15. When the two-hour mark hit and she still wasn't home, I began to get angry. It was three hours after she left that she came home. I asked her where she was and she just said, I was out with a distasteful look, then walked past me. I pulled my phone out and checked the bank account and there was $95 charged to

relaxed day spa, the masseuse in the same fucking strip mall as the nail place. I lost it. This bitch didn't even have the decency to use cash or her credit card. Nope the fucking joint account so I'd see it. We got into the biggest name calling, swearing argument we have ever been in. I told her I was done, she kept telling me I was acting like a childish asshole. Eventually I just left and headed for my mother's house. That was last week. I am looking for an apartment. Terra will be served this upcoming week. What a fucking waste. Years of my life I will never get back. As much as I feel hate for her now, I hate myself so much more. Why, why did I stay for so long? She quit years ago and I just stayed in it. Never ever again. I will never ever

remarry, what a stupid fucking system. Binding yourself to another legally, financially, forever. People change, and not always for the better. I can't wait to be done with this. Celeste will be the priority, but outside of her no one else will ever come before me. Lesson learned. Divorce has been finalized for a few years now. It went smooth enough, neither of us really stuck it to the other.

A few things required some arbitration, but nothing major. We did both agree that Celeste came first and we wouldn't let our issues get in her way. Honestly, when we first separated it was definitely hard financially. We had to sell the house, cut spending, etc. We both made pretty much the same, and custody was 50-50, so no alimony, no child support for either of us. Each of us ended up in a two-bedroom apartment. But despite that, I was so much happier.

I got out there and reconnected with friends. Started dating again. That was easier than I thought. I think the fact I was still in good shape, especially compared to the typical 35-year-old, helped a lot. I had a few short-term relationships with a few women, but nothing stuck. That was until I met Realm. As you might suspect with a name like that she is kind of a hippie chick, her parents are a couple of old hippies as well. We've been together for about two years and everything is going fine. We are agreed marriage is never on the horizon. I've never gotten totally

over how my marriage went. It still stings when I think back to it. I do good at hiding it for Celeste. Her mother and I have co-parented well enough over the years, and are cordial at all her events. This has sometimes meant a shared birthday. Most of the years she did a birthday with me and one with her mother. Her 16th birthday was a couple weeks ago. She wanted a big thing, so her mother and I went in together and made it happen. That meant one party. All was fine. The worst part was the usual ten or fifteen minutes Tara's new husband Leo comes over and make small talk with me. It was getting towards the end and Tara came up and asked if we could talk in private. I agreed and we stepped outside.

That's when Tara apologized to me. I listened to her, she had quite a bit to say. When she was done, I thanked her, and told her not to worry about it any further. I can't stop thinking about what she told me. She said that about six months after we divorced she started to see a therapist, and finally dealt with the loss of her ideal life. She said when she met Leo she told herself she wouldn't let another relationship fall apart because of her. She realized how much I did during those years and is ashamed she let it

get that bad. She was mostly apologetic but at the same time told me about how she now pulls her weight around the house, makes her spouse a priority, and understands that setbacks happen, and life is about making the best of what's handed to her. That she realizes all I did to try and help us, and that she now knows to appreciate that in her new marriage and reciprocated. In the moment, I just listened. It wasn't until later the next night that it sunk in. I couldn't help but feel angry again, angry like I hadn't in a long time. I felt bitter ever since. I loved her.

I tried so hard, and it never mattered. Why couldn't she be that for me? Why wasn't I good enough? Why did it take us blowing up in spectacular fashion for her to finally do anything? Logically, I understand. Sometimes it takes something drastic to get a person out of their fog. But, this sucks. I spent years just accepting that things didn't work.

out between us. That apology, no matter how well-intentioned, just feels like a twist of the knife. I suffered, so old Leo can have it all. Now I feel bitter and depressed all over again, Tara, just the gift that keeps on giving. Merry fucking Christmas to me. Today I am standing in my usual place between the men's coats and the children's t-shirts. They opened the shop one hour and twenty-seven minutes ago, but unfortunately time does not equal customers, which can lead to a somewhat boring day for me. The customers are allowed to enter and

depart the facility whenever they please, but if I had it my way I would lock every single one of them in with me. Not specifically to harm, but more so to observe. Customers always stroll by me far too quickly for me to observe. This is troubling, but what am I to do? Nothing. For I am only a mannequin. New questions, lost answers. This is all that I am ever handed. I simply cannot comprehend what it is that these customers do. Do they hunt? I do not know. Do they eat?

I do not know. Do they bleed? I do not know. Do they die? I do not know. For I am only a mannequin. Customers are a strange thing. I have not seen it, but I have heard that they trade in this facility.

Trading? Is this what they do? Seems quite silly, but who am I to judge for I am only a mannequin? Apparently they choose items that they desire at the time then take these previously mentioned items to the beings who are not customers. These beings resemble customers, but unlike regular customers they seem to be tied to this facility. They do leave, but they always come back and the way to tell them apart from customers is by their tags. These tags all say something different. My favorite non-customer is tagged Jonathan, and he has smooth brown skin and a nice teethe smile.

He is always walking up and down the aisles next to me fixing shirts. and coats previously unfolded by customers. Jonathan does look at me from time to time, but it is nothing more than a quick glance. I do not blame him, though. I cannot move nor respond, which would lead to very boring conversations. But what am I to do? For I am only a mannequin. I do not know if Jonathan likes me or not, but it does not matter much to me.

All that matters is that Jonathan keeps coming back so that I may observe. Observe. Is this my purpose? Seems quite boring, but maybe a purpose can be boring. Jonathan and the other tagged customer's purpose appears to be rather tedious and dull. Fixing customers' messes and tending to their every need. Pathetic. But I cannot help but feel pity towards them.

Some of them, that is. I do not pity the one tagged Zach. Zach has taken me apart and placed me into darkness many times. I do not like it when Zach takes me apart. It doesn't hurt. I just don't like it. I do not like seeing that I am held together by screws. But every time I'm dismantled I can't help but wonder if Zach is also held together by screws.

It would bring me great pleasure to dismantle Zach. I wouldn't even bother putting him back together. But I don't think that customers and tagged customers can be put back together. One time not too long ago I happened to see a customer missing an arm. I would have offered mine but, of course, I cannot. For I am just a mannequin. I see various types of customers. Big ones, small ones sometimes really tall ones.

But, according to my observations, this does not matter to the customers as much as one specific thing. What is this thing? It appears to be color. So far the colors I have seen of customer have been various shades of brown and cream. It does not happen often, but on occasion a couple of customers of different color who seem to be unfamiliar with each other will critique each other's character based on said color. This is strange. They are all customers yet they still attack each other.

Why? Do the colors evoke some sort of strong hatred whenever they are seen by a customer of a different color? This cannot be the answer because most of the time the customers get along no matter what color. It makes me feel warm. Not warm like the air conditioning in the facility, but warm like, like a bad kind of warm. Every time I think about how foolish the customers are it burns me on the inside. If the customers make all of these clothes that surround me in different colors, then why is it so hard for them to accept customers when they are different colors?

It burns me inside, but I like this feeling of warmth. It's somehow, comforting, to know that these beings can make all of this stuff that surrounds me yet still not be able to come together as one. It's pleasing to my very few senses to know that while they all throw away their pleasures and privileges, I can stand in my usual place between the men's coats and the children's t-shirts and observe as their world collapses around them. It gives me joy, and why shouldn't it? It's the only thing I can do.

I can only observe. For I am only a mannequin. A true story, being the nice kid that I was, naive to the ways of the world due to my upbringing in the cushion of, isn't everything wonderful, suburban Orange County, I wasn't at all alarmed by the man's offer of a ride. I figured the man was a good Samaritan, shocked at my appearance high in the hills above the city.

I'd received that reaction more than once. Besides, the man was dressed nicely in a suit, driving a large black Mercedes. I did know that the Mercedes represented wealth and polite society, and that such folk often didn't understand why people would choose to hike on a hot day in a desolate-looking area like the canyon. So when the man got out of the passenger's side of the car and offered me a ride home, I just smiled and said, no thanks, but then something happened to put me on alert. The man leaned into the car's window to have a brief conversation with the driver, and when

he re-emerged, something had changed in the man's appearance or body language. Suddenly I was reminded of the fact that the mountains around L.A. were sometimes the location of horrific crimes. Edging closer to the side of the road, I looked down over a short vertical drop to a talus slope, which in turn angled steeply down to the reservoir 400 foot below. I could make the jump if necessary, I decided, and knew I could outrun the businessman on the talus. I was a wild kid, spending all my time in the hills those days. But I was third. I was third thirsty and hoped to find water in a ravine above the road. As the man asked if I was sure about the ride, I crossed the road immediately behind the car and entered a brush-filled ravine.

I waved goodbye as I merged with the brush, quickly disappearing into the safety of the chaperow. What most people fear as an impenetrable barrier of thorns, poison oak, and rattlesnakes, I saw as a shady place of refuge, sheltered from the sun and the eyes of prying passers-by, where I sometimes stumbled upon shivering deer fawns, humming bird nests occupied with tiny moving jewels, or, rarest of all, a small spring just big enough to scoop out a handful of water. It was amazing how quickly I could lose touch with civilization once I had left the roadway and entered the chaparral. The overpowering smell of buckbrush covered any vestigial diesel from the nearby road. Cicadas, singing their songs of promised love, were so loud as to drown out even jets flying high overhead, an insectal cacophony of noise. and don't count on being able to see more than your immediate surroundings.

As John Muir observed, the local chaparral was too thick to crawl under and too high to climb over. You certainly can't see very far. Quickly forgetting about the men on the road, I was immersed in the wildness, happy in its thorny embrace. The ravine was dry, a narrow, vertical strip of bare rock surrounded by Manzanita, white thorn, and desiccated golden-brown grasses full of fox tails and other burrs. I knew that such ravines often contained water at various points along their length, usually small seeps which rarely ran more than a couple feet. As usual, I carried no water bottle, and it was a hot day, so I decided to climb higher

up the ravine in search of water. If I climbed high enough, I would reach Fire Road 17, then take that quickly back home, no matter how thirsty I was. The ravine proved to be impassable early on, with a dry fall rising some 30 foot above me. This wasn't unexpected, and not insurmountable. Looking right, then left, I decided I could climb around the blockage on the left side, up a smaller ravine with plenty of manzanita for hand and footholds. It was not an easy climb, being on a steep slope with loose rocks and small bushes clinging to the face.

One of the greatest problems with climbing the slopes in this area was the general looseness of everything. Plants which would make good handholds tended to pull out of the ground unexpectedly. Large, solid-looking boulders had a habit of rolling downhill when stepped upon, usually at the worst possible moment for a climber. The local search and rescue had to save people every year hereabouts. But patience could get one up most hills, so I continued up, carefully choosing my hand and foot holds. Despite my caution, more than a couple rocks rolled down the slope below me, dislogged by my climb. And then I was startled to hear someone yell, hey, stop dropping those rocks. I'm down here, the discovery that someone was below me, climbing after me up the difficult

course I'd just taken, overcame my naivete and triggered an instant surge of adrenaline, as fight or flight immediately kicked in. I instinctively opted for the former, and dropped several more large rocks down the ravine below me. Once more I heard the man yell, stop, please. Then after a second, be careful up there, I'm climbing back down to the road. I listened for several minutes to be sure the man was leaving. Finally, I heard him crashing through the roadside brush, a car door slammed, and then the car

engine started and it drove away that I was a bit freaked by this point, still not sure of what had just happened. And yet it had. The man had been so darn silent while following me, for one thing. You had to go to a lot of effort to hike quietly cross-country in the chaparral of Southern California, and yet this man had done so. And of all the ravines to pick to hike up. I emerged from the ravine to follow a ridgeline for a while,

before re-entering the ravine fifteen hot, dirty minutes later. There I found the hope for pool of clear, deliciously cold water, large enough to not only drink, but to immerse my hat within for subsequent dunking upon my head. I found the forest rode another fifteen minutes of brush crawling after that, and was home within another half hour, covered in burrs and smelling of the brush. I left my clothes and shoes in the garage, so my mom wouldn't complain about the mess inside. my shower, I only found three ticks on me, and none had burrowed in yet. It was a nice day.

My wife and I have both done things that we are not proud of and this is why we can never tell the truth to anyone about how we met and got married. As our boys grow up, we discuss if we would ever tell them. Or let this be a secret forever. I would like them both to grow up to be better people, so I am not sure. I came to the U.S. on student visa, but it was never my intention to study. I wanted to stay. I enrolled in a university and was not showing up for classes because I was working illegally off campus.

My friend, a very controversial lawyer, told me that if you want citizenship then you have to do paper marriage with a U.S. citizen for money. We searched to see if someone would be willing to enter such an arrangement and then he called me to meet someone he found. She was older than me by eight years, divorced and working minimum wage. She had short blonde hair that did not reach her shoulders. There was a tattoo on her upper arm. I was told that this will not look very convincing to the immigration officials, but this is all we have.

He told me that she is white and you are brown so you are not from the same culture. She is 32 and you are 24, so there is an age gap. She is divorced and financially desperate, so there are a lot of red flags. But in the end she needs money and you need citizenship. Proceeding forward with this paper marriage would mean that we would have to maintain a consistent lie for many years. We will need a ceremony as only documentation won't be. It can be a pizza party, but we will be asked to show wedding pictures so we must have a party.

Secondly, we must live under the same roof for next few years in order to show that we have the same address. Just receiving bills in one place will not fly. Even our neighbors must be convinced that we are married. Lastly, immigration officials will separate us and ask us about details of our lives so no things that married people will know. I got a two-bedroom apartment that I would be paying for. This made her rent free for the duration of this agreement. Then I also gave her her monthly allowance while she worked her job. She was very standoffish, but if you could get past her no-nonsense demeanor, you may see that she was not a bad person.

Secondly, she seemed to have come from a good background. This was not someone raised in drugs and poverty, but was experiencing hard times due to sudden divorce. We lived like strangers for the first few weeks. I did not ask her anything and she didn't inquire about my life. As time went by her tough demeanor wore out and I started to notice that undernomer, her tough attitude, she was not a bad-looking woman. She appeared to be a little heavier version of, Stifler's mom, from American Pie, but you had to get through her hard shell

to see the milf. We had developed a routine of watching TV together in the evening. During one of those moments, I said something whose context I do not recall. I told her that in my country all men love white women. She asked why is that? I told her that you all are exotic to us in a way, so there is that interracial chemistry. Secondly, we grew up on Hollywood movies so your celebrity crush would most likely be a white woman, someone like Jennifer Coolidge. She goes, who is that?

Stifler's mom from American Pie. I said, yes. So when you see a brown guy for my part of the world, know that he secretly adores you. After that conversation I noticed that over the following days, she had started to put some very light makeup on. Her clothes also became a bit revealing, but in a subtle way. She started to show more cleavage.

She had the best rack and she knew how to put it on display. She had me figured out that this guy is a boob man and she also knew that that was her strong point. She would always make it subtle like she was so busy that she didn't pay attention to how she looked, etc. If it was meant to catch my attention then it did. I thought I was going to die. When the evenings came, we would watch TV and chat about this and that and then the conversation would go elsewhere. I told her that in my country men would secretly worship you. It is a respectful culture so no one will tell you on your face, but deep inside they will.

Unfortunately, racial politics of our messed up world are such that a white man can say, I love black women or I love Chinese women, and the world has no problems with it. But the moment you say, I love white women, it is taken so out of its context and political correctness jumps down your throat. My focus gradually shifted from praising the beauty of white women, in a very general sense. to her specifically. She would sit there and allow me to talk. She never spoke much, but allowed me to speak. Then one day she stopped me. She said, I am a divorced woman who was cheated on. All this talk does a girl good, especially if she has been replaced by another one,

but I do not want to lead you on to anything for my own healing. I think you are an amazing man and there is a woman out there for you. Go find her. I stopped praising her after that, but there was mutual respect. I started going out with this other girl Lisa who was interested in me. I told her that I was living with a female housemate, and there was no lie there. That is what we were in reality. But one day she came to pick me up from my place and when the two women came face to face, they were like sizing each other up. I felt that they both gave each other a attitude, but remained formally polite. That night Lisa gave me an attitude. Towards the end, I asked her what is up. She said, that woman is not your roommate.

You guys are fucking. I told her we are not fucking. She said that 32-year-old H-A-G wants you and if you want to be with me then you need to move out. When she said, bold hag, it did not sit well with me and the way I demanded respect, further convinced her that we are fucking. In the next few days she did some digging and noticed that we are listed as husband and wife. So in her mind we are now definitely fucking, and I was not going to go around convincing the world that I am not fucking her because that would hurt my case. It was a bad move. I broke up with Lisa. When she found out that we had broken up and for what reason, she rolled her eyes and said,

whatever. You can do better. I had sense jealousy. When Lisa came in, she was the younger, more glamorous type. The kind you would notice the first time you walk in a place. She, on the other hand, was the milf. It was a collision of two different genres of female beauty. Milf versus the glam While glam girl always wins your first glance, Milf always destroys the glam girl in the long haul. When a man is in touch with his deep-rooted sexual fantasies, he craves the milf. Real-world women always beat plastic Barbies and all plastic Barbies out there are moving up the age ladder to become an evolved version of their former selves. Milf rules. But Lisa has triggered something. This was a woman who was rejected by her husband and he had cheated on her with a plastic Barbie.

Seeing another plastic Barbie come into her life was hurtful and she walked away into the kitchen to avoid me seeing jealous or triumph or whatever expression she was trying to conceal. I sat there looking at her from the back as she worked in the kitchen. I felt that she had feelings for me and she was ashamed that I could see that. I walked up to her and stood behind he as she was cutting veggies for her salad. Then I kissed the back of her neck. It did not go well. She turned around so violently and yelled, don't you ever dare touch me like this. You do not have my consent to touch me.

Do you understand? She had her knife in her hand and I felt like she could stab me. I just stepped back and she stormed away into her room and slammed the door. I went to bed extremely shaken up, embarrassed and confused. In my mind, I had attempted to communicate a deeper feeling but she had not given me consent and now I felt like a creep. I felt so dirty that I do not think anyone had ever made me feel so bad about me. In the middle of the night, I noticed that she was crying in her room.

I thought I am not getting involved in this, but she continued to sulk. I knocked on her door and asked if she was okay. She went silent. Then I had, You may come in. I want to apologize. I went in and found her on the bed in fetal position. She sat up and said, a few days ago was my wedding anniversary. He would always come home with flowers and I felt so safe.

He would approach me the same way you would. did and would kiss the back of my neck. I missed being surprised with a kiss like that. When you did that, it felt so good. All that I said was towards my ex and not you. Please forgive me for the knife. I was not going to hurt you. I promise. Then she cried and I held her tightly against me. Keep in mind that I had walked into her room shirtless due to the urgency. Now she was sobbing against me and her tears were running down my chest. I was thinking I do not want to get an erection because the way I am holding her, her head is resting on my lower chest.

It is only inches from my crotch. It will be right in her face. I hope not. I hope not. No. No, no. Certain things in your body have a mind of their own. If you are holding a woman that you are attracted to against your naked body, and her tears

are rolling down your chest then that is a trickling sensation going all the way down your, ahem. My erection started to come to life and I am thinking should I just break away and leave. It would be so embarrassing. Or I could hold her against me and pretend that I am in control of both of us. First I was not sure if she noticed, but after some time she had stopped crying. Her hand wandered down and she was feeling my bulge. Then while feeling the erection she looked up and said, you have no idea how wet I am.

I grabbed her wrist and said, gently, don't you dare touch me like this. You do not have my consent, do you understand? She said, shut up. I will do whatever I feel like. Then she pulled down my boxers, and this is how I will get your consent. Then she gave me the dirtiest blow job a woman could give me man. I was a heap of mess and it took her only a few minutes to get consent out of me. Then she says, I still have my insecurities.

I told her to shut up. I will do whatever I feel like. She was sleeping in this super long T-shirt that I ripped her. off to get her naked. As she held the remnants of that shirt against her body and laughed, I can never forget how lovely she looked. They were so much bigger than I thought. Who wants a plastic Barbie? I had a real woman in bed in all her naked loveliness. I could romance that milth body till morning and still not have enough. I was nibbling and kissing every inch of her curves and then I loved her repeatedly on that IKEA bed. I have had sex before and I have fucked women

before, but for the first time in my life, I made love. It is very different when you make love because deep down sex becomes an exchange of emotion. All else is masturbation with a human body. Sex that night was more than just sex in the biological sense, but a deeply emotional conversation without words. All the skepticism and self-doubt was pounded out of her that night. I counted 17 bite marks all over her body when it was over. I gave them.

She was a different woman the next day. so confident in herself and so unbothered by her past. There was this look of happiness like she had lost herself somewhere and now found it back. We started sleeping together from that day. Then something happened a month later that made me think. She dressed up in this really nice light pink lingerie and invited me to bed. When I joined her she displayed herself and said, So how is this for your white woman fantasy?

My white woman fantasy. That word did not sit well with me that night. I stayed up all night thinking about it. My white woman fantasy. Is this what it is? A fantasy that we will both act out until I get my citizenship and then back to reality? What is my reality? After she used that word, I did not want her to be my fantasy, but my reality.

On October 15, 2013, I became the only man in history who proposed to a woman he was legally married to. It was no surprise to her. She knew she owned me. A few months later my lawyer friend reached out and informed that the interview date is approaching so, we will do our best. I asked him what does that mean? He said that as he explained to me the first time, there are red flags. She is eight years older, different cultural background, etc.

So it may not go through and I will then have to leave. He said that we have done everything we could. So I am thinking, now that we are really married it is possible that I may not be with me real wife. I sat down with her and expressed my fears. She said it will never happen. She will not allow me to be deported. She said I should just trust her. She stopped using birth control and when the interview date came we went there when she was in her eighth month.

She was carrying our twins by that time and when the immigration officials looked at that huge pregnant belly, they did not ask us any questions. They stamped my citizenship. Today we have two wonderful boys. They both have autism which gets better as they grow. bigger. Her ex-husband is a fairly well-off man and I tried to get up there. Subconsciously I had attempted to match him but now I do not need to. She is the milf I love and the mother of my kids that we both have better jobs and we also drive Uber to make ends meet. People look at As and they ask me where I am from. I answer that honestly. Then they ask where did you

both meet. We have another bullshit story that we tell. Not sure if I will ever tell my boys how I found their mom. It all started about three years ago when I met my boyfriend, Jake, during our sophomore year of college. We clicked instantly, bonding over our love for music, movies, and late-night study sessions that turned into hours of talking. I genuinely believed we were building something special. For the first two years, things were great. We traveled together, celebrated each other's accomplishments, and supported one another through exams and life's typical ups and downs. However, things began to change about six months ago. Subtle shifts happened first, Jake would sometimes forget to text me back, and he was

occasionally vague about his evening plans. I chalked it up to him being busy with work and school, but as time went on, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Friends mentioned to me that he seemed distant, too. My gut intuition was telling me to pay attention, but I kept hoping I was just overthinking things. A week before I discovered the truth, Jake's behavior took an even sharper turn. He started getting home later than usual from work, often leaving me wondering if he was caught up with overtime or if there was something more. I tried to talk to him about it, but he always assured me that it was nothing to worry about,

just work stress. My anxiety grew, and I started feeling like I was losing touch with someone I once felt so connected to. Then, last Saturday, I had this nagging feeling that I needed to figure things out for myself. I'd never done anything like this before, but I ended up checking. checking his phone while he was in the shower. I know invading his privacy was wrong, but I felt desperate for answers. When I scrolled through his messages, my heart sank. There were flirty exchanges from another girl, messages that were not just friendly but deeply intimate, complete

with plans to meet up that very weekend. They were referring to each other as, babe, sharing secrets and inside jokes I knew nothing about. My emotions hit me all at once, anger, disbelief, and sadness overwhelmed me. I put the phone down, my hands trembling, as I tried to process what I had just seen. When he came out of the shower, I confronted him immediately. At first, he panicked, denying everything, but seeing the evidence struck the truth out of him. His expression morphed from shock to guilt, and he finally confessed that he had been cheating on me for a couple of months.

I was devastated. It felt like the floor had been ripped out from under me. All the memories, the plans we had made together, all the things we had made together, all of of it felt like a lie. We had a huge fight where I threw every emotion I had at him, pain, rage, disappointment. I told him to leave my apartment and that I never wanted to see him again. The moment he stepped out, I felt both relief and heartbreak. In the days that followed, I found myself engulfed in a whirlwind of emotions. I felt like I was in a haze, my friends rallied around me with comforting words, but the reality of the betrayal weighed heavily

on my heart. I had never felt such profound betrayal before, and as I sat alone in my room, surrounded by memories of our relationship, it hit me, I had to find a way to move forward. It's been a few days since I kicked him out, and I haven't spoken to him since. I blocked him on social media and deleted every trace of him from my life. I know this is going to be a long healing process, but I'm determined to come out stronger. I've started journaling to vent my feelings and remind myself of my self-worth. I also reached out to a therapist who specializes in relationship issues, hoping to gain further clarity and learn how to navigate the heartbreak. I know I'm not the only one who's been in this position, and I'm looking for advice from anyone who has experienced similar betrayal.

How did you cope? What did you do to regain your confidence? I want to heal and learn from this experience, but I feel lost right now. I, Leland 29M, have been in a relationship with Madison, 28F, for almost two years. I don't expect to get any sympathy here. I did this to myself. I used to blame everyone else for my problems. I used to be controlling. I used to be a sleaze ball. Some people may think I still am these things, but I really try not to be anymore.

It took me a really long time to realize I was my problem. To give some background, I used to do some pretty shady shit. Doing this is how I met Kara, 23F now, 18F when we met. I was 24 years old and two years I was. of college. I had done good with the girls in college and racked up a solid body count. However, when I got out of college I wasn't really ready for anything serious, and found the dating scene tougher. I had a good job, and I know I'm a good-looking guy. It wasn't that it was hard to get dates. I just ended up getting dumped or blown off more often. I was immature. I realized

that now. The women in my age range that I was trying to date were looking for more. I don't mean they all just wanted to settle down and get married, plenty of them were fine with casual dating. By more, I mean they were looking for someone who didn't get shit drunk whenever possible, play video games like it was their job, or ignore them until he wanted sex. Since this wasn't working for me, I decided to go younger. I'm not proud of it, but I used to occasionally go to parties with my little brother. He was a college freshman, so I would usually just go to his parties, but one night he was going to this party in another town, that was actually a high school party.

I tagged along, and that is where I met Kara. This was in May so she was like two weeks from her graduation, not that that makes it any better. She was absolutely stunning, still is. We hit it off and I got her snap that night. She was going to the local university in the fall, and I lived close enough to campus. We spent most of the summer together. I realized I was falling in love with her, and showed that by becoming more jealous and controlling. It was all underhanded.

Early on when she wanted to go to a party or club with friends, and I knew there would be a lot of guys there, I'd do something over the top like get concert tickets or plan a weekend vacation so she wouldn't go. Over time I began playing the victim, or accusing her of things when she had plans. I wanted to ruin her mood. I would impose myself in the things I couldn't get her to opt out of. It was all jealousy and insecurity. When her junior year started, I talked her into moving in with me. This was for me, even though I presented it as being best for her, financially it was, and I focused on that. I had her in a tough spot.

She was basically acting as my housekeeper, and I held her financial independence over her head. My only attempt at balancing that out was that I did spoil her in terms of gifts and luxuries. The thing was, while she was always very appreciative, she really wasn't a kind of girl who needed all that. When I had started working at my current job there was a woman there in an open relationship named Abigail. She was older. I liked to overhear her conversations with some of my other co-workers. Abigail was very open about her lifestyle and not ashamed of it one bit. I would often tell Kara about what I overheard, because it was just so crazy.

I would have never gone into something like that, the idea of sharing my girl with someone else was ridiculous. That was until I met Madison. We were flirty from her first day and that only increased from there. a week she asked her husband for an open relationship. We wanted to hook up, and we didn't want to lose our significant others. It took me a lot longer to finally approach Kara and by that time Madison had made the situation with her husband worse, they were no longer doing an open relationship and were going to try swinging. Of course I lied to Kara about this and told her that

Madison's open had been wonderful and we should try something like that. The dumbest part of it all is I wasn't really willing to share Kara. The idea of her with another man made me furious, which makes the swinging I asked her to go along with all the dumber. I wanted to have sex with Madison, and was willing to play the dumbest game ever to make it happen. Madison was too, though, she didn't have a lot of respect for her husband, Seth. She thought he was a push over, and when he was going to walk out on their marriage because of the open relationship she forced on him, she had to backtrack and find the way to get what she wanted. That was swinging. She also thought this could bring him back under her thumb. I know this because she has told me so.

She was so upset that he was going to leave her, that she was determined to break him, as we went about making this happen. We totally ignored all their pleas, all their requests for time, space, communication, clarity. We gaslit them, pushed them, falsely reassured them. I feel like such an asshole for putting Kara through that, and Seth too, he didn't deserve it either. In the end, Madison and I got our wish, we got permission, and we got the consequences that came with it. We were so delusional. We both really thought we could have our good time, and they wouldn't do anything about it. Neither of us wanted them to be with anyone else.

We were making rules for thee not for me. Our goal was actually to have each other, and them to also pay attention to us. I remember us discussing how we didn't think they'd actually do anything with each other. Even if they did, we planned on asking them to focus on us, like they were going to be okay with that. Then we made the plan. Abigail had mentioned to Madison that she was having a house party in two weeks. Madison had been confiding in her, and getting advice from her about open relationships, and then on swinging.

Madison told me that could be our chance. She told Abigail about mine and Kara's desire for swinging, a half-truth. Abigail had already invited Madison at this point, to get her and Seth's feet wet. Abigail then agreed to let us come as well. Madison and I were so excited to make this happen at that point. We had the the vibe check, which turned out to be a big part of our undoing, as unbeknownst to us. us, Seth and Kara began talking. Comparing notes would be a better term, they were very much on to us. The day of the party was total tunnel vision for me, I could see the goal, and I was doing

everything I could to get there. At the same time I was such a dick, I totally ignored everything Kara was saying. We got there, we got a tour, and then I immediately looked to take Madison upstairs to the private rooms. She was more than willing to go. We were totally ignoring our partners. They just stood there and watched us walk off. I, in a complete afterthought moment, told Kara to, come on. But I really didn't care. As we hit the room, we both talked about how they didn't follow us. We were excited about that, we could do this, and they wouldn't do anything. That's what we thought. We had sex for 20 to 25 minutes, then lingered a bit, talking and laughing, got dressed. I fully expected to find Kara and Seth sitting in the living

room sulking. We had talked a bit about damage control with them. They were not there. Our first thought was they took a car and left. Seth did have the keys to his. We went outside only to see both vehicles still there. Then we headed to where the food was, also not there. We heard some fairly large commotion from one of the rooms. Imagine my shock as I walked in to see Kara engaging with others, and having sex with Seth. There were several people in the room they had chosen to play. Madison was just as mind-blown. The fallout was massive and immediate. We screamed and yelled at each other the whole way home and through the night. She was calling me out on everything I had pulled over the course of our entire relationship. Seth and Madison

were apparently doing the exact same thing. Kara left me the next morning. I was devastated by that. I feel like I became the poster child for, fuck around and find out. Madison called me a week after all this went down, it was also the day after Seth served her with divorce papers. We just had a brief conversation as I was still trying to process losing Kara. Madison was cold, it was kind of weird. She didn't sound mad, or sad, just neutral. Like we were talking about the electric bill being due soon. I should have taken that as my first red flag. I tried just moving on. I remember telling myself, her loss. What a joke, Kara definitely wasn't losing anything, she could do so much better than me.

It was about a month later, I had made a fake account and was social media stalking Kara to see what she was doing. I realized her and Seth had become a couple. She photo dumped a month's worth of outings and dates they had been on. The next week at work Madison, who had largely ignored me that month, was back being flirty and friendly. I kind of called her out on it. She asked if I had seen that Seth and Kara were together. She said she wanted to meet after work that night, and invited me over for dinner. I agreed because I figured why the hell not, might even get late again. She texted me shortly before I had gotten to her apartment to just let myself in as she was getting ready. When I walked in,

she told me to relax for a moment, she would only be another minute. After about ten, I got a text from her asking me to come into her bedroom. As I walked in there she was at the foot of her bed. She immediately started to seduce me. She was lost. largely insatiable that entire night and insisted on me staying over, where she kept up this crazed act for most of the next day. It was when I started to get ready to head home the next afternoon that she told me she wanted us to give this a real shot. She said our SOs have moved on with each other, we should do the same. We get along, have fun, sex is awesome, why not? Considering the time she had just shown me I was all in for this. Things were good at first,

however, I could tell there was something off. She wanted to document and post on socials everything we did together. I don't just mean trips or dinner dates to nice restaurants. I mean everything. If I got us Taco Bell after a long day, she made it into this sappy romantic post about how we just get each other, or he's a mind-reader. She always made it sound like we were just the happiest couple ever.

Which really wasn't true. Yes, she was sleeping with me a lot, and always planning these outings. But the conversations were bland, and emotional support was not there. When my childhood cat, the cat still lived with my parents, died at 19, I was understandably sad. I was having a moment at work that day about it, I may have even had a tear or two in my eyes. She was noticeably uncomfortable. When I came over that night she wanted to get take out, and make a post about it. I was sad, and having a hard time smiling.

She got annoyed, told me it was just a cat. I said I loved that cat. She rolled her eyes and said, Look, just smile for the fucking photo and stop talking about the cat. Do that, I'll take care of you, and you can go be sad the rest of the night, deal. Of course I accepted, but looking back now I realize I should have walked out and never looked back.

Things only got we're weirder from there. We had been together about six months at the time. I knew she constantly checked to see what Seth was doing. One day, she told me she had gotten a new phone. She read somewhere that everyone should have two phones, one for business and one for personal use. I could understand that if you were a public figure but we weren't. We were just office drones. I just accepted this as it wasn't worth debating.

That night we had sex with all of the lights on. Leaving the table-side lamp on wasn't unusual, but she had the overhead light on, the light in the bathroom on, the other lamp on. Afterwards she grabbed her new phone and told me to take a picture, and she would send it to me. Then she said, oops. I felt this wave of concern come over me. She told me she accidentally sent the pick to Seth. I got pissed off because how do you accidentally send it,

and also, why would you even need his number in your new phone? Even without the resulting blow up from her the next day, I knew she sent that photo as some sort of half-baked idea to make him jealous. To his credit, he didn't take the bait at all. Instead, he sent back a video that set her off like no other. It starts as just a selfie shot of him, and he goes, got your pick, glad to see you're having fun. Anyway, Kara says hi, at this point it pans over, and there's Kara in sports we're looking amazing, and she goes, hi, Maddie.

I, should mention Madison hates being called Maddie, then he pans back, we're having fun too, video pans up to the Kings Island and Trans sign, I'm going to go ahead and block this number now, and if you send another picture like this to me I will go to the authorities. By E., after this, she became increasingly insistent on us moving in together. I didn't want to, but I was also in a deep depression that I was unaware of at the time. I was in a real doom spiral of self-hate. I agreed and I ended up moving in with Madison. She was still trying to present her, We Are the Perfect Couple, vibe to the world.

It was bullshit, I just didn't want to be alone, as much as I was unhappy with everything, sitting at my apartment alone was worse. Which is how I ended up where I am today. It was about two months after we moved and together I saw on Kara's socials that her and Seth had broken up. Looks like it was mutual and amicable, no real detail. That was over a year ago, and they appear to still be friends. They still interact with each other on socials, commenting on each other's posts, wishing

happy birthdays, Seth was even at Kara's graduation celebration with her friends and family. When I told Madison about this, she completely changed. She already wasn't the most loving partner in the world, but she got colder. It was about two weeks later she came to me one night and said, I want to be in an open relationship again, this isn't really negotiable, I also don't want a bunch of stupid rules. What the fuck is the point if there's going to be a 100 limitations? You can either be cool with this, make peace with this, or move on. I was so delusional at the time, I actually thought this would be a good thing for me.

The thing was I had kind of let myself go. I wasn't working out very much, I was drinking a lot. We ate out way too much. Mentally and emotionally I was putting on a tough stoic front, but on the inside I was dying. I had blown it with Kara and now was replacing that with self-destruction. I agreed to Madison's terms and told her I wanted two rules, use protection every time, and no details unless the other person asks for them. She was fine with that. The next day was Friday, she went out after work, and didn't come home until Saturday morning.

I asked her where she was and she said, with a guy, it kind of shocked me, I don't know why, it shouldn't have. I'm sure she had him lined up before she ever asked. I just thought, okay, two can play this game. I was wrong, this was a very one-sided game. Over the next three months our relationship went to shit. She only wanted to have sex with me, right after she got back from doing it with someone else. Which embarrassingly to admit I was taking her up on because otherwise I wasn't getting anything. I have no idea if she was seeing multiple people, this is what I assumed, or just the same one or two. I occasionally would ask where she was going or where she was, and she always replied, with a guy. Meanwhile, I was having no luck on the

open market. I was struggling at work, I was still drinking, my confidence was shit because I couldn't get a match to save my life. I went back to doing shady shit at this point. I switched my profile to a much younger, fitter picture from a few years earlier. When I got a match with this woman named Evelyn, I was ecstatic. She was Polly-ish, and I thought maybe this would be a chance to just have something else for myself. We messaged for about two weeks, she was aware of Madison and she told me a little about her long-term partner Anthony.

I wasn't honest here either as I made it seem like Madison and I had this amazing connection. We met for dinner one night, I could tell she was a little skeptical because I didn't quite match my photo. I did my best to cover up the weight difference with the right clothes, but you could still tell some. We were actually having a pretty nice conversation, when she asked what got me into opens. I chuckled and said, Madison, but I said it weakly, and she picked up on it. Then I just kind of word vomited about how it started, and about Kara.

I wasn't overly forward, but I said enough to kill the vibe. She said, you don't really want to be doing this to you. I just shook my head. We talked a little bit more where she told me I didn't have to be what I didn't want to be. I said, I know. Then she stared at me for a moment, you also can be what you actually want to be. That hit me like a ton of bricks. I asked if she wanted to go and I'd take her back home.

She said I didn't need to, she had messaged Anthony to pick her up and he was probably outside already. I paid the check and thanked her for the night, then headed out ahead of her. I got home and was thinking about what she said. It was true that I didn't like myself. I checked Kara's socials, only to discover at that moment she was in a new relationship. I felt all those same familiar feelings of loss, jealousy, self-pity. I went to bed but couldn't sleep. Madison came rolling in at 2 a.m.

Trying to initiate with me, which was a clear indicator of what she had done that night. I wasn't interested and rejected her. She got a little pissy but not much. She said, wait, you had a date tonight, how did it go, did it go good, must have if you don't want any. I said, it went fine. She in a condescending way said, fine. Like you got laid fine, or you got a second date fine. I said, I don't want to talk about it.

She said, oh no, you had two rules, one of them is no details unless asked, and I'm asking. I begrudgingly replied, neither then, we won't be going out again, but it went fine. She laughed, and made an L shape with her hand, I'm kidding, I had about the opposite night, so we even out. For the first time I pressed for more details, yeah, what did you do then? She said, I ended up meeting up with this couple I've been talking to, I hadn't ever had a threesome, but that changed tonight. I actually couldn't believe that, I had asked her about doing something like that repeatedly since we opened. She always told me that she wasn't interested.

I decided to call her out on that. She replied, when I said I wasn't interested, it meant I wasn't interested in doing that with you. I just walked away from her at that point and headed for the kitchen. She didn't follow and when I heard the shower turn on I went to lay on the couch. The next day she got up and went out to coffee with a couple of friends. I remember staring in the mirror for what must have been 15 minutes. I was thinking about what Evelyn said, thinking about how quickly Kara moved on for me, thinking about how awful it has been with Madison.

I hated who I was looking at in the mirror. I made the decision to take Evelyn's word seriously, I could be the person I wanted to be. That was maybe just a little over a year ago now. I am still living with Madison. I am cordial and polite to her, she is not that way. to me. I refuse to sleep with her which has led her to go out more often, and I'm pretty sure she has at least two full-time FWBs. I have been sober for a year now, and have been hitting the gym frequently. I might even say I'm in better shape than I was before. I put myself into

work and have been getting noticed. I like taking on a little more than I have to, and focusing on some of the tougher assignments. My ultimate goal is to one day be a VP. I have been attending bi-weekly therapy appointments this whole time. I really had to face a lot of my own behaviors and shame. It's been a long road of self-discovery. I think it will be very beneficial when I hit the dating scene again. I haven't even tried for a relationship during this time. I'm finally ready to move forward with my life. I haven't told Madison any of this. I don't feel I owe her anything. She is a cold and bitter woman who uses people. That might be the toughest part, she expects me to basically server, which I have done for a long time just to keep the piece. I am done. I have lined up a

new apartment for myself, and will be moving out this week. I'm just going to pack up and leave. I'll leave a note behind. I have managed to find a new job as well. A competitor was looking to fill a director position. I didn't land that position, but they also needed an assistant director, and I was offered that. Either was a pay increase, so I accepted the assistant spot. I also am looking at this as a chance to grow, I don't want to go into it with any bitterness towards whoever got the director spot. Even though they will be my direct boss I'm working with on a daily basis. I'm going to do whatever I can to be of value. Well, this is long enough already. I can't wait to start this new chapter and am finally happy with the person I see in the mirror. Wish me luck. This occurred outside my home

roughly 10 days ago. It's just past 5 p.m. and I'm watching TV with my dog. My wife looks out our living room window and says to me, there's four gentlemen huddled next to your car. I get up and look out the window to see a couple teenage boys and a couple other slightly younger boys, eyeing my car on the street. I grab my keys and walk out our front door, unlocking the car remotely which startles them. Immediately, the eldest boy says to me, hey, I know this looks bad, I'm just using your car for a mirror. The rest of the boys stay silent and look away. I reassure him and say, all good, I'm just grabbing something for my car as I shuffle around and grab my sunglasses.

I shut the door and casually ask, So what's going on guys? The eldest is the only one to speak, and says, nothing, we're just waiting for a friend to pick us up. I tell them to stay safe, give him a fist bump, and head back inside. They walk away shortly after.

The next day, my wife shows me a news story of a 64-year-old Uber driver who had been shot by a group of four teens. Too much of a coincidence I thought, but the ages of the boys in the article matched what the group of boys outside my house appeared to be the previous day. I shrugged it off as happenstance, and went about my day. Three days later, a couple of the boys were shown in court on the news, and sure enough,

they were the same group I had spoken to. Aged 11 to 17. It could have been me who they shot and stole a car from, and I wonder today why they didn't. Simply because I treated them with respect, counting myself lucky. True story. Want to get it off my chest because I haven't told anyone in my life. Only person who knows is my wife who I haven't been able to vent to like this for obvious reasons. I was born slash raised slash went to college in a small town in Kansas.

Six years ago, after a stint living in Kansas City, I moved to the Bay Area California for a job slash change of scenery. I met my now wife in college. After graduating I lived by myself for a year and then she moved in with me. When I got the job in California it was just a given that she was coming with me. So now the year is 2018, we sell all of our stuff, cram what we can into the car along with our Labrador Retriever and make the drive 1,800 miles to the coast. Things are generally good. Like with any other relationship we had our issues. 2020 was rough at times with things being very locked down here in a small apartment, but we got through it.

Finally after nearly a decade together I gave her a ring in 2021 and we eloped in Hawaii in 2022, Bahena to be specific, which burnt to the ground. shortly after. In mid-2023 I'm scrolling social media and realize an old friend that I had grown up with since grade school lives out here in the same area as me. Nobody from my hometown lives here. I have a couple buddies from college down in SoCal, but nobody I knew growing lives where I do currently, so I reach and strike up a casual conversation thinking it would be really cool to connect. Turns out she lives less than 10 minutes away with her husband and a set of twins. She is an attractive woman, five feet ten inches leggy blonde, pretty face, great body, but given this context I'm thinking about things in a completely harmless sense. She appears to have it all.

The husband, the kids, single family home in the Bay Area, which equates to a $1.5 million little ranch home, with chickens in the backyard. Travels overseas 3xA year ECT. We talk about double dating and catching up, but things kind of fizzle and it feels like one of those empty suggestions at getting together that will never happen. Fast forward a couple months, she reaches out out of the blue saying she's interested in getting into my wife's line of work, real estate, and my wife's team is actively recruiting so it seems like it could be a good fit. I give her my wife's contact info and a couple weeks later the three of us meet at a Mexican spot for dinner. Things are pretty normal. We do a few tequila shots and have a great time. My wife loves her. After this she starts reaching out

to me on a near daily basis. Like six days in a row at times I'll let the convo fizzle and she would initiate again the next day. Mostly just friendly but definitely some flirting involved. Stuff you would think was over the line but generally harmless, her telling me how good she looks in her swimsuit, for example. Then it happens. My wife is going out of town for a close friend's bachelorette party and I make sure to casually slide it into our conversation that she will be gone the coming weekend. Friday rolls around and she texts me first thing in the morning, we talk about dinner the other night and I say it would be nice to see

her again and she asks if I'd like to grab a drink. I say yes. When the evening rolls around I suggest a place to meet up and she makes excuses saying she's not dressed to go out and asks if we can just hang out in the pool slash communal area at my apartment. I tell her I'm sipping some tequila on my patio and she's welcome to come over. We talk late into the night about anything and everything. She eventually moves over to sit next to me and we touch and hold hands. I go in to kiss her and she pulls away. No big deal, I shrug it off, we continue the night and she eventually leaves. She then comes over again the following night and we do kiss.

There's some heavy petting but no clothes come off and she eventually leaves. We start texting and the conversation gets very sexual. Talking about what we want to do with slash to each other ECT. She talks about coming back over but doesn't. From there it's basically game on. Our conversations get much more romantic. She confesses that she isn't in love with her husband anymore, he's an alcoholic and she separated from him a couple years before for six months before going back and feels trapped. We start having sex regularly.

In my car, in her car, at my apartment, hotel bar bathroom, pool changing room, out in the woods on a hike, you name it. It's amazing sex. We have a very strong chemistry and probably the taboo nature just makes it more exciting. I get caught. One day I carelessly leave my laptop open and leave to go watch football with some friends. My wife, already having reason to. Be suspicious of U.S. gets into my eye message and sees everything. Talk of us having sex, being in love, wishing we were together, dirty pictures, everything.

She confronts her, cusses her out, threatens to tell her husband, but doesn't. She says it won't make her feel any better to fuck her whole life up. We go no contact. That lasts less than a week and and then we're right back at it. Now I'm in this really dumb limbo where I'm honestly being a P-O-S to both of them. Obviously towards my wife and I'm also telling my girlfriend that I plan to be with her when the timing is right even though I know that will never happen. I'm very much in love with her but don't want to be with someone who has kids, can't have any more, complications when having the twins,

and is tied to this area where I won't be able to afford to own a home any time soon. I still love my wife, but we have our own issues and I resent her for various reasons that I won't get into, in short, it feels like she completely quit trying in all aspects of life the moment we got married. Women have always been my vice if I'm being honest with myself. They like me for some reason and it's probably what I use as a distraction from my deeper issues. I had infidelity issues in the past and my wife was happy to move away from the KC area to get away from some of the mistakes I had made there, but nothing in the past was nearly this deep. So now I'm just enjoying things for now while they're fine waiting for this to inevitably

completely blow up in my face in nuclear fashion. I am a mother of three. My husband, Claude 60M, and I both come from old money. Our families are very wealthy and have been for over a century. We had a lot in common when we first met in our teens. Each of us was an only child, and each of us kind of found the culture of our lives to be embarrassing and snobby. We didn't end up dating until our early 20s, but it was very much for love. Our parents all passed over a 10-year span when we were in our late 20s to mid-30s. As the only heirs to the estates of two prominent families, we became very, very wealthy with the combined inheritance. In addition, my husband has done very well managing the estates, investments, and businesses of our families

for the last 30 years. Not being one to just sit around drinking tea and looking pretty, I got into the real estate market, which I admit is something that is easier to do when you already have tons of disposable cash on hand. I now own numerous properties on the West coast that turn nice profits. We instilled a lot of value towards hard work into our three children. We both agreed before we got married was, just because we are rich, doesn't mean we should be useless. Obviously, just like we were, our children were extremely privileged. However, we tried to mirror a typical childhood experience. They had chores, they were required to get jobs once they were teens. Yes, they had new expensive cars, yes they went to top private schools, but we did

our best to make sure they didn't turn out like our friends. I put that in quotes because Claude and I always air-quoted when we said friends while growing up. So many of them were beyond helpless. It was honestly sad, and needless to say many have gone from helpless to worthless as adults. Our oldest son Byron, 33M, has become a successful lawyer. He married his longtime girlfriend Ming about four years ago. Our middle child was our only daughter, Darcy, 30F, she is still single and has gone into a number of philanthropies that we are very proud of. Our youngest son, Damien 27M, is my concern in writing this. Seven years ago he met his now wife, Kylie, 27F, while he was in college.

They have provided us our only grandchild, grand, 2M. Unlike our older children that chose to go to traditional Ivy League schools, he elected to go to San Diego State University. This was fine, it was his choice. He has always been his own person. He was different from the other two. They always seem to embrace the expectations. Always very much fit the mold you expect of people born into this kind of life. Damien did not.

He was quieter, yet sure of himself. I remember when he was very young he rarely ever cried for any reason. As he grew up it seemed like he was often the center of attention, yet he needed none of that. I often thought he could be just as happy in a room of his ten closest friends or completely alone for a week. Damien went into a tech field and now works as a software developer. He obviously wants for nothing with millions in his trust, but I find it refreshing that he lives the way he chooses to, and not by the degree someone of his status is expected. Kylie, for being a regular girl, has fit in very well with our family. I've always said Damien

really lucked out with her. She is the most charming, kind woman. She always seems absolutely obsessed with Damien. They have so many common interests, and she is beautiful on top of that. Kylie never disappoints when with the family either. She takes a real interest in all of us and can't wait to dive into anything we have planned. She has been a very quick study at society events too, always impressing, which I know can be hard when you don't grow up in it.

Our grandson is just the sweetest little boy and I love him so much. This is also what makes the news I received so hurtful. I recently had a friend visit me that I had not seen in person in a few years. It was really nice catching up, because the last time I saw her was nearly four years ago when she got divorced from her husband after 34 years of marriage. We didn't really talk about what happened then, but I do know that she had discovered her husband was a frequent customer of an escort service. During her visit with me we mostly just got caught up on our current lives, but towards

the end of the visit the conversation did turn towards her ex-husband. There was definitely some lingering bitterness there. As she talked it turned to sadness. She expressed it's been really hard on her because she knows she never looked like the girls he was paying for. She had even found some of their pictures on her ex-husband's computer. She pulled her phone out, a few tears forming, and opened her photos. They were like advertisements. These were what the escort agency sent for clients to choose from.

She scrolled through a few holding the phone so I could see. I didn't really want to see. As she was venting, saying, how was I supposed to compete with that? I was mostly trying to console my friend, one because I knew this had to be hard, but also because I knew she would be embarrassed having shown so much emotion. That was until I noticed the tattoo. I stopped my friend scrolling, there were only three or four pictures she had gone through. The girl in this picture looked exactly like Kylie, well at least like she looked when she was

20 to 21 years old. That would have been around the time her and Damien met, maybe their first year of dating. I could have rationalized the similar appearance. Sometimes people just look a lot alike. However, in the picture, you could just barely see part of the same bobbosaur tattoo that Kylie has on her inner bicep. It has to be her, I'm sure of it. I don't want to ruin my son's marriage. Maybe he knows about this part of her past.

I won't judge, I swore a long time ago that I wouldn't become one of those people. It's just that this photo could very well be from when they were dating, and I feel my son has a right to know. I don't want him to get hurt if something comes out later. I think the best course is for me to do a little private detective work and figure out if this is all in the past, how far in the past, and to what extent. Then I can go to my son with all the informati. I have found out so much disturbing information since I started digging into my son's marriage. I feel guilty for doing so, but what started out as just trying to confirm whether or not my daughter-in-law was an escort, has taken on a life of its own. I hired a private investigator to figure out if Kylie was still performing this kind of work. I had him follow her for two weeks and he reported back that she did not meet with any other

men or women during that span of time, other than a girlfriend she had lunch with two or three times. There was nothing there yet the PI had told me he expected there was going to be. The very first night after I hired him, he went to scope out their house. He said he was just making observations when he saw Kylie come out the door with Brand. She got into her car and drove to a very nice townhouse in an affluent part of the city. The P.I. told me he was sure she was there to meet some older married man. He has seen this kind of thing play out this way numerous times. He watched for two days as Kileen Grand stayed at this

place. No one else came or went from the residence except the two of them. They went to a park and played on the playground, and went to get food twice. He said he was sure no one else was there. In the two weeks he observed her, eight of the nights she stayed at this townhouse, and she spent all of each Monday there. I decided to look into this residence and discovered Kylie owns this place. It is her place, in her name alone. This has me somewhat alarmed as I am wondering if Damian and Kylie are having some sort of marital problems. I have doubts on that though as it appears Kylie bought this place four years ago, one year after they got married and two years before they had grand. Which leads me to my next glaring red flag. They are not legally married.

They had a wedding, I was there. It was a big thing. expensive wedding. They signed the standard pre-up beforehand. The only thing that was different was instead of the family lawyer handling it, Damien hired a friend of his from high school. He was a young practicing attorney in Damien said it would be a big boon to his good friend if he got to handle a high-end client, so we didn't fight him on it. I did have our people take a look at the pre-up, and they said it was pretty standard.

How are they not married? My PI said it looks like they just never filed the paperwork. If they didn't want to be married that was fine, we are not. a religious family. No one would have judged, no one that mattered anyway. Why all this secrecy? That only fueled my desire to get to the bottom of this more. I hired some people that are good at finding things. It's not the first time I've done so in my lifetime, and I have the means. It may not be exactly legal, but the people I employ are very discreet and very professional. They were able to obtain Damien's financial records. I obviously had the ones that related

to the estate, but they got his personal records as well as Kylie's taxes and income statements. Her taxes indicate that she made around $400,000 each of the last three years. She is a stay-at-home mom. Her tax statement lists her as a self-employed interior designer. I have never heard her mention being an interior designer. Also, within the records, there were three large money transfers over the last six years. Two for $750K, and one for $500K. They go from his trust, to their joint account, to Kylie's personal account. With all of this I was suspicious enough to bring it to my husband Claude's attention. He has always been level-headed and understanding. I was very surprised when he told me to just drop it and stay out of their

business. He even had a bit of a sharp tone when he told me this that caught me off guard. This got under my skin a bit and I bit back. Eventually he said to me, just stop. You don't know everything, what they do with their money is their business and what they choose to do in the privacy of their own lives is their business. They are all happy and so are we, there is no reason to rock the boat. I admit I got a little bit irrational here, as I knew he was hiding something from me. We fought a little bit more about it and I walked away from him. Upset I made a rash decision and drove over to Damien and Kylie's home intent on confronting

them. They have a nice big house but nothing over the top. I let myself in the side door, which was a mistake. They didn't hear me come in and when I walked into the living area I saw Kylie cleaning the house, completely naked. Damien was sitting on the couch watching her, and, enjoying the show. I screamed, oh my God. They both freaked out as well. Damien quickly tried to cover up, and Kylie turned to head out the room, but before doing so, in a panicked voice asked Damian, should I cover up? Which he quickly replied, yes, please do so, baby, Damian popped up rightfully

agitated with me. He was heated until Kylie came back out in a robe. She smoothed everything over, even made a little joke about getting a sign that says, role play in progress, to hang on the door. I didn't say anything about what I learned. I was far too embarrassed. It was hours later when the whole scene began to cause me some suspicion. I don't care if they are being kinky. I may be 57, but I've done my share of kinky, and still do sometimes,

so that is what it is. I just wish I hadn't walked in on it. What bothers me is what she said after I walked in. Why did she ask him if she could cover up? up. That seems obvious. What kind of dynamic do they have that she would need to ask in that situation? All of this has me going back and forth between what my husband said and what I feel I need to do. I tried to get it out of him again, but he said, Damien trusted him with this, and he asked me not to share it with you, to spare your feelings. I know Darcy has done the same with you

over the years, especially when she was in high school and college. I never held that against you or asked you to betray her trust. I ask that you respect and trust me when it comes to this matter. I will do that, I will not press him, but that does not mean that I will not press our son for the truth. Part 3. It took a couple weeks to actually get my son Damien alone and ask him what was going on with him and his wife.

My husband was right. I should have just left it alone. It took some poking, it took me showing all the evidence I had acquired. Initially Damien thought that his father Claude had let it slip. I assured him that was not the case. Quite the opposite, actually. Eventually he told me everything. Kylie is not a former escort.

When he told me that I felt this relief wash over me, it was very short-lived. She is a current escort. She is his escort. Their entire relationship is just a business transaction. He pays her $177.15 an hour. The 500K transfer was a wedding bonus. Grand was what Damien bought for the $750,000 three years ago.

They sat down and negotiated the price of producing a grandchild. Damien wants a second child which is what the most recent $750,000 is for. I'm sure I had the dumbest look on my face while he was telling me all this. I can't wrap my head around it, it's absolutely insane. It all makes sense, though. Her income and tax filings. The townhouse she owns. The fact that she spends less than half,

half the nights at their home. She's off the clock. I asked so many questions about their whole dynamic and Damien was surprisingly forthcoming. If she is there with him or at his house, she is on the clock. If she is doing anything with any part of the extended family, she is on the clock. Basically any time she is pretending to be a member of our family she is on the clock. She gets to keep any gift she receives from anyone. Damien will keep their house as if they all live their full time. Basically food she likes will be on hand, she will have hygiene products there, etc. During the time she is on the clock she is available to him at any time. They make a two-week schedule of when she will stay overnight. If he wants to change this and have her stay

overnight on an unplanned evening he can request this but she has the option of refusal. This is just the regular everyday stuff, vacations, family gatherings, and other special events are all assumed time in which Kylie will attend unless they are on unreasonably short-term. notice. When it comes to Grand, they both consider him their child and love him. They look at it like it's co-parenting. She has primary custody and is with him almost full time. They do employ a nanny as well for when they are both busy or Kylie needs a break. Damien assures me she sees Grand as her child and will never give up custody of him. I strangely believe this as everything I have ever seen is that she is a wonderful mother. I asked what will happen if their arrangement ends.

Damien said, then we will continue on similar to amicably divorced parents who maintain a friendship. Neither of us wants him to be without both of his parents. There was so much more to it, I didn't get too much in the personal part because it was weird for both of us. He did answer the billion-dollar question. Why? It all started during his junior year of college.

Damien was always popular. He keeps to himself, but when you're rich and handsome you will attract attention. He told me he always dated, contrary to what he was. everyone thinks about him, he does want to be with someone special. He told me every time he had a girlfriend, it would always come back to what he could give them. Every time he began to sense they were after something else. Which I know when you have the wealth that we do you always attract this type of person. Then, a friend put him on to the escort service. They were very discreet. That is how he met Kylie. Kylie apparently offered something called a girlfriend experience. I guess normally there are a lot of rules

surrounding what you can and can't do with an escort. When you pay for the girlfriend experience, you get the treatment a regular boyfriend might get. I kind of regret asking what that meant, but essentially unprotected sex, kissing, deep conversations, etc. I did ask if he got tested, and he told me they both did before starting that initial arrangement. After about a month of this Damien said he was really enjoying their relationship. He offered her the deal, which was to make the girlfriend experience a full-time job. He agreed to the term of $100 an hour back then, that would increase each year that they kept the arrangement going.

He would provide for all necessities and accommodations during their time together. She would be available as much as possible and accompany him to family functions, work events, etc. He told me she is very professional and puts in the effort to learn how to interact with our socio-economic class. When I asked about the major life events, he just told me he wanted to get married and have kids, she was willing to do this for the appropriate price. He knows they arent legally married, but he got to have the wedding he always wanted, and said it was nice because for once he got to be the first kid to reach a milestone.

He likes their relationship. Damien said, it's amazing, everyone gets what they want. I got the marriage I always wanted without all the drama and turmoil that comes with it. She is the perfect partner every hour of every day. She has been a part of our lives for seven years. I just can't believe this whole time it was just a job. I am heading out now to have a real conversation with Kylie about all of this. My son made her aware of my knowledge in this matter.

I'm hoping to see the real Kylie during this conversation and not just the perfect daughter-in-law part that she plays. Part 4. I met with Kylie recently, and I suppose I feel better about the whole situation. Not a lot better, but it is what it is. I took her out to eat at a very nice bistro in the city. The nanny watched Grand. I didn't even know where to start, which is what I said to her.

She said, you can start wherever you want, Jerry. Damien is paying me for this and has instructed me to answer anything you ask 100% truthfully. That gave me a gross feeling, like we were doing an interrogation or a business deal. I asked her, do you love my son? Do you even like him? Is it all just business, because I'm having a really hard time coming to terms with the idea that it's all business between you two? Kylie answered, I genuinely do like him, he is a sweet guy, and funny. oddly respectful of me even after seven years.

Our agreement allows him to, like, do what he wants, but he always asks how I'm doing. Like he wants me to be comfortable, so that's nice. I felt really bad talking about their sex life, that was just weird, but at the same time proud that my son still believed in boundaries and consent. It was a strange moment. She continued on, I still keep my distance, because it's like a business transaction. He pays me to be what he wants, and I provide that. I don't want to get too attached, I like, make sure to keep some distance.

That's one of the reasons I have my own place, he offered years ago to cover an apartment for me when I wasn't at work. I said no, because that's still like, his place. The townhouse is mine, so there are no emotions, it's just co-workers. Kylie, no, although that might be a good way of putting it. More like close work friends. He wants the girlfriend experience, but without any of the bad parts. I give him that, which sometimes. means I like, make myself emotionally vulnerable.

And it is nice when he comforts me. He shares his thoughts and feelings with me too. I do do my best to empathize and like, help him with them. We almost always cuddle after sex, and I like that, it is nice. But, what do you want for yourself, don't you want to find love, and your own life? Is that woman we met actually your own mother, or was that some actress or something? You have made a fortune already, you don't have to keep doing this, why don't you find your own happiness. Kylie, I am happy, I'm thankful for everything. No, I like won't, keep doing this

forever. But it's been good so far. My mother was a single mom who did everything she could to take care of me, I don't have any siblings, my bio dad disappeared when I was like months old. Yes, that is my mom, and she knows everything. She thinks Damien is great and keeps hoping to hear we are going for real, I interrupted, and she is okay with all of this. Kylie, she doesn't like, like it, but also understands. When I was young, she did what she could to support us. I didn't know it then, but we were really poor. When I was 11 I saw my mom doing something I wasn't supposed to see.

I didn't bring it up until I was 15 and she didn't like, freak out or anything, she just told me the truth. She webcam to make ends meet. She would get up at 6 every day and help me get ready, go to her regular job, come home and take care of me, go to bed and sleep when I did for two or three hours, get up and webcam for midnight until two or three in the morning, go back to bed and sleep until six then do it all over again. She did that for years. When I graduated high school, I took loans and went to college. It was really hard, I had no money. I saw an ad promising $1,500 to $2,000 for three hours of

work. I looked into it and it was for adult film. I ended up doing it, and they ripped me off. I was handed an envelope with $200 in it, and they just left. I looked over the contract and felt so stupid, it said, up to $1,500, in compensation. I got this uneasy look on my face and said, There's a film of you out there. Kylie said in a sad tone, yes, I haven't ever found it online. I go looking for it sometimes, but I'm sure it's out there somewhere. I used a fake name and didn't have my tattoos yet, plus I was barely 18 then and probably looked even younger. They were a small sleazy studio, I doubt they had many people.

people watching their stuff. I'm sorry, I'm really ashamed of that. She got a little teary-eyed at that, so I took her hand and told her it was okay, she didn't have to tell me anything she didn't want to. She shook her head and continued, no, it's fine, I felt really bad afterwards and was still struggling financially. I had a friend who had put me on with the escort agency. She was doing it and knew I could use the money. The agency was really impressive. It ran like a legit business and was really discreet. I only had two clients before I met Damien. They were both way older, and it was kind of gross, but the money was good. Damien was so different, first off he was my age, and secondly, he was looking for more than just a quick fuck. Oh my God, I'm sorry I didn't mean to be like,

so, it's okay, go ahead. Kylie, well, he liked me, and I felt safer with him, so I offered the girlfriend experience. He really liked the sound of that. After a month of just doing that a night here and he like, made his move. She said that with a laugh. He offered me a deal I couldn't even believe, basically being his paid full-time girlfriend. Did you keep seeing other clients? Kylie, oh no, from the moment Damien hired me the first time, I like, have been his exclusively. He was booking me three to four times a week early on, mostly for that like, housekeeping fantasy of his, oh my God, sorry T.M. She must have noticed me wince, it's okay, and what, the rest is history. Kylie, yeah pretty much, I am sorry for all this, neither of us meant to hurt anyone, I know

finding out about the wedding in the relationship and like everything, has to be a lot. Trying to sound as reassuring as possible, I said, it is, but I am trying to have an open mind here. Part of me wants to lash out, but I don't think that would help anything. However, you never answered my question. What do you want for your life? Kylie, I will probably only do this for a few more years. I would like to meet someone to grow old with.

I do not date, I stay faithful to our arrangement. I don't know what the future holds for Damien and I. We will always be in each other's lives because of Grand, but I don't know if you will ever want more than what he has now. That is fair, I won't give my opinion because I think I have butted myself into your lives enough. Is there anything else you would like to get off your chest before we call it a day? Kylie paused for a moment and said, I'm not really a horse person, I like, didn't know anything about them until Damien told me you liked horses.

I studied, because I'm like, supposed to make all of you like me. I do enjoy it when you take me to those shows, though, that's real. I had a bemused smirk upon my face and she continued on, I really dislike onions, and your whole family has onions in everything. I don't bring this up because I'm supposed to be pleasant all the time, but I really, really don't like onions. I made a mental note of this. Finally, I said, anything else?

I assumed that would be it, or maybe one more silly thing. She took a deep breath and said, Yes, I'm pregnant, epilogue, very unconventional beginning, but I guess in the end it's what you make of it. It definitely isn't a traditional love story. It was a little weird the first time she wasn't just pleasant and accommodating to everyone,

but I appreciated the authentic Kylie anyway. I mean it's hard to feel negatively towards a woman who has given you four amazing grandkids. I like to think I had something to do in making this possible, but maybe I'm just being arrogant. After Simon was born Damien asked her, if they could try for real. She said yes, and moved exclusively into her townhouse.

They dated for almost a full year before actually getting legally married and moving back in together. There was not a second wedding or anything just filing the paperwork. We have never let anyone else know the truth about how their relationship started and never will, not even Damien's siblings. Even if they found out I would never let them say one word negative to either of them, especially since Byron is now divorced and Darcy is still single ten years later. I feel like when those are your circumstances you don't really have the right to judge somebody

else's relationship. There hasn't been one bit of serious drama in that time. Damien got used to Kylie speaking her mind pretty quickly and realized a great relationship has both good and bad. He even admitted to his father, who told me, that he didn't realize all the good things he was missing out on when he was just paying for his version of an ideal partner. Little Cammy, who is five now, is my little horse girl. The boys are coming into their own more and more each time I see them.

Kylie just had their fourth, another boy they named Sander, six months ago. Honestly, through it all, the biggest adjustment was scaling back on the onions. I need to know if I am overreacting. This situation was already crazy. I'll give a quick TLDR, but it's an unbelievable story. I, Emily 35F, have been married to my husband Walt for six years. We have two kids, Paul 10M and Brian V. 5M. 11 years ago when Walt and I were engaged he went missing during a vacation trip to Thailand.

He was missing for nearly five years, and told us all he had been in a Cambodian prison that whole time. I found out right after he left for the trip I was pregnant with Paul. I became extremely close with his family during this time. I also met and fell in love with a man named Kevin, who I was engaged to. When Walt returned, I found myself torn between picking up where we left off and continuing with Kevin. I chose to give Walt and I a chance. We got married a week later and I was pregnant with Brian in less than a year. I thought things had been fine in our relationship. We loved each other, and despite him being a workaholic, we were mostly happy. I have never been one to indulge myself with a professional massage. I like having my shoulders

or feet rubbed by Walt. It's just to me a luxury expense and I haven't ever been willing to go. Walt's been a little bit more distant lately and I have been feeling a little stressed with work. I have this co-worker who has been pushing me, saying the place she goes is amazing. It doesn't matter who you get there all good, and to just go. I did just that. I walked in and asked if they had any availability. The guy at the desk said they did and took down some information. He said it would just be like five to ten minutes.

That's when I noticed the small bulletin behind the desk had three pictures from the security camera and a note above that said, permanent ban. I did a double take and swore that the one guy looks just like Walt. I'm staring at this picture when the front desk attendant asks if something's wrong. I tell him, I think I know that guy in the picture, how do you get on a banned list? He says, oh, it's our owner's policy if anyone asks for a happy ending. I was aghast at that moment, people do that. He replied, yeah, not very often, it's rare, but it does happen, and sadly it seems to always happen to the same person. He then apologized. He then apologized. for over-sharing, and I told him not to worry about it. He said Lisa was ready for me.

She was standing at the entrance of the hall, she was a maybe five feet one inch and 110-pound Asian-American woman. I just had a feeling this was the massage therapist that always got these creeps. We went back and I enjoyed the massage with some light, small talk. Her accent was totally Midwestern, this was a woman who grew up here, and probably several generations before had as well. I found out she had worked at this particular place for three. three years. As we finished, I couldn't help myself and I had to know, so I just came with the truth, this is very hard to say, but I noticed the list of band guys, one of them is my husband. Were you by chance his massage therapist? She looked at me with genuine concerns as my eyes filled

and said, I had to be because all three guys were my clients, which one was he? I said, the one in the orange shirt. She said, oh, yes, I'm very sorry. I began to cry, and said, no, I'm sorry, I'm so embarrassed, and so sorry, I can't believe he did that to you. Did he just outright ask? She said, this is going to be hard to hear, but you need to know the truth if that's your husband. I brought him into the room same as you and left while he got ready. When I knocked he said he was ready, but when I walked in he was laying face up, fully erect and holding some amount of cash.

I immediately left the room and called for Jake our front desk guy. He escorted the man out. I wanted to throw up. I composed myself and apologized again. I ended giving her like a $100 tip. I went straight home and began prepping to leave. Then this sudden wave of calm hit me, and I realized I needed to know how far this went. I did my best to play normal.

When he finally got home from work, I just treated it like a normal night. When he went to bed, I used the opportunity to go through his phone. Texts were clean, no Snapchat, WhatsApp, etc. I clicked on his Reddit. There were his four posts from when he came back home from his imprisonment. I had seen these before. I was about to give up when I noticed I could switch between accounts. I was disgusted by what I found.

He was joined to all Asian women fetish subs and massage subs. The chats were worse. As I read through them most were just faceless women, probably men pretending actually, that he was sexting with. But there was one that he was definitely seeing. There were details of meetups, and how much he would be. pay. What he wanted her to wear or do. He was paying a sex worker for happy-ending massages. He kept referring to her as sock, a quick Google search told me this was a common Cambodian name, probably wasn't really her name, but he was paying for the fantasy. There was another conversation

on there, which as I read seemed very familiar. That's when I realized it was Jorge on the other end. They were both covering for each other for years through various affairs. As I scrolled through their long conversation history, I came across the most knife-twisting part. They have been just talking bullshit like any other time and Walt was telling him about his upcoming appointment. Jorge says, I bet you wish you could have just stayed in Cambodia, not have to do all this shit. Walt replies, fuck yeah, but what are you gonna do I got deported, LOL. Horhe follows, while you were cheating on her too, I'm surprised she didn't turn you in the first time she caught you. Walt, yeah, she was still holding out hope until the second time. It was all fake.

It was lies, he was never in prison. He left me. I slept on the couch that night and told him I just fell asleep out there. The next day I asked Jorge to come meet me on the pretense of needing help with something. When he arrived, I showed him the evidence I had of his affair, and told him it was going to his whole family if he didn't tell me the whole truth right now. Jorge laid it all out to me. Walt has been obsessed with Asian porn since high school.

Notably happy ending massage fantasy. When we started together it was because I had. had the right optics. Jorge said Walt does love me as his wife, he just has this addiction. I told him to stop with that shit, and let me know about Cambodia. Prior to his trip, Walt had been engaging in an online affair with a Cambodian woman for two years. That means it started after we were together. Our bachelor trip was his chance to meet up with her in person. What I didn't know is he had gotten his passport and visas for both Thailand and Cambodia. Jorge didn't want to go to Cambodia and Walt had only ever mentioned a desire to visit Thailand so that became their cover.

They arrived the first morning and took a week's worth of selfies together around the resort. At that point Walt left and went to meet this woman in Cambodia. He was there for three days with her, when he decided he was in love. She was from a well-enough-off family. He wanted more. So he and Jorge concocted his disappearance. At first he was only going to stay for the first 30 days then show back up. up, but when it was done he got his visa extended another 30 days. He couldn't extend it past

that so he just didn't. He hid there with her. However, being the shitty person he is, he began cheating on her as well. She caught him and kept him around because he was telling her he would help her immigrate to the States as his wife. After four and half years she caught him again, and not only dumped him but reported him and he got deported. He had to come clean to his parents who I had grown close to. They feared losing contact with their grandson and and chose to hide all of this from me. Which was a betrayal so hard to hear after being in each other's lives for so long. They also told Walt to leave me alone, but at the same time wanted him to have a relationship

with our son, WTF, I don't how they thought those two things wouldn't conflict. He ignored that and made the effort to rekindle our relationship. When he had one, his dad made him marry me right away and told him to stop all of his terrible behaviors. He was hoping this would straighten Walt out now that he had his fun. Instead, all that happened was I threw away the best guy in the world for a workaholic porn addict with a creepy fetish. I feel so stupid. I headed home, I knew Jorge would inform Walt.

I went ahead and sent Jorge's whole family the evidence of his infidelity. I then sent Walt's out to everyone I knew as well. By time Walt came home, which was way earlier than he ever had, he was fuming and getting bombarded with messages. I already had my car loaded with mine and kids' things. My best friend had taken the kids earlier. Walt came at me with attitude and I was ready to fight. He switched approaches and I tried to gaslight me and explain.

I wasn't having it. I told him I knew about everything, Cambodia, the porn, the sex worker. He told me she's not a sex worker just a college student in need of extra money, I screamed back at him, that's fucking worse, now you're just taking advantage of a young girl in need. He suddenly shut up after that, and I told him he could expect divorce pay and nothing else. Then I left. It's been a few weeks.

I feel like an idiot for not figuring this out. I'm starting to notice the signs I overlooked and that I was keeping myself blind to them. The long hours at work even though we don't need it, the starting of his own bank account from our joint account, the fact he signs up or agrees to every business trip or conference. It was just his way of feeding his depravity. The worst part is he came back for me, he could have came back and left me alone. alone. I could have married Kevin, and now knowing what I gave him up for, I hate myself even more. Now, where I am getting some push that I'm overreacting. I am pushing for 100% custody

and no visitation for him in the interim. I have evidence of porn addiction, work addiction, and visiting sex workers. I am also going 100% no contact with his parents. A few people, not many, are saying I should not try to cut the father and grandparents out of my kids' lives. I however disagree and feel Walt is a danger to them given his self-destructive and manipulative behavior. His parents will only get the time he gets and at this point, I'm at best offering weekly supervised visits. Otherwise, they are not to be in my life to any degree. What do you all think? Is this too much? Should I let them be in my kids' lives, he is a good father when he's there, and they are great-grandparents, but I can't get over the fact it's all built on lies

and manipulation. Part 2, so last year something unexpected happened. I was in a bitter custody dispute with my lying cheating ex-husband. Every since I found out about his cheating three years earlier he had been making my life hell. The divorce took forever, he snowballed the price of our house, and then he fought every custody decision along the way. The unexpected thing was my ex-fiancee, Kevin, figured out that my ex-husband was bragging about this on Reddit. out of nowhere he emailed me the evidence and it helped tremendously in court. I was really excited when I first heard from Kevin, and tried to engage with him on a personal level. He didn't want that, and I understood, I hurt him more than he ever deserved.

I wish I could go back and do it all over again because believe me hindsight is 20-20th's and this was probably the biggest mistake of my life. Although I attempted to reach him, he blocked me. When he did that I took the hint and let it go. However, I can't stop thinking about him. I just feel like he wouldn't have helped me like that if he didn't still have some sort of feelings for me. He very well could have just turned the other cheek. I'm really thinking about reaching out to him. I don't know what his relationship status is, but I think it's worth a shot. I honestly never thought I would hear from him again. So it almost feels like fate that he was the one to save me. I've been checking around the different platforms and it seems he still doesn't

do social media. I know his email, so I'm thinking about creating a new one. so I can message him. If he tells me he's married or seeing someone I'll let this go, but at this point I feel like I need to try. I'm still kicking myself for letting him go all those years ago. He was really the most wonderful man and a great dad to my son. This has to be my chance at make things right, don't you think? Would you go for it? I think I'm going to go for it. I just want to feel safe again. Look, I'm not even sure what I expect from writing this. I guess I just need to unload everything, get it all out of my system. Because this situation I'm stuck in, it's heavy, and it's been weighing on me for a long time now. Advice is welcome, sure, but honestly, I don't

think there's much anyone could say that would make this nightmare any easier. It's one of those things you have to live through to really understand. So, here we go. Let me rewind everything and take it back to where it started, way back in 2019. That year, I just finished my master's degree and had this bright, naive idea that I was going to start my PhD in a quiet little town and invest in a house while I was at it. Thought it was a smart move, get some property, settle down, rent it out later. It was all very adult and responsible in theory. The house? It was cute, modest. Just a few blocks from a little dive bar that ended up being my dad's favorite spot whenever he came to visit. He actually made some friends there, surprisingly quickly. One evening,

he took me down there and introduced me to just about everyone. Everyone seemed friendly enough. Told me I was lucky because the guy living next door was, apparently, the nicest neighbor on earth. Well, I did meet the guy. And sure, At first glance, he seemed, all right. A bit eccentric, but nothing too alarming. He smiled, shook my hand, and told me if I ever needed anything, I should just text him. We swapped numbers. It felt like the neighborly thing to do.

The very next day after my dad left to head back home, the weirdness began. It started with a message, he told me he'd left a surprise for me on the porch. A little gift, he said. And he was already calling me things like, sweetie, and cutie, in his texts. I brushed it off at first. Maybe he was just one of those overly friendly types. I came home to find a hand-painted food dish in my mailbox, meant for my cats. Odd, sure, but not threatening.

The pet names didn't stop. So finally, I decided to gently make it clear, I wasn't interested in anything beyond basic neighbor interaction. His response was weirdly philosophical, he rambled on about how all anyone ever needs is a friend, and that he'd be honored to be mine. After that, the gifts kept coming. The texts too. Sometimes it was an invite to go fishing, other times just updates on some random thing he thought I'd want to know. I was polite at first, telling him I was busy.

But the truth was, I didn't want to get any closer to him. Then things took a turn from awkward to terrifying. One night, I got a text from the bar manager down the street. She warned me not to open the door if my neighbor came knocking. Apparently, he'd walked into the bar with a literal hatchet, muttering about voices in his head. Said he was going to kill someone if they didn't shut up. The police were called, they took the hatchet, but they didn't arrest him. According to them, he was high on meth.

I was rattled. I mean, what the hell do you even do with that? I kept my distance. Tried to be invisible. But it didn't help. A few days later, I found a dead squirrel in my driveway. It had clearly been run over and then placed right next to my car door. Gross, and clearly intentional.

I stepped over it and drove off. When I got back later that day, it was gone. Then came a text from him, saw someone left a dead squirrel in your driveway. Don't worry, I took care of it for you, creepy. Super creepy. Then he put in an unused shotgun shell on a brick ledge of his front yard, and casually told me it was, just a warning for anyone walking between our houses. Who says that? I stopped replying to his texts entirely.

Just flat out ignored them. That's when it escalated again. Less than two weeks after going completely silent, he hurled a 50-pound flour pot at my front door. I called the cops. They suggested getting a no-contact order. Then, as if it couldn't get worse, I was watching TV one night when a notification popped up, he was trying to cast a video to my smart screen. I declined and filed another police report.

Around the same time, I went out of town for a conference. While I was gone, someone tried to break into my house. The security system scared them off, but still. It wasn't hard to guess who the suspect was. Then, bam, pandemic lockdown. Just great. Now I was stuck inside all day, living next to a stalker. Thankfully, the process to get a protection order kept moving.

Right before our court date, he sent me another long-winded text. Said he was sorry, that he knew he made me uncomfortable. Also said he noticed my hair had gotten longer and that I looked beautiful. Yeah, that didn't change my mind. I showed up to court with everything. Messages, timelines, footage, everything. The wildest part. He didn't deny anything.

He stood there and told the judge he took full responsibility, said he was getting clean and turning over a new leaf. He didn't even fight the protection order. So, in March 2020, the court granted it. For a while, things calmed down. Sort of. He was still, bizarre. But not actively threatening.

That lasted until he relapsed. I started dating someone around that time. We found another shotgun shell, same type as before, placed neatly in my flower bed. felt like a warning, maybe for my boyfriend. Either way, my partner moved in quickly. We figured it was safer that way. New Year's Eve, 2021. Middle of the night, I'm jarred awake by yelling.

I check my cameras and catch him leaning out of his window, screaming obscenities at my house. Seven straight minutes of threats and gibberish. At one point, he yells he's going to blow up his house with the gas line. I called the cops. They came, shrugged, and said, Well, technically he didn't mention your name, so it's not a violation. And just like that, they left.

At that point, I did everything I could to avoid him. I parked on the street instead of the driveway, kept my curtains closed 24-7, made sure all five of my security cameras were always working. I spent over a grand on them. My entire yard was covered. Over the following months, he got weirder. Neighbors saw him talking to people who weren't there, yelling nonsense like, I got Cheerios on my necklace.

I wish I was kidding. Then, last week happened. I was getting ready for the day and heard a voice screaming from outside, someone's going to die over this sweatshirt. I flipped on the cameras and saw him pacing behind my house in the alleyway, screaming about grabbing a shotgun and getting everyone all fired up. Called the cops. Again. They gave him a citation for, disturbing the piece, told me he's probably off his meds again.

And that was it. They left. The very next night, around 1 a.m., I woke up to the sound of hammering. Turns out he was chopping down his own privacy fence. I called in a noise complaint. Police came, told him to stop, and left. Now the fence is basically gone. Just a pathetic. three-foot barrier. That fence was the only thing that made me feel remotely safe in my backyard. And now it's nothing. I'm so tired. I'm just so done with this whole mess. I want to live in a house where I don't feel like my neighbor is plotting something awful. I want to sleep without checking the cameras every few hours. I want to stop jumping at every noise. My boyfriend and I are trying to buy a new house. But it's slow going. I'm still in my PhD program, so money is tight.

Renting isn't an option, we have four cats between us and a dog, too. No landlord wants that many animals. I'm not rehoming them, though. No way. These pets are my family. My dad's agreed to co-sign on another mortgage, and I picked up a second job to save up faster. Hopefully, in a few months, we'll be out of here. But until then, we're stuck. I don't even know what else to say. If you're still reading this, thanks. Just writing it all down helps a bit. I've left out a lot, actually. There are so many little, disturbing incidents that I didn't even get into. If I tried to list everything, this would be a novel. One last thing, though. When I was 15, I lived out in the sticks, about 20 minutes from town.

One afternoon, I was home alone when a white car pulled up in front of our mailbox. I was upstairs and could see it from my window. The driver just sat there. Didn't get out. Didn't move. Just stared for minutes. Long enough to give me chills. And then, they drove away.

It's moments like that, those eerie little instances, that stick with you. They shaped the way you react to fear. And now. After everything that's happened with this neighbor, I'm constantly in that heightened state. Constantly watching. Waiting. To be continued. All right, so picture this.

I was 15, living out in the sticks, middle of nowhere kind of place. We were about 20 minutes outside the nearest town, surrounded by trees, hills, and silence. One of those areas where you can go a whole day without seeing another soul. My house sat on a long, winding road, with barely their neighbors and a whole lot of nothing. It was a random weekday afternoon, and I was home alone. Everyone else was at work or school, and I had the place to myself. I was upstairs, hanging out in my room, probably blasting some emo music or journaling about my teenage drama, when I saw something weird through the window. A plain white car rolled up and just, stopped.

Right there. In front of our mailbox. Just idling. At first, I figured it was someone lost or maybe a delivery person. But then they didn't get out. They didn't move. They just sat there. Four minutes.

Long, creepy minutes. No action. No sign of why they were there. And it wasn't just a quick stop, it was long enough to get my heart doing that uneasy tap dance in my chest. Then, without warning, they drove off. No one got out, no packages were delivered, nothing. I tried to shake it off. Maybe a house hunter who took a wrong turn.

One of our neighbors had a for sale sign up, so maybe it was someone just checking out the area. I told myself not to worry, and for a while, I didn't. I let it slide into the background like a weird dream. A week went by, and the white car became a fuzzy memory. Until Friday night came around. That night, my boyfriend, let's call him Jason, and I went out to catch a midnight movie downtown. I've been begging my parents for weeks to let me stay out late for this premiere. They finally gave in, reluctantly, after a thousand, pretty pleases.

The plan was simple, movie ends past. one, 20-minute drive home, all good. We watched the film, had our snacks, laughed at the dumb previews, it was great. When the credits rolled, we didn't rush back to the truck. We hung around the parking lot, just soaking in the last moments before my curfew deadline hit. It was late, but the area was lit up and felt safe. That's when I saw it. Parked directly across from us, engine running, lights on, that same white car. My stomach dropped. And I mean dropped. There was a guy in the driver's seat. Late 30s maybe. Just sitting there. Staring. Hard. At us. Jason noticed too. I kept looking, thinking maybe I was imagining it.

But then the guy flicked on his brights and peeled out of the lot, nearly sides wiping us in the process. He was gone in seconds. I was completely rattled. I begged Jason to drive me home immediately. But it didn't end there. As we pulled away, we noticed a white car again, parked across the street from the theater, lights off, guys still inside. Just lurking. Watching. But thankfully, he didn't follow. We made it home safe. I was jumpy and nervous, but had no close. I was jumpy and nervous, but had no clue that this was just the beginning. I was about to step into a nightmare that would stretch over three freaking years. The encounters started picking up. More frequent. More disturbing. I never knew when or where I'd see him next. He never showed up when I was with my parents or

in a group. Only when I was alone. Or with Jason. Never anyone else. Like he knew my patterns. Like he was studying me. I didn't tell many people at first. Just Jason and my family. I was scared no one would believe me. I mean, who would? A weird white car and a guy who stares. But then my friend Rachel, who lived about five miles away, mentioned something that made the hairs on my neck stand up.

She told me about a creepy dude who showed up at her place while she and a friend were hanging out. It was a Saturday. Her dad was at work. They were just lounging, maybe watching TV, when they smelled cigarette smoke. Neither of them smoked. Rachel got up and realized the smell was coming from the back porch. She'd left a window open. When she looked out, there he was.

A man, just standing there. He turned, looked her dead in the eyes, and didn't flinch. Just stared. Like a statue. Megan, her friend, called the cops while Rachel locked the window. The man didn't run. He just smiled, finished his cigarette, and walked off like it was no big deal. Like he'd just been visiting.

The police came and found nothing but a handful of cigarette butts in the backyard, like he'd been chilling there a while. I described the man in the white car, and Rachel turned pale. That's him, she whispered. Apparently, he hadn't driven up to her house. He must have parked down the road and walked the whole mile-long driveway or cut through the woods. That meant this dude wasn't just creeping, he was planning. He knew how to avoid being seen.

He was patient. Time passed. The police were involved now, and every time something happened, I'd call them. They were sympathetic, thank God, and they always took it seriously. But this guy was a ghost. By the time they'd show up, he'd vanish into the night. We started thinking he might have a police scanner or something. He always seemed to know when we'd called.

One night, almost two years after the Rachel thing, Jason and I came home a bit early from a date. My parents weren't home, and the rule was clear, no being in the house alone with no adults. So we sat in the truck in the driveway, waiting for them to get back. My dad had said they were 20 minutes out. Not even a minute later, we saw headlights flick on from the bushes across the street. This maniac had backed into the trees across from my house and waited for us. Jason grabbed his phone, called the police. I called my dad, who went into full-speed dad mode, racing home like a bat out of hell.

The guy in the car revved his engine, flashed his lights, and then, he got out. I can't even explain how chilling it was. He walked slowly, calmly, like Michael Myers or something. No rush. No expression. Just pure, cold focus. He came right up to the passenger side, where I was sitting. He didn't try to open the door.

He didn't say a word. Just stood there. Inches away. Staring. Jason had a baseball bat in the door. back seat. He grabbed it, pulled me away from the window, ready to swing. The guy didn't even blink. He just looked at the bat, and smiled. Not a friendly smile either. A sick, twisted one. Then he turned and walked away like he just finished his job. He drove off. It felt like hours

passed, but it was barely five minutes before my dad pulled into the driveway, tires squealing. The cops never found him. It didn't stop. The guy left dead animals on our porch. He shined lights into our windows at night. One time, my older brother tried to chase him through the woods, but he vanished again, like always. We couldn't catch him. Restraining orders were pointless.

We didn't even know his name. He was a shadow with a face and a white car. The worst part. In three years, he never spoke a single word. And then one day, he was just gone. No trace. No goodbye. No clues.

He just, disappeared. I don't know if he died, got arrested, moved, or found someone new to terrorize. But it's been over ten years now, and I've never seen him again. Still, sometimes I get this feeling, like he could just show up one night. Like I'm not fully out of the woods. Your window was unlocked, that last one made me vomit in the bathroom. Because it was true. I'd left it cracked for air.

I started barricading myself in at night, chair against the door, dresser in front of the window. Slept with a hammer under my pillow. And yet, every morning, more notes. More reminders that I wasn't alone. The final straw was when I found a Polaroid in my hand. mailbox. It was a photo of me. Sleeping. Camera flash must have been off, but I was unmistakably in bed, my back to the camera, curled up like I always slept. It was taken from inside my apartment. That night, I packed a bag and went to stay with my cousin two towns over. I left the apartment

the next day, breaking the lease, losing my deposit. I didn't care. I'd rather be broke than dead. I told myself, no more creepy towns. No more random apartments. I moved back in with my parents for a while, just to get my head straight. But it turns out, the terror was portable. You know how some people believe certain people attract ghosts? Like some weird spiritual beacon? Well, I don't know if I believe in ghosts, but I do think some people attract psychos.

I think I'm one of them. Because a few months after moving back in, my dad told me he'd been seeing a man standing at the edge of our property. Always at night. Always just outside the floodlights reach. Never moving. Just standing there. Watching the house. And when he tried to go confront him.

Gone. Every time. Like he vanished into the trees. One night, my dad set up a motion camera facing the woods. Nothing happened for three nights. Then, on the fourth, we caught something. The footage showed a man stepping into frame. But here's the thing, he didn't walk into it.

He seemed to just materialize. One frame he wasn't there, the next, boom. Full body, standing dead still. No movement. No breathing. Just frozen. He looked directly into the camera. didn't blink, didn't flinch.

His face was blurry, even though everything else was in focus. Like he didn't belong in the shot. I still have that footage. I've shown it to friends, and every single one of them says the same thing, that's not normal. I started doing research. Dug into local history, crime reports, missing persons. Found nothing. But one night, buried deep in an old newspaper,

archive, I came across a story that stopped me cold. It was about a girl who went missing in the 80s. Her case was never solved. But the weird part. Her last known location was on our property. Right where the man had been seen standing. The theory was that she'd met someone through a local newspaper personals ad. That the guy had been using fake names, fake numbers, luring people out. One of the detectives said he believed the man was a serial stalker, maybe worse. Possibly responsible for multiple disappearances in the region. And guess what car neighbors reported seeing around the time she vanished? A white one.

I still don't know if it's all connected. The white car. The notes. The man outside. The date guy who mirrored me. But deep down, I think it's all part of the same twisted things. Some people meet monsters once. Others get haunted by them forever. I moved across the country two years ago. New city, new life. I got therapy. I've started to heal. But sometimes,

when the night is too quiet, I swear I still hear that soft, rhythmic clicking. Or I'll walk by my mailbox and feel like someone's just been there. I live on the sixth floor now. Deadbolt I check everything twice, even when I don't have to. Trauma doesn't let you forget. And every so often, I'll get a message on a random app. No profile picture. No name.

Just a single word, remember, I don't reply. But I do remember. I always will. End. Part 1, I, Michelle 26F, had a recent tragedy. tragedy. My parents have always been a little eccentric. They always lived as minimally dependent on society as possible. This meant well water, their own sewer receptic system, solar and propane for power, etc. They were not conspiracy theorists, as most people who live like them are,

although they did have many friends who were like that. They were living in a very old house that relied on propane for heating. Unfortunately, there was a breakdown with the water heater, and they succumb to seal poisoning in their sleep. It's been a very difficult time for me. I am technically the one who figured out they had passed. My mother messages me every single day, when I didn't get one last week I knew something was wrong and called for a welfare check. My boyfriend, while great when he can be there,

has not been available much since the day I discovered their passing. So it's been a lot of dealing with this on my own. I feel like everything is happening so quickly that I haven't had even a minute to process what's happened. I made the trip to West Virginia this past weekend. After dealing with the aspects of their cremation, I headed to the house. I stayed at a nearby hotel, and by nearby I mean a 45-minute drive away, but during the day I was getting the house in order, it was just a little too much to stay in the house overnight by myself.

My mother had saved a lot of mementos and photos. It was kind of nice going through it. I should probably give some more background on my life at this point. My parents moved back here to West Virginia when I was 20. My grandfather, who I would see one or two times a year, took care of the place for 20 years while we traveled around the country for my father's work. My father would travel back here to visit my grandpa at the beginning of December every year, but my mom and I never came with him. When I did see my grandpa he always came to us. My father made money doing doomsday prep work.

He wasn't a prepper himself, but we would travel to various places like Montana, Utah, a lot in the Rocky Mountain areas actually, and he would do construction work on bunkers, security fences, outposts. My dad knew how to do all of this stuff, he had a few other guys he could call in and help him where necessary. He always told me he got these jobs because he would do the job for cash, no paper trail, and be discreet about everything. It was not cheap for these people. We were always moving though my childhood and I was homeschooled. I was never denied access to the internet or taught crazy things. My parents actually heavily emphasized self-reliance. I later realized they believed this to an extreme degree, you'd be surprised how fast I can fix

car problems or how well I can throw knives. With that said, they did prioritize my health. I went to the doctor when necessary and was vaccinated. I'm only saying this because in my teen and adult life, whenever I tell people about my parents, and I only tell people I'm close to, they always jumped to thinking they are crazy antivacs, blow up the government-type people. And they were not. As I got older I began to ask, beg really, that I get to go to real high school. My parents caved, and we moved to Burlington, Colorado. It was a bit of an adjustment, but I loved being around people for longer than a few months

at a time. I did all the things a typical teen would do in high school, I made friends, had boyfriends, went to dances, played sports, and so on. After high school I went to the University of Colorado on a Pole Vault scholarship. After college I got a job near Boulder and met my now boyfriend. To get back to the point of this post, I noticed something rather alarming going through old pictures. My mother had a habit of backing up photos on zip drives. I was looking at photos labeled Michelle's first Thanksgiving.

This didn't set off any alarms though until I started looking through Michelle's first Christmas. I was noticeably smaller. I know pictures can look different because of angles or whatever. No, I am smaller, every angle, every picture in comparison. I also have way more hair. Yes, it had been a month, but there was no way I grew that much hair in 30 days. All the picks before Christmas are in or around this very house. Starting that Christmas, they are of my parents' camper, and the various rentals and campsites

we lived in until I got to high school going forward. Now obviously I don't remember this house at all, coming here. for the first time when I was 20. But the picks make it seem like they just moved out overnight right around Christmas and never came back. On top of that, this one folder has me pulling my hair out. Of the literally hundreds of folders on the two dozen or so zip drives. There is one password-protected locked folder. I am not tech-savvy enough to get into it, and it appears to date from the month of December 2013. I need to know what's in this folder. I've decided I'm going to overnight the zip drive to my boyfriend back in CO. He has some friends that think they may be able to,

hack into it. I guess the last thing I was to ask you all is, do I seem paranoid? Is this just grief? I feel bad questioning this, as I loved my parents very much. It just feels like something is off. I'll update in a few days if I get any news on the zip drive or if I find anything else. Part 2. Two days ago my boyfriend, Aaron 29M, sent me an email with everything that was in the protected folder. His friend was able to get into it. I am beyond disturbed. There were only three photos. One of the little girl in the Thanksgiving photos. She was dressed up in the prettiest little dress and shoes. Stuffed unicorn next to her. She appears to be asleep, although my mind is telling me it's a sadder reality than that. The second photo is of my

mother holding the child in the dress. There are tears in her eyes. The last photo was of a wooden box. It had very ornate details on the front and sides. The picture, however, is kind of far away. When it came to making out the wording on the front, I couldn't at all, but I had my suspicions. I spent the whole night looking at these photos and many others. I think this was my parents' actual biological child. I think she died, and I'm starting to worry that they took me from somewhere. At first I mulled over the possibility that I was a twin, but there are no photos with two babies.

This new revelation has me constantly wondering if this child is buried in, The Spot. The spot, is what I call this odd place on my family's land. It's kind of offset from the main house, where this old tree has grown. I never came here until I was 20, my father came back every year in early December. My mother was always somber during the time he was gone, and they would be oddly affectionate to each other when he returned, not that my parents weren't affectionate with each other, it just always seemed more upon his return for a few days. Once they moved back here, I began to notice that the spot always seemed to have flowers on it.

It would have a wreath at Christmas. I asked about it two or three years ago and they both just said it was just a reminder of the family members, yes plural, that have passed. I always just accepted that as their way of remembering their ancestors. I did something yesterday that I really struggled with internally. I dug up the spot. I feel bad, especially because of my own. what I found. I found the box. I didn't open it, I know what was inside. On the front M.Y name was carved into it. Michelle Kimberly Nolan, May 19, 2013 to December 5th, 2013. This is the

body of my parents' biological daughter. I realized I was adopted, or kidnapped, or bought. I went back to digging through my parents' house during the day, and looking at photos at night. I hadn't paid much attention to the other people in a lot of the photos. Then I took a closer look at my father's only photo from his time in the Marines. He never liked to talk about it and I never pushed. This photo is of him and one other man. I looked through the photos of 2013 and this man is in a few from that year, including Thanksgiving. He first appears in my mother's photos in 2012.

In all he only appears in ten or so pictures. Today, I made the decision to visit my grandfather. He lives in a nursing home and has Alzheimer's. I wasn't expecting much. He apparently has some moments of being lucid, but those are very few and fat between. The nurses did tell me he will occasionally speak of things that happened decades earlier. I went there hopeful to find out anything about this man. My grandfather wasn't able to say much of anything, he just kind of sat there as I talked to him.

However, when I put the picture in front of him and pointed at the man he began to nod a little. Eventually, he started to mumble, and finally get more clear, Chris. He just kept saying it over and over, Chris, Chris, Chris. I was a little shaken honestly, and I wondered if this man still lives around here. As I passed by the nurse's station on my way out, one asked me, how was Mr. Nolan today? I said, oh, as good as expected. Can I ask if you have ever seen this man, my grandpa said his name is Chris? The first nurse said no, but the second nurse who came over to look grew bright-eyed,

oh my God, I have to look, I swear that's him. She pulled her phone out and began looking something up, Oh my God, oh my God, I was right, that is Christopher Curry, I'm a huge true crime fan, I would recognize him anywhere. I was startled by that, who is he? She was more than ready to tell me everything, Christopher Curry, from the Merry Christmas Massacre, he burned his whole family alive on Christmas Eve, shot his sister a bunch of times, she actually survived if you can believe it.

Kidnapped her baby, whose body they never found. Then turned himself in. Oh my God, it's like my favorite case, he only lived like three towns from here, he should watch the Netflix documentary on him, it's called Burning Lies. I thanked her and cut the conversation short. When I got back to my hotel room I got on Netflix and searched up the documentary. I just finished watching it. It is literally the most horrible thing I've ever seen.

I cried through most of it. When they showed the picture of his sister Alicia holding her baby, I paused it. That is the same baby for my first Christmas photo in the camper. I am Ivy Rose West, I am the baby he took that night. How were my parents okay with this? They had to have known what he was going to do to those people. I get grief over the loss of their baby, but to go along with that. I feel sick, I can't even breathe.

They were so great and yet they let him do that. How? I don't know what I am going to do next, I'm retrieving their ashes tomorrow, and I am supposed to spread them on the spot. That's where they always said they wanted to be put. Now I know why. It's all so fucked up, I really wish I hadn't gone looking. Part 3, I returned to Colorado and told my boyfriend about everything I figured out.

We watched the documentary together. He remarked on how much I looked like Alicia. I hadn't even really thought about that the first time as I was so preoccupied on the baby girl. We had a few long discussions about what my next move would be. There were two things I wanted to do. Alicia West, who changed her name after the documentary 15 years ago to Alicia Curry West, now makes her living as a public speaker. She mostly travels to high schools giving speeches on honesty and adversity. I know that sounds ironic considering how this whole thing started.

I was looking on her website and she tells a very similar tale to the documentary. Her personal statement talks about how she owns her past lies and gives inspirational speeches about being honest and the potential consequences of deceit, seems appropriate. Their tagline is, from self-centered to selfless. There is also a lot about overcoming adversity. How she overcame the loss of her child and family. About recovery from her gun-shot wounds, and how she faced Chris Curry in court. It looks like she takes donations and is big on supporting victims of domestic violence. She has a whole foundation dedicated to ending family violence and the public speaking appears to be the main fundraiser.

It's all very over the top, but I guess when you go through all of that and come out other side, hard not to be. There is a full section dedicated to finding her daughter, finding me, with a reward offer, old pictures, and aged pictures, it's kind of what I look like. I took the contact information for the Finding Ivy section and sent an email to it. I included some of the photos from my parents with Chris, and photos of me from Christmas that year. I wanted her to know I was serious. That I wanted to meet and would be happy to get a DNA test. I included my phone number in the email. About six hours later I got a call and it was a Alicia herself on the other end. She was crying. Then I began to cry. My boyfriend was listening but stayed quiet. We talked and

talked. She asked me all about my life. I could tell in her tone she had a vile opinion of my parents. I can't blame her, they allowed this to happen. We agreed to do a paternity test, she said she would happily pay for it. When our call ended her assistant came on and gave me all the details I would need. I just had to submit my sample to a local lab, give them Alicia's code, and we would have immediate results. The next day I did just that and lab tech told me it was a perfect match. Alicia was my mother. I guess she had a notification set up because I got a call immediately. She sounded almost hysterical and wanted to fly me out to Chicago as soon as possible. I was already on day nine of my 10-day bereavement. I called my boss. He listened to my entire

fantastical story, and told me he couldn't give me any more bereavement but would approve PTO for as much as I had earned. I decided to take it. I had about a month's worth. I called Alicia back and said I'd be glad to come to Chicago, but I wanted to make a stop first. She asked where and I told her it may be triggering. She just said back to me, Fort Madison. I said yes, I want to confront my uncle. She asked me to wait. She wanted to talk to me about something important first. She booked me two tickets for the next day, first class to Chicago. Aaron came with me, and Alicia had a car pick us up at the airport. Her office was amazing. When Aaron and I arrived, we did all the usual pleasantries. Alicia hugged me and seemed like she

didn't want to let go. She looked incredible for someone who was 51 years old. After the introductions she asked Aaron for some girl time. We talked for hours about everything. Whole vaulting, high school, my upbringing, her family, my real father, her job, my job, and so on. It was really great to get to know her. She did have a bit of an arrogant vibe, but being a successful philanthropist I guess comes with a little bit of that. Alicia insisted that we stay at her house. It was huge.

I couldn't believe she was making this much. I asked her about it and she said it was Netflix money. The next day I awoke early and she was happy to see that I was up. She asked me to come into the office with her. She gave me a bit of tour of her operation, I met some of the people. They didn't seem as friendly slash happy as I would have expected people doing the selfless work they do. Although I guess they work with a lot of victims of domestic violence and I'm sure that takes

its toll on them. After the tour, Alicia sat me down and told me she had a business proposition for me. I was a bit surprised. She began talking about how Burning Lies had been one of the most popular documentaries in Netflix history, and that when she contacted them, letting them know we had been reunited, they were eager to do a follow-up. It would be a lot of money for both us. I think she could see the uncertainty in my eyes, because her whole tone changed.

She started talking softer, I could tell she was trying empathize with me. I asked her what this would entail. She said they'd definitely want to do an interview with the two of us together, and they'd like to film your confrontation with Chris. I was really apprehensive about this. I had no idea how I would react when I actually saw him in person. She assured me that I would be safe in every way, Aaron could be there, she would be there, whatever I needed.

She also told me it was unlikely I would get my chance any other way. Chris had denied Alicia numerous times over the years, even during the documentary. If Netflix was involved the higher-ups at the prison would make Chris do it, but without that it was unlikely I'd get an audience with him. I told her I needed to think about it. She said that was expected and to take my time. Aaron and I are both here in Alicia's house now. He's relaxing while I type this out.

He's been no help. He just tells me do what I think is best and he backs me 100%. While I appreciate that, I really just want somebody to tell me what to do right now. I am so conflicted, this is so much all at once. Two weeks ago I was Michelle Nolan and had just lost my parents in a tragic accident, now I'm Ivy West and I've got a major studio wanting to watch while I confront my mass murderer uncle. I don't know what to do, I need to know if this is the right thing to do. A big part of me wants to do this, but I'm also terrified.

Part 4. My life is so far from where it was just a few months ago. I'm about to head to the airport and board a private plane to Fort Madison, where I will come face to face with a mass murderer. They keep assuring me I'm in no danger. There are guards, he will be chained, and he has been a must. model prisoner for 25 years now. Like all that is supposed to make me feel better. So much has happened since my last post. The pressure kept up the very next morning after Alicia proposed doing the Netflix update. Alicia had a million reasons why this would be good for us,

and when she told me the estimate pay out for it, I was mind-blown. This could really set me up. I didn't last long and agreed to be part of the project. There were lawyers on the doorstep that very week and we were locked in. That's when things took a swing. Whiffed nose dive. You know when you should trust your gut, but don't, because what you're being sold or shown or promised is just too good to pass up. Well, if that was a person, it would be Alicia Curry West. Shortly after inking the Netflix deal, she came to me with a job offer. She wanted me to go on the road with her. Doing the public speaking engagements and raising funds for the foundation. She sold it to me in so many ways. We could make up for lost time,

we could really make a difference in kids' lives, we could honor my birth father, we could possibly get other TV deals, she would start me out at 100k a year, and much more. I didn't know what to say, I had been at my job for three years at this point, but that would be a huge raise. I ended up accepting, and told my boss that I wouldn't be returning. After I accepted, Alicia asked if I'd start calling her mom, and I agreed. I still had this sneaking feeling that something was off, but I ignored it. I mean I had my real mom, she was rich, and she wanted me to have the same life she had. I began going to work with her the very same day. Over the last month we have mostly been planning speaking engagements and talking about that angle we would take. The thing that bothered me was she

wanted to play up my life as really negative. It's like she wasn't lying about how I grew up, but wanted it to seem like I was abused, neglected, and mistreated. Always focusing on moving around, living in campers, denied access to society, she even wrote statements that implied physical abuse. I don't know what to think of Val and Kim anymore, but they were not evil. They treated me great and raised me the best they could. I don't want them slandered. It was after the first week of working with her that I really started to take notice that she was very self-centered. Her assistant seemed like she was always on the verge of tears and trying to anticipate Alicia's next move.

She wasn't very nice to any of the other staff members either. I tried to be friendly with them, but they all seemed to get really nervous around me. After overhearing someone talking about how the bitch denied my raise, but brought her new little pet in at three times my salary. I began to wonder how much of her company slash foundation was really dedicated to helping victims. I have a financial slash accounting background. I went to Alicia about two weeks in and asked to look at the company finances, under the

guise of trying to maximize our intake, which is weird because this is supposed to be a nonprofit. it. She agreed, which I was surprised. She had only known me a few weeks, and I could get the vibe she was trying to be a mom, but to just let me get into anything I wanted seemed naively generous. Going through the books, I felt sick, it was all just a front really. Her whole marketing was that she was out in the schools, out in the neighborhoods, preaching doing the right thing. The reality was, speaking engagements were rarely done at all. In fact, from what I can tell the dozen or so events she does at high schools and shelters a year appear to just be a marketing ploy. She makes most of her money from donations doing do-gooder,

events and dinners for rich people who want tax write-offs. I thought, okay, if this gets people more resources, more help, then I guess that's still worthwhile. I know the real world isn't all rainbows and butterflies, maybe she backed off on the speaking and did more foundation event stuff because it gets more for the victims. No, not true. As I started doing the math on the disbursements, it seems only about 9% of every dollar collected goes to actual victims. This is a foundation that brings in close to $2.5 million annually. And last year only 210,000 went to any victim's organization. I started looking deeper, the people who work here aren't getting paid anything.

She offers a pretty good starting salary, but looking through the employee records, raises are few, far between, and slim at best. The operating costs were high, with most of that being in the form of fancy events to impress her rich donors. The largest piece of the pie appeared to go to Alicia. She listed as having a salary the same as the employees. But, she lives in a company home, has three luxury company vehicles, gives herself a ridiculously high per DM for any time she's out of the office. In the past few years she has traveled for conferences, speaking engagements, and company retreats to San Francisco, Paris, Tokyo, and a number of other places. When I asked about it,

she didn't get defensive, she didn't angry, she didn't try to lie. She was proud, she bragged. She started laying it all out. Going out and taking a few for the team at a high school, always meant bigger donations at the dinners and socials. She went on and on about how to max out donations. I think she was under the impression she was teaching me something. When we talked salaries, she explained, never pay someone the minimum, they'll always leave, because they can and not lose anything. You want to get them in with a good offer, then keep them through their own necessity. You got to give them just enough to live a little, just enough to make them reconsider leaving. Then you've got them for good. Her unethical business practices aside, I asked her how

she felt about the people she was supposed to be helping. She didn't even comprehend what I meant. She truly believed she is doing everything she can for the victims, and that her foundation does everything it can for them. I asked about all the amenities she gives herself and she said, it's just her pay, she dedicates her life to helping others, she's earned all this. This woman is a total narcissist. Over the next couple weeks I did my best to contribute and be her little protege. I was so appalled by what I had learned, I knew I had to do something. I didn't really know what, but something.

That has meant weeks of playing along with Alicia. Here's a recap of things I've learned. She has had just about every form of plastic surgery, all medically necessary and covered by her company, of course. She also offered to get me new boobs, saying, You're young now, but a little enhancement never hurt. She planned a four-day company retreat to Aspen, because I'm from Colorado, and when I asked, why would we go there in the summer?

She just said to consider it a birthday present. I said my birthday was in May, she said, No, it's not, it's July 9th. I hadn't really thought about that. Her plan was Erin could join us. I said we should invite some staff as a thank you, and she laughed. saying she never brings any of them. I pointed out that I had noticed others on previous retreats in the records.

That's when she explained that she will often hire a guy she wants to fuck, her words exactly, a few days before then take him on these company retreats, then let him go when they get back. I got dealt a huge loss though on the trip. I was sleeping in this way to extravagant Airbnb. When I hear a huge commotion from the bathroom. Aaron is there in a towel, Alicia is topless holding her big face. fake boobs trying to cover her nipples. Aaron is telling me she came in there like that, the shower is clear glass.

He says she was asking him if he needed any help and to show her what he's got. Alicia is denying everything saying she was getting herself ready and came in topless by accident, and that's when Aaron came on to her, asking her to join him. I know he wasn't lying. He was so upset. It came down to an ultimatum. Him or her, I wanted so much more with him, but I couldn't let her keep doing this. I had to say goodbye to Aaron.

I still didn't know what I was going to do, but I couldn't just let her keep taking advantage of people. He left the trip, I tried to reach out, but I'm blocked. Goodbye Aaron. This ended up being a blessing, though. She now trusted me completely. I told her that we should do a PR campaign on our reunion. She loved the idea. We did this whole workup called I Am Ivy West.

I also suggested we make it legally official, that I am her daughter. She was happy to do this, her lawyers made quick work of the process. We finally got to our first filming. It was going to be three filmed parts, an interview with the both of us. Then one with us and Chris. Last a follow-up interview with us on our thoughts about facing Chris in person. The first interview was horrible. It was so much bashing of my parents, Val and Kim.

Painting them as monsters. Alicia kept speaking for me when they would come up. The narrative she was pushing was she was saving. me for my past. It was sick. Yes, they did something horrible, but they weren't horrible to me. But yet again, I had to go along with it. I keep telling myself if I want to make it all right, I have to keep going, but it's getting hard. The car is waiting for me. The next test is here. Wish me luck, and I'll update when it's over. Part 5, I know you all want to know what happened, so I'll get right to it. Alicia was in the car sent to take us to the airport. She tried to

to make upbeat conversation. I could tell she was excited. I, however, was not. This eventually got her attention and she asked me what was wrong. I played it off, said, I'm just thinking about Aaron. She replied, of sweetie, you're better off without him, he's not strong enough for women like us. That stung, but I pressed on, was my dad strong enough? She released a short laugh, not at all, although he had more backbone than I thought, he made me confess to Chris. ultimately got him killed. No, he was just a means to an end, honestly between just us, I'm not a 100% sure he was your father.

You were having an affair. I know I didn't hide my look of disgust. No, but that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy some extra fun, he traveled a lot for work, I'd treat myself to weekend getaways, sometimes things happened. I mean he's probably your father. She looked at me and noticed my expression. What did I hit a nerve? You'll learn at some point, one person isn't.

enough for anybody, not long-term, everyone does it. I just learned the truth early. Besides, it runs in the family. Chris wasn't my father's kid and everyone knew it, except Chris, why do you think I was everyone's favorite? I looked at her again even more shocked, she kept going, oh don't feel bad, my dad, he was having affairs too, it was funny because he liked the Femboys, God he was such a freaky old man. He would donate to an anti-gay because one day, then turn around and buy some 19-year-old guy the next. He was the first one to back up my aunt when she disowned Robert too. She laughed at that point.

In disbelief I continued, who's Robert? She went on, my cousin, he was like 17 at the time of the fire, he came out to my aunt just before the holidays, she disowned him on the spot, so did my grandparents. If they hadn't, I guess he would been roasted the same as the others. It actually worked out for me, because not only did I get the life insurance for Billy, but also all my parents' assets, my aunt's assets, and my grandparents. It was nearly three million. Robert, came to see me at the hospital, but I had him thrown out.

I didn't need that kind of image on top of all my other problems at the time. I looked at her and couldn't help it anymore, you were all awful. She frowned, Ivy, pulled a stick out of your ass and grow up, we all did what we had to for the family. I just looked at her and said, Michelle. She said, what? I responded, my name, is Michelle. That pissed her off, and I'm not going to lie I got to.

got a sense of satisfaction. At very least I bought myself the silent treatment for the flight. We arrived and spent the night at a nearby hotel. I got to listen to Alicia bitch about it, guess it wasn't up to the standard she was accustomed to. The next day she was done with the silent treatment, and let me know she forgave me being rude the day before. We got to the prison and they took us into the interview room. They prepped us on some of the questions, and let us know how this was going to go. I told everyone I had a request. I wanted to be. I wanted to be a question. I wanted to shake his hand. Everyone seemed confused but the producer loved the idea. It took a little convincing but the security team agreed to loosen his restraints enough to let him shake,

under the condition he would have a guard over each shoulder. I agreed. When we got into the room and were situated they brought him in. He was so unassuming. If you put him in a lineup of a 100 random men and asked someone to pick out the multi-murterer he would be one of the last picked. They chained him to his seat, leaving just enough slack in the chain for him to raise his hands up enough to shake. I walked over to him and looked him in the eye. Our hands met and it was a surreal moment. He forever altered my life, for the better. How would I have been raised by those people? I saw his eyes react, and though we said nothing, I think he sensed I had learned about who she really was. The interview began, Chris was across from us maybe 15 to 20 feet away.

The guards moved to the walls. Alicia immediately started with some very theatrical monologue about staring into the face of evil. I tired of it quickly. The producers asked so many questions of us. I was playing along, giving everyone what they wanted, when I finally noticed the tapping. Chris was tapping his leg the whole time. He was signaling me, he expected my father, my real father, would have taught me Morse code. He was right.

It took me a minute, but I realized what he was saying. Push, I was finally asked, Ivy, is there anything you want to say to Chris? I looked at my uncle and said, for the murder of Billy West, you deserve to be in here, but I want to thank you. If not for you I would have been raised by this awful person who sits beside me. Instead of the great parents I had. At that point I pushed the button on my watch and the recording of everything Alicia has said over the months began to play.

I had it organized so that the worst confessions played first, as I assumed she would quickly interrupt. She rose to her feet and squared up to me screaming, you ungrateful bitch. I stayed seated and yelled up to her, don't talk to me you cruel, psychotic, manipulative whore. This enraged her and she grabbed me by the neck. This was exactly what I wanted her to do, I jumped to my feet and forward with a hard shove. She didn't expect that and went tumbling backwards, right into the lap of my uncle Chris.

I swear I heard him say, gotcha. It was quick, I have no idea how he hid it on himself. The sharp metal shard entered Alicia's throat, and he yanked hard backwards towards him. himself. The entire right side of her throat seemed to tear out. It was one of the most disgusting things I have ever seen. There was no saving her. She bled so much and so fast. Chris just laughed, and laughed as the guards pounced on him. I was rushed into another room. I'm back in my hotel room now. Trying to make sense of everything. Wondering why I don't feel guilty. I'm sure at some point all of this will catch up with me. But for now I'll take

solace in the fact I'm not like her. I'm not anything like her. I am Michelle Kimberly Nolan, daughter of Val and Kim Nolan. Part 6. I know it's been years, but after my last update, I finally broke down. In a span of five months I had lost my parents, learned I was kidnapped, that my uncle massacred all my biological relatives, reconnected with me birth mother, moved cities, started a new job, discovered she was a psychopath, lost my boyfriend, discovered all of my biological relatives were awful people, watched my birth, mother get her throat ripped out by said uncle, and then I still had to do that damn documentary. Which got changed from one 90-minute update, to a two-part dive so they could go into

BioFamily's history and Alicia's foundation. Not much more there beyond what Alicia confessed in the car and over our time together. I started therapy immediately and continued even four years later, although it's now mostly to help me handle the pressure of running a large foundation. I inherited everything from Alicia. I decided to take it over completely. I was definitely not ready but managed to fake it till I made it. The staff helped tremendously, I think they appreciated the huge raises. My assistant no longer looks like she's trying to diffuse a bomb every day. Overall things are going very well.

I sold the company house, two of the cars, and cut back on per diem and trips. We restructured quite a bit. I mostly do speaking visits to high schools, shelters, etc. This is now the main focus of the company, although I did keep up with the gala's and for the elites, their donations just go so far, even if I hate these events. We're up to 47% of all proceeds now going to help victims of domestic abuse. We also founded the Billy West Memorial Scholarship for kids in the foster care system. I never met him, but I think he would be proud of me.

I also have no intention of ever looking deeper into my parentage. Billy and Val are my real fathers, Kim is my real mother, that is good enough for me. I know you all want to know, sadly Aaron and I never reconno. A couple months after the prison incident, I did manage to get in touch with him. I apologized for what happened and he let me explain myself. He was very sympathetic, but also told me how much it hurt. I cried a little while we talked, but I think we got a level of closure for both of us. He wasn't interested in restarting anything.

He had begun dating someone else about six weeks earlier. We remained friends on social media. He ended up marrying that girl and she is mega pregnant right now with their first child. He posts how excited he is almost every day. I'm happy for him, he deserves it. I tracked down Robert, my great-a-son, an only known biological relative who isn't in prison, dead, or just a total P-O-S. He has had a hard life being on his own since 17, but made the most of it. He's not rich, but has a good life.

He lives in California, runs his own wellness business, and has been married to his husband Orlando for 10 years. I sent them a very late wedding gift. When he said he couldn't accept so much from someone he just met, I told him to think of it as his long overdue inheritance. We still message in last year I got to meet him face to face for the first time. As for me, I enjoy the city life and have been dating David, 38M, for the last year. He is a professor in the Department of Human Genetics at the University of Chicago. He always jokes that he never thought anyone would top his crazy family, but then he met his best friend in college, Tim 36M, and thought no one would ever top Tim's crazy family, now he's met me, and says he is going to avoid all new people for the rest of his life

because he doesn't want to meet the person who can top my story, LOL. We are talking about moving in together within the next year. Anyway, that's my update. Almost forgot, Chris got another life sentence tacked on for killing Alicia, but when you're already serving eight life sentences who really cares. He went back to not allowing visitors. I may try to write him soon, I just can't figure out how to thank someone for murder. If I figure that out I'll let you all know, LOL.

Part 1. I might be an asshole here, or I might not. I know I'm being told I'm an asshole, but honestly I don't feel like I am. I feel alive for the first time in my life. I'll, Anthony 29M, start from the beginning. I have always had an extreme insecurity when it came to girls and sex. My therapist and I think it started from a traumatic experience I had when I was 14 years old. I was at the city pool. I had my very first girlfriend, that I had been dating for three weeks, watch out. It was the start of summer and everything was fine. We were there with a lot of friends, like 15, both boys and girls. I was standing on the edge of the pool, my girlfriend was standing next to me, we were talking to a group of around six, mostly girls

that were in the water. The other groups were scattered around in the same section. It seemed that for no other reason than divine intervention, everyone just kind of turned and looked in my direction. This was probably not the case, but it sure felt that way. At that moment my best friend, Ralph, came up from behind and yanked my trunks down. I gave everybody the full frontal. Now, I had just been in the pool, so there was some serious shrinkage. Needless to say, everyone erupted into laughter, including my girlfriend. I heard some jackass yell out, hey look at Tiny Tony, I pulled my shorts up quickly.

My fight slash flight slash freeze instinct had kicked and hard, and I ran out of the pool, I left my shirt behind. I remember getting on my bike out front and just peddling all the way back home. I was so humiliated. Everyone had seen, and now everyone thought I had a tiny dick, including me, in reality I am extremely average, but it took me a long time to figure that out. I spent the rest of the summer avoiding everyone. My best friend tried calling and texting several times.

I ignored every attempt. He was very apologetic, but honestly the damage had been done. My girlfriend tried contacting me too, but I never messaged her again. I swear I didn't leave the house but a few times that whole summer after this. The biggest change, however, was that I told my mom I wanted to stay with my dad, because that meant a different school district. I was starting high school that fall, and was so embarrassed by what happened, I didn't want to go back to my old school. I mean, it wasn't just my friend's group, it was a busy day at the pool, there were plenty of people there that I knew and didn't like as well. The last thing I wanted was to be known as Tiny Tony, All of High School.

Plus the way I ran out of there, I may have had tears, I can't remember, it was just so fast and so awful, honestly just one of my absolute worst memories. My parents were fine with me switching. I know my mom was hurt because it changed her from my primary address and thus where I slept most nights. I just told them it was because the school where my dad lived was bigger and newer, for note my parents only lived about 30 minutes apart so it wasn't like I was really that far from anyone. They bought it and I switched schools. I coasted through the next four years with a few friends that were also into the nerdy stuff I was. I am not a very assuming guy, it was pretty easy for me to stay under the radar. I am six feet three inches so every now and then I'd get a tall joke tossed at me but otherwise

not much. I didn't play sports and didn't really talk in class unless I had to. When I got to college, I met a girl. Her name was Jody. We were quite possibly the two most awkward fucking people to ever get together. Jody was raised in a strict religious household. She was actually homeschooled. The weirdest part was her parents had this belief that when kids turned 18 they were on their own.

She had to move out of her house. She stayed with her older brother, who had pretty much the same beliefs. So yes, I spent all four years of college dating the same awkward, sheltered, shame-raised girl. I had some college friends, she didn't have any. She was waiting for marriage, and given my insecurities I was fine with that. We did do some hand stuff, but that usually ended with her going into a guilt spiral. I came out the other end of my bachelors, and immediately decided to go for the master's degree. She did too, but transferred to a different school.

On our graduation day, which only her brother came to, but he did bring a card from her parents, she broke up with me. Her exact words were, well, thanks for being my college boyfriend, it was fun, best of luck next year in grad school. Never heard from her again. I spent the next two years in grad school and did not date. I graduated and found a top-notch job coming out. I was on the path to a solid career. I found myself a nice apartment and settled in. I was a 25-year-old virgin who had kissed exactly two girls in his lifetime. I had no real social life other than online video games. I did have this one co-worker, who was an extrovert, gross I know, ha-ha, and he was always trying to get me to

go out for drinks with him and the others. Most humans would have given up on me after the first dozen rejections, but not Vince. Anyway, don't get me wrong, I was lonely. My insecurities were just so rampant, it was better than putting myself out there. Then one day, for whatever reason, I said yes to Vince. The others from the office were shocked but excited, red flag much. I was already questioning what I had gotten myself into, especially since they took me to hooters of all places. We sat and not a moment later this very attractive early 20s waitress

came over. As the night progressed she would come over and talk slash flirt as I learned they do there to pad the tips. The guys were pressuring me to talk to her. So when she came over and started chatting us again I began asking, so how long have you worked tea? At this point I had reached for my drink, which I then dropped and spilled everywhere. As I flailed back I hit another a drink and knocked it over. Our waitress ran to grab some towels. The guys were all laughing. Another waitress came over and started cleaning up right in front of me. She was standing very close with her hand on my back. I looked at her and she smiled at me. That was how I met Brooke, 24F. Part 2. Brooke was gorgeous, smart, funny, and for some reason interested in me.

The night I spilled beer all over she gave me her number. I was never going to call, because you know, I was pretty much terrified of rejection or embarrassment. Then she came into my work one day. The waitress we had that night managed to remember where we said we were from, and after a week went by and I didn't call or text, she took the initiative. I still remember the way she came up to my desk. She was composed, and cute, and asking in a sweet way why I hadn't used my phone to call her. I stumbled over my words, and she just took my phone off the desk and called her phone.

She had my number now and said she would call me later. She called, asked what I was doing the next night. She was off work and wanted to go out with me. I agreed. We went out for dinner, I brought her some flowers, I did have one girlfriend before so I wasn't totally devoid of knowledge in this department. After dinner we went on a long walk. I went for a kiss at the end of the night, she blocked me.

I was doing my best to hide my full panic. She could see it, and before I could apologize said, I just want you to know, I prefer to take things slow, it's kind of rule for me, Do you think you could do this for me?" I said, absolutely, the slower the better, I'm good at slow, in fact, however you. She interrupted my rambling by pulling me down to her and kissing me. I called the very next day and our whirlwind romance was in full swing. Over the next four months we spent most days together getting to know one another.

We seemed to mesh in every way. She was pushing me out of my comfort zone. I was doing things and saying things I had never done before. Probably went out more times in those four months than I had in the previous ten years. On the flip side, she was always telling me how safe she felt with me, that she felt she could be at ease, be herself. I got more and more bold as time went on, and more open about my past. It was around the four-month mark when I completely clued her into the pool incident,

Jody, and my 25-year-long sexless life. She said she suspected the last part, which surprisingly kind of hurt. We never really discussed her past in detail. She let me know she had been in sexual relationships before with a few boyfriends, I was not surprised. She was perfect. I'm sure guys were always after her. It was around this time that she graduated from college. I was really proud of her.

That day we spent most of the day with her family, who I was meeting for the first time. She had a younger sister, who did say to me, you are nothing like any of her boyfriends. Look snapped at her, and her best friend Kristen said, yeah, he's not a disher bag, that's why different is sometimes better. It all kind of dissolved at that point. While I appreciated the defense and compliment, it did strike me as odd that all her previous BFs had been D-bags, but maybe that's just what they said because of bad breakups, I don't know. The next night I took Brooke out just us.

I wanted to celebrate and we had a really nice dinner. I was going to take her out dancing, but she said she wanted to go back to my place. I kind of knew what was about to happen. I was really excited and really nervous. When we started, I was at first relieved because she simply came out of my bathroom with no clothes on. I had been really worried that the thing in movies where two people stare at each other while slowly undressing was real, luckily it's not, but for real WTF is that about, I mean who

does that? She was pressed up against me asking if I was ready. I was still dressed at this point and said, yes, let me hit the light in aisle. She cut me off, why would you get the light? I looked at her nervously. And she didn't hold back, is this about your dick? Not gonna lie, the directness caught me off guard and I just nodded. She continued, I have felt it through your clothes before today, you are not that small.

She undid my pants and pushed them down, took it in her hand and looked me in the eye, aunt, babe, this is a normal-sized dick, are you seriously telling me you've avoided women your whole life because you thought this was small? I started back with, well, the guys in the videos. She talked over me, which happens a lot, babe, that's fantasy not reality, this is very normal, lay down, we're going to get you up to speed. It wasn't until the next day I started to wonder how she really knew what average was. Anyway, our sex life was pretty frequent from that point forward. I proposed one month later, and she said yes.

Most people thought it was too fast. I admit now five months may have been a bit fast, but we were in love. We got married in a small wedding seven months later. Brooke got her dream job, my career was advancing, it seemed like we had it all. Everything was progressing nicely for the first year. This included my confidence level. That's when the problem started. Problems that would see our relationship go from my perceived perfect to divorce in 1.5 years.

It began with me wanting more. I kind of noticed that our marriage was a little one-sided. We didn't really split things evenly. It wasn't money that concerned me, to both of us it was our money. We had one joint bank account even though I made significantly more. It was more we had way different effort levels. I was probably doing 75% of the stuff around the house. I was the only who cooked, her cooking involved the microwave or ordering out.

I planned basically every date night. The biggest difference, however, was in the bedroom. Prior to her I had virtually no experience. Now that we were married I wanted to have those experiences. I don't want it to seem like I was asking for some crazy porno stuff. I just mean, I wanted to try some variety in positions. We had only done two since the first time. The only time any mouth action occurred was to help, get me there, so we could do the same two positions.

I would ask her sometimes for certain things, and she would always tell me she wasn't interested. If I probe to ask if she had done those things before or why she wasn't comfortable, she would always say, yeah, I have, am just not really interested in that anymore. they aren't that great. Or, I'm not really that person now, or what we do now is what works for me. If I ever pressed the issue, basically saying, well, what about what works for me or my desires, she would actually gaslight me a bit or say, you really aren't missing out on anything, the things you've seen in the videos aren't really that great. It was about this time our frequency also started to decline. This went on for about six months, until we had a fairly large fight about how I felt she wasn't interested in me. She told me, I obviously and

interested or we wouldn't have sex at all, I don't get where this is coming from, we both get ours when we do, what else is there? I think if you are having this much of an issue maybe you should seek therapy for your own issues. I took her advice. I began therapy, and I believe that was the first step towards our divorce, the second step wasn't a step, it was a leap. Brooke and Kristen had two old college friends coming in from out of town. And what I would learn that night, changed everything. My therapist and I had been working together weekly for six months at this point. The first couple months were just peeling back all the layers of my insecurities, that went back a lot farther than just that fateful day at the pool. As we worked through all

of that, I began to grow in my own confidence. I became a lot more direct in what I was asking from Brooke. This also spilled over into our lives outside the bedroom. I was learning more and more about attachment styles, and love languages and all this other shit I had no idea about. As I attempted to implement the things I was learning though Brooke pushed back harder. She was not interested in talks about our intimacy. She stuck to the idea that this is what marriage was like. Brooke appreciated some of the things I had learned in therapy, but for the most part wanted me to stop. I've come to realize that was because I was disrupting the status quo.

She liked the way her life was. We did mostly things she wanted to do, I handled most of the cleaning day-to-day stuff, our future, like kids, home ownership, was planned around her timetable, even our bedroom life was centered around what she wanted out of it. It did not help that right around this time her BFF Kristen finally got her engagement, finalized, that whole situation was a total nightmare. Brooke was a moh, and I knew Kristen would put a ton of pressure on her. Kristen's wedding was set to be a destination wedding, and a small affair.

That meant a lot of old friends would not be attending. Kristen and Brooke both decided to invite a few of the closer, non-invite friends out for a weekend to just have a little fun and celebrate. Only two of five or six were able to come. I had met each only once before and didn't have much interaction that time. We all went out to dinner and drinks, Brooke and I, Kristen and her fiancé Chris, and the two friends, Regina and Victoria. The night was going fine. I tried to talk to Chris but he wasn't very social anymore, which was understandable, he had lost both parents in the past year.

As the drinks flowed the ladies got louder and were falling over each other laughing. They got to reminiscing about college, nothing to bad, a little innuendo about Brooke and a weekend trip that caught my attention, but then Victoria spilled her drink, it wasn't very full, so no biggie. She came up laughing, looked at me, and said, I'm turning into you. After a few chuckles, she said to me, I'm sorry, I'm sure that was embarrassing, but honestly that's about the only thing I know about you. Brooke told me all about the cute, shy guy right after that happened, and how he was so embarrassed and oblivious to her advances. I replied, yeah, it was, but it all worked out. At this point I got the idea Victoria was

past the point of no return drunk, and that was verified by her next comment, I was half surprised when I heard that story she didn't take you home and fuck the embarrassment out of you that night. Brooke looked mortified, so I tried to naturally change the subject to something a little more PC but still on topic, um, no, we didn't start dating until the next week, and you know we took things pretty slow, which I think worked out since she put a ring on it. I laughed hoping my stupid joke would shift the focus. Victoria exclaimed, what?

first-date Finley, Brooke's last name, taking it slow. My demeanor shifted, oh, first-date Finley, there is a name I hadn't heard before. Brooke was staring daggers and Victoria was oblivious, oh yeah, I thought the alpha-betas were going to build her a shrine, but I mean you know what that mouth can do, oh, oh, can she still bend into any position she wants? I replied in the most condescending tone, while slowly turning towards Brooke, yep, any position as she wants. Kristen snapped out of her bewilderment at this moment, and was like, Vic, I see your drinks empty, let's hit the bar. The night definitely got chilly after that moment, and we all soon returned home.

The girls were having a slumber party over at Kristen's house and I dropped them all off. Brooke tried to say something to me in the car, and I stopped her. I just told her we would talk tomorrow. She came home after the two friends left. She came home on the defensive. Brooke led off by telling me, I don't want to talk about, last night, I picked you, that should be enough, you need to learn to be happy with what we do. I responded, I'm not happy, and I do want to talk about this, you cannot just bully me into

dismissing this. Why am I not good enough? Brooke, you are obviously good enough, I married you, even though you had no experience at all. Me, then what is it? Because I think you need to see a therapist, there has to be reason you don't want to do anything more with me. Did you do all that out of some sort of insecurity? Are you ashamed?

Did someone assault you, use you, what is it, I want to help? Brooke, for fuck's sake, drop it, no, I wasn't abused or used, I did what I wanted to do with those guys, it was fun, but that was it, just fun, we have something real, and I was done with all that, I don't need a therapist, and I don't need this shit right now, between work and Kristen, I've got enough going on. Me, so I'm not worth having fun with. What the fuck am I? You just decided, I had my fun, time to find some chump to take care of me, you're going to sit there

and tell me you don't ever think about doing that stuff. She cut me off here, of course I do, I just don't think about doing them with you. My heart ripped in half, I went stone quiet. The expression on Brooke's face changed in an instant. She knew what she just did, she tried to defend, I didn't mean it like that, that came out wrong. Look, there's nothing wrong with being the safe guy, every girl is looking for him, I love you, you, you're my rock. I would take you over that stuff any and every day.

I just nodded. It was a pretty awkward day after that. I kept up with my therapy appointments. Let my therapist know about what I had found out. She put me onto some books about love and sex and communication. One of these books was an E.NM, ethical non-monogamy, focused book. It wasn't because she thought we wanted or needed that. I had never expressed anything like that to her, but she said, it has a few chapters on dealing

with things like jealousy, envy, which in your case is retroactive and not proactive like the book is written, so you'll need to refocus what you read. It also gives advice on having hard conversations about sex and intimacy. Don't think I'm suggesting you need an alternative lifestyle, I just think in this case those few chapters may help your situation. I took the advice and ordered the books. This would lead to our biggest blow-up yet. A few months later it was just any old Wednesday night. Things were still strained between Brooke and I, but we had reached some level of functional equilibrium. I still felt like I wasn't being heard, but we had both been so busy I didn't bother addressing it, figured I could when things calmed down.

For whatever reason, Brooke got a wild hair and decided to clean up our extra room, which is where my desk is. I was not hiding anything. All my books were in a stack on the desk and when she saw the E&M book she flipped out. She came out of the room to where I was screaming, what the fuck is this? If you think I'm going to let you fuck other people you are fucking crazy. I tried to explain it was just something my therapist recommended because it has some chapters on communication. She was cutting me off the whole time I was trying to explain, saying things like, Oh, your therapist, the bitch who put all this bullshit in your head. She kept going, I was trying to be calm and resolve things when she said,

Is this what you want, I'm not good enough, and now you want permission to cheat? I snapped, you're not good enough, you point blank told me I'm not good enough, that I don't excite you. That you're all in for the lacrosse team, but your husband gets what he gets. Brooke came back, shut the fuck up, you just don't get it, that's when you do that stuff, when they don't matter, you matter to me, your opinion of me matters, I'm not going to do something to make you think differently of me. I looked right at her and said, that is the dumbest fucking thing I have ever heard in my life, I get less, you are less excited about me, you worry about me thinking less of you, because

I matter. You matter to me, I'm the person you should be able to be the most open and adventurous with. She just shook her head, you just don't get it. I must not, because I just left the conversation. at that point. We didn't talk for two days after that. I decided to give it at least one more good try. I really pushed for her to seek therapy like I did. It helped me with my insecurities and this was obviously one she had and was holding on to. The idea I would judge her and think less of her for being herself in any realm was discouraging, and something I knew she needed

to address. She just flat refused, she was too busy, and didn't have time for this. Didn't have time for me. Helping with the wedding planning was a distraction she leaned on to ignore our problems. A few months later I filed for divorce. I realized I didn't want to just be the safe guy. I didn't take that as an insult, but I wanted to be the everything guy, and I wasn't ever going to be in this relationship. Her reaction was anger. She lashed out at me, told me I was throwing away our marriage over nothing.

I kind of questioned this, but she got our parents involved, her sister, her friends. I was being told by people outside of our relationship that I was a jerk, and I needed to rethink my priorities. My parents mostly stood up for me, but they did tell me to make 100% sure. I know they always liked Brooke. I ended blocking most of the others and not responding. I didn't want our problems out in the world, but now they were. We didn't recover, the divorce went final.

I thought that would be the end of it, but after the wedding from hell, Brooke tried to get back in touch with me. She really did sound like she was finally ready to listen to me, unfortunately her decisions post-divorce made reconciliation impossible. I know I'm a whole new person though. No more crippling insecurity. No more irrational fear of rejection. I decided to hit the open market and see what was out there, eventually that would lead me full circle, and face-to-face with Brooke after five years of no contact. Okay, so here goes nothing. I just need to get this off my chest before I actually go nuts.

I, 18F, have been with my boyfriend, 18M, for about a year and a half now. Things used to be really good between us, and I always felt super close to his family. Even before we started dating, I was friends with his sisters. That probably made the transition into dating a lot smoother because I already had those bonds. His family isn't rich or anything, actually far from it, but they're good people. at least I thought they were. He has four sisters, two are 16, one is 14, and the youngest is eight. I used to hang out with them all the time, help out, give rides, just be there when they needed someone. Then March of this year hit me like a truck. I found out I was pregnant,

which was wild because I was on birth control. Total freak out moment. I didn't even tell my boyfriend right away. Instead, I turned to my best friend, which turned out to be one of the biggest mistakes of my life. I asked her to do me one small favor, throw out the pregnancy test. I had taken it at my house and didn't want my mom to find it. She said sure. But instead of tossing it, she took the damn thing over to my boyfriend's house and showed it to his sisters. Like it was a joke or something. Pretty soon, everyone knew. Like everyone. Not from me either.

People started treating me weird. A lot of them thought it was funny. Some even tried to push me to get an abortion. And look, I'm pro-choice. 100%. But I knew I couldn't handle that emotionally. I have a ton of mental health stuff I already deal with, and oddly enough, being pregnant made me feel like I had something worth

fighting for. When I finally told my boyfriend, I was terrified. I told him straight up that I'd understand if he wanted out. We're both just kids ourselves, and I didn't want to trap him. That's the last thing I wanted, to make him feel like he had no choice in raising a baby he wasn't ready for. He asked me if I'd think about ending the pregnancy. I told him no. And to his credit, he said he understood that it was my choice and that he wouldn't leave me. I thought we were solid. Like, wow, this is a real one. Someone who'll stand by me through something huge. But then, about three months in, I had a miscarriage. No one in my family even knew I was pregnant, and I was completely alone when it happened. I was at home, by myself, on a weekend,

and suddenly I'm going through one of the most traumatic things of my life. I call it. I called I called my boyfriend, sobbing, and the first thing he did. He laughed. Laughed. Not like a chuckle of confusion or something. Like actual relief laugh. Didn't even ask if I was okay. That hurt in a way I can't explain.

Looking back now, maybe it was a blessing in disguise because clearly, he wasn't ready for this. If that's how he reacts to something so serious, I can't imagine him being a decent dad. Anyway, I slowly let the people in my life who knew about the pregnancy know what had happened. I thought that would be the end of it. Like, okay, that chapter is closed. Time to heal. But nope. I started noticing that his sisters were pulling away from me.

At first, I brushed it off. We're at different points in life, maybe we just didn't vibe anymore. But then I found out the real reason, and it shattered me. mutual friend told me that the whole family, excluding my boyfriend, had been talking behind my back. Saying the most disgusting stuff. They claimed I faked the miscarriage to trap him. That I was trying to trick him into being a dad. On top of that, they started attacking how I look.

Said I'm so fat that I still look pregnant. For context, I'm 5 feet 4 inches and weigh 123 pounds. Not that I should have to justify anything. But the fact is, I've struggled with eating issues for years. I used to weigh 90 pounds and was basically wasting away. Those comments cut so deep they sent me right back to bad habits. I'm trying not to spiral, but it's been hard. They also accused me of being fake, manipulative, and worst of all, cheating.

I have never cheated in my life. Never even come close. I think cheating is one of the most hurtful and low things a person can do in a relationship. But they're proof. Apparently, one of them saw me switching Snapchat accounts. Yeah, I did do that, because I let a friend borrow my phone while theirs was busted. They were just checking their Snapchat. I logged them out and went back into mine.

That was it. But suddenly, I'm this lying, manipulative. manipulative cheater in their eyes. And I don't even know how it got to this point. We used to be so close. We hung out all the time. But after I told them I was pregnant, it was like I turned into some kind of villain. Trash they needed to get rid of. The more I think about it, the more I realize how much I've done for that family, with literally nothing in return. Like I said, they're not well off. There are five kids and just their mom, who doesn't work. My boyfriend is the only one bringing money into that house.

I've gone out of my way to drive them places, even when it meant going out of my way or being late to my own stuff. At school, they'd hang out in my car when they didn't feel good or didn't want to go to class. I let them vape in there even though I don't smoke myself. I bought them food when they were hungry. Clothes Make-up Toys for the youngest

I'd literally bring over leftover food from my job late at night because they said they had nothing to eat. I even helped one of the older sister's friends get a pregnancy test when she had a scare. Drove it over myself. No judgment. Just trying to help.

But does any of that matter now? Nope. They hate me. And I can't figure out what I did to deserve it. I've never talked down to them. Never judged their situation. Always tried to just be supportive. And yet here I am, the enemy.

It hurts more than I can put into words. Now, I'm stuck in this weird place. I still love my boyfriend, but this stuff with his family has changed everything. I don't feel welcome around them anymore. I feel like an outsider. A villain in a story I never signed up to be in. I gave so much of myself to them, and in the end, they just saw me as disposable. I keep asking myself if it's worth it.

If any of this is worth it. Should I stay in a relationship where I know I'll never be accepted by the people closest to him? Or do I walk away, even though I still care about him? I don't know. I really don't. Sorry if this whole thing is a mess. I've never said any of this out loud before. Never really had anyone I could tell all this to.

So if you've read this far, thank you. I just needed to say it. Needed to let it out before I exploded. And if you have any advice, any at all, I'm all ears. Because right now, I feel completely lost. The end. At my first job out of college I became quick friends with another guy, Scott, three years older than me. We would pal around hitting the bars and such in town.

As we opened up more to each other, he told me about how his last girlfriend, Jody, cheated on him. He shared after she broke up with him he was heartbroken, couldn't eat her sleep, felt that constant anxiety about it. I had had a similar experience with my first girlfriend when she broke it off with me. Jody worked at the same place as us, but in a different building, she was the daughter of prominent figure in town and her family really liked Scott. They dated for a little over a year and he thought she was the one, until a week before

Christmas when she abruptly and without warning broke up with him. It took Scott a long time to get over her and that was compounded by the fact it came out she was pregnant that following spring. When the child was born, Scott figured out that she had to have gotten pregnant about four weeks at most after the breakup. She quickly married the guy and they are actually still together today with a second child. Years start ticking in over that span I met my wife, got engaged, married, she took a job for a year, then switched to where I worked. My wife, Emma, works with Jody directly and they become quick friends. Scott I started hanging out less and less as I got more involved with Emma and started spending

more weekends with her. We were LDR for about 18 months. Emma isn't shy and asked about Jody's relationship with Scott. Jody stated that while initially the relationship was good, as time passed Scott had more and more red flags. First he was really immature for 25 years old, he seemed to want to still live a college life. He liked to go out drinking a lot, but always had too much and would piss the bed in his sleep, he didn't really have any plans future-wise, and had a lot of deep, bigoted opinions. He also didn't put a lot of effort into the relationship, like dates, communication, etc. She was pretty much over it months before finally ending it. She would bring up concerns and he would

always play victim, guilt-trip her, all while her family thought he was just great, and would kind of dismiss her concerns if she talked to them about Scott, Jody said her family didn't hide the fact that they were upset she broke up with him, finally, she had enough, knew she just had to end it, take her things and go. She needed to be quick and stern, and not show emotion, or she would just get guilt into staying. And that's what she did in December. Not wanting to just sit around wallowing she took a friend up on an invite to a New Year's Eve party where she met a guy, Carter. They exchanged info that night and had their first official date that week. When Jody started puberty in middle school she had horrible menstrual symptoms and had been taken to see a

specialist. They managed to get her symptoms under control but through the tests discovered she did have a reproductive issue, I don't remember what, but she did tell Emma. The doctors told her and her parents then, that it would be extremely unlikely that she ever conceived naturally. Jody always thinking she was sterile admitted to Emma she wasn't the best at using protection and never had been on birth control. Her and Carter's relationship turned sexual almost immediately and because of Jody's belief they didn't use any form of contraception, and she got pregnant against the odds. They took that whirlwind situation and got married right away as well. Three years later they tried and had a second child without much effort, making

her question if she really had these complications at all, and thankful that she hadn't accidentally got pregnant in HS or college. Up to the point he moved away Scott avoided Jody like she was plague. He always believed she had been cheating and that's why she broke up with him. He never once talked about their relationship as having any issues or problems. I had to admit I did agree with Jody's assessment of immaturity, over our time as friends I saw that Scott really didn't seem to ever want to grow up. Even with his wife, after a couple years of dating his first grand gesture was to buy her a promise ring like they were HS sophomores. And he was in his 30s by this point. We're all in our 40s now. Scott moved back to his hometown

and finally married his now wife, they have three kids. Few years later Emma and I moved on. Jody and her husband still live in the same place. I always think of this story when I hang out in the relationship threads on Reddit, because you only ever get one side of a story, wonder how many are as vastly different as this one once you get the other side. There won't be many good memories here. But maybe one. Or two. Though not this one. Definitely not. And yeah, my English sucks. You'll live. So here it goes, I was six when I got kidnapped. Not even kidding. It was back in 2006, if you're trying to place the year. And let me tell you, it was the dumbest kidnapping in the history of ever. Like, Darwin Award-level dumb. I don't even think the guy realized what he was doing was a crime.

He was totally wasted. Just blitzed out of his skull. It all started while we were just playing outside. I was that kind of wild, slightly feral kid who thought he was a ninja with a stick, tried to throw knives into sand pits, climbed trees and old buildings like Spider-Man on crack, chased stray cats for no real reason, and once tried to play with a dead crow. Yeah, I know. Weird as hell. Let me give you some context. I lived in one of the biggest cities on the planet. Not exaggerating. It was something like the 15th biggest, I think. No houses, no backyards. Just endless rows of massive apartment buildings stacked like Lego blocks. And because everyone had cars, we had these huge metal sheds everywhere, the kind people used as garages.

Tons of them. Rows and rows. That was our jumble gym. Anyway, it was the very first time my little brother, he was four, and I were allowed to go outside without our parents. I mean, they could see us from the seventh floor. window, so they figured it was all good. Spoiler, it wasn't. The other kids I played with just as nuts as me. We were up on the sheds, jumping from one roof to the next, like some post-apocalyptic Olympic team. It was fun for a while, but we eventually got bored and decided to go to the nearby playground. Which was ironic, since the playground was made for us, but we preferred climbing random junk. Kids are weird.

So we get to the playground, and for some reason, all the other kids started climbing up the slide and the jungle gym, anything tall. Everyone except me. And that was my mistake. Because just then, some guy grabbed me by the collar out of nowhere. One second I was chilling, next second I was halfway choking. I turned around, or maybe he spun me, and there he was. This random man, his face bright red like a tomato that was pissed off at the, world. He looked huge at the time. I mean, I was six. He could have been eight feet tall for

all I knew. Looking back now, I could probably bench press the guy. But back then, terrifying. He starts yelling at me, barking like a rabid dog. Asked me if I was the one jumping on the sheds. Now, here's the thing. In my language, we call those sheds, garages, but some people call them Rakushkas, which also mean seashells. I didn't know that second meaning. So when he asked if I was jumping on the Rukushka, I was genuinely confused. I said something dumb like, seashells are in the sea. Wrong answer. The guy absolutely lost it. Shaking me, yelling nonsense. Then he switched back to calling at a garage, and I finally got what he meant. So I said, yeah, that was me. Then he just started dragging me, still by the collar,

choking me, screaming at me to walk faster, shoving and yanking me down the street. I remember asking him politely to stop shaking me so I could match his pace. You know what he said? Something like, I'll make you match me. So there we were, walking for like ten minutes. I had no idea where we were going, but I wasn't panicking. Not yet. Maybe I was too young or too dumb to freak out. Anyway, you'll never guess where he took me. The freaking police station. Yup. Of all places. I still don't remember what he said to the cop at the front desk. I think they were buddies, because no one even questioned if he was my dad or if I needed help. The cop just looked at me like I was a criminal and started lecturing me.

Told me I could be arrested for jumping on garages, that my parents could get punished. All while the drunk dude kept a death grip on my collar. Eventually, the cop asked if I understood. I said yes. Then the drunk man just let me go. Walked off like he didn't just kidnap a child. That's when it hit me. I was alone.

In a police station. In some random part of the city. No idea how to get home. And weirdly, that's when I actually got scared. But then my brain did something wild. Instead of asking the cops for help, I decided to follow the drunk man. Like some kind of cartoon character. I stayed behind him just enough that he wouldn't notice.

I crossed the same roads, kept my distance. Basically tracked him like a secret agent, right back to my neighborhood. it. And guess what I saw when I got back? My dad slamming the guy onto the ground. No joke. There was a whole crowd around them. The drunk dude's wife was screaming. My mom was there, losing her mind. I walked up and casually said, hi, like nothing happened. My six-year-old brain apparently thought that whole mess was just an adventure. Like I had just gone on a side quest or something. Here's the rest of the story, from my mom's point of view, so apparently, some eight-year-old girl from the playground saw what happened. She grabbed my little brother, ran him back to our apartment building, rang the doorbell, and told my parents some man had taken me because we were playing on the garages.

First thing my dad asked was if the man was a cop. She said no. And boom, both my parents were out the door. My dad started asking the girl questions, trying to figure out what happened. My mom looked outside and didn't see me. That's when she totally broke down, screaming so loud a random off-duty cop nearby came running over to help. My dad called his friend who worked in special services. Suddenly, there was a whole commotion.

Now, this part's important. At the time, there had been several child kidnappings in the area. So yeah, my parents were terrified. Eventually, someone figured out who the guy was. Turned out he lived in a building near ours. His wife hated kids playing on their garage. And when my dad confronted him, asking where I was, the drunk guy said, where he belongs. Bad. Move.

I'll never forget that girl. The one who helped my brother and told my parents. She might have saved me. saved my life, for real. If things had gone a little differently, who knows what would have happened. I wish I remembered her name. All I can recall is she had brown hair. So yeah.

That was the time I got kidnapped. Or whatever that was. Not your usual kind of memory. Not a good one. But memorable. Hell yeah. Still not sure how I didn't freak out more. Yes, kids are either fearless or clueless.

Or maybe a bit of both. And that, my friend, is the end of this totally bonkers story. If you made it this far, congrats. You survived my awful English and my chaotic childhood. To be continued. I was 22 when the worst week of my life hit me like a damn truck. I lost my grandmother, my girlfriend cheated on me, and I got shipped off to war. All in seven days.

I swear, I've had some pretty dark moments before, but nothing compares to that week. Just thinking about it now still leaves a pit in my stomach. Let me give you a bit of background first. My grandma caught COVID in February 22. She was 85. Old, yeah, but she was tough. My mom and I took her to the hospital. She could barely walk.

We stayed there with her until around 3 a.m. then finally went home. At that time, I was on vacation for my mandatory military service. Because of the COVID protocols, visits were restricted, and we weren't allowed to see her. That hit hard. I turned 22 on February 16th. Instead of celebrating, I spent most of that time wondering how she was doing. Eventually, they moved her to another clinic.

We tried to visit, but again, they blocked us. All we could do was write letters and send them through the nurses. On February 26th, it was my brother's birthday. That day I ran into June again. She'd be my girlfriend, kind of. We had history. We'd known each other for a while and even kissed once a year before, when she was a little drunk and still with her ex.

We didn't go further than that, but it left some guilt in both of us. Still, we had feelings. always had. She told me she was scared for me. Two days earlier, that special military operation had kicked off. Everyone was tense. June was freaking out, but I was calm for some reason. Maybe too calm. I told her I probably wouldn't be called in. I'd had shoulder surgery a few months prior and was still in recovery. She cried, I held her, and we kissed through half the night. We almost took it further, but she pulled back last minute. I respected that.

We just held each other and slept. Next morning, we agreed to give things a shot. That was a big deal for me. I hadn't been in a relationship for four years, not since a breakup that nearly broke me. I was cautious. But I was also tired of being alone. Two days later, my commander called. Just like that, they pulled me in.

in. Said I had to report. My vacation was ending anyway, so I asked for one more week to finish up rehab. I was speeding up the recovery process like crazy. I wasn't ready, physically or mentally, but didn't feel like I had a choice. When I asked if I could be discharged due to my medical issues, he said no. Said technically, I could refuse the operation, but I'd be considered a deserter. So really, there was no way out. I didn't tell June right away. I spent a day trying to make sense of things, trying to stay calm. I didn't want to freak her out until I had something concrete.

When I finally called her, I don't remember our exact conversation. Just that I was trying to sound okay, and she was definitely not. March rolled in. I went to my unit to talk to the commander face-to-face. No luck. He gave me until March 9th to get my affair. in order. I messaged June and we planned a date the next day. I had a lot to tell her. Before meeting up, I went to the doctor to check on my shoulder. It was doing okay. As I was heading to the

metro to meet her, my mom called. She asked about the appointment, and I told her the rehab was going well. Then she dropped the bomb, something had happened to Grandma. I asked if she was getting worse. Mom is dead, she said. I stood there in the middle of the street, frozen. I asked if my brother was with her. He was. Our parents divorced when I was six. My brother lived with mom, I stayed with dad during that vacation.

I told them to stay together and that I'd come by later. My brother had tried to kill himself three times, he shouldn't be alone. Mom either. On the train ride to meet Jim, I stared at my reflection in the window. At one point, I punched the glass. It cracked, but didn't shatter. Probably a metaphor for how I was feeling.

I met June at the station. We hugged and took the escalator up. It was our first time seeing each other since my brother's party. I told her I had bad news and tried to smile. I told her about the army stuff first. I couldn't stop it, I said. I have to report next Wednesday. We were holding hands.

I honestly didn't know if I was holding hers or if she was holding mine. Then I said something even harder, that's not the worst of it. My grandma died. Her eyes widened. When? About an hour ago. Mom called me 15 minutes ago. I managed to pull myself together after a minute.

We went to her favorite cafe and just sat there for a time. couple of hours. She told me it was unfair, that I was the one always supporting her, and now I needed help. I told her I was strong enough, and that she needed me more. Truth is, I was just saying what she needed to hear. I was barely holding on. She kissed me after I asked her to. I noticed she wasn't as into me as I was into her, but I didn't care. I was starving for affection. I needed warmth, any warmth. That night, I stayed with my mom. We said our goodbyes to Grandma on Monday.

I asked June to be with me afterward. At the funeral, it was me, my brother, mom, dad, and dad's cousin. I'm not religious, but everyone else in my family is. Grandma was two. So I stood there in church, holding a candle, listening to the burial service. The wax was dripping on my hand and burning me, but I didn't move. Tradition says family shouldn't carry the coffin. Screw tradition.

I carried it myself. I wasn't going to let a stranger do it. We loaded it into the car. Mom was going to have her cremated. I asked them to open the coffin. COVID rules said no, but we begged. Eventually, they let us. I was the last to say goodbye.

Grandma looked like she was sleeping. I touched her face. Cold. She was really gone. I kissed her forehead and walked away, tears streaming down my face. I stumbled down a snowy hill to the stream, stripped off my jacket and shirt, and dunked my head in the freezing water. I needed to feel something real.

Then I got dressed and went back to the family. I asked Dad to go stay at Grandma's place. I love him, he's smart, strong, and he's always been there, but he's not the guy you mourn with. Waiting for June to come over, I made dinner. When she arrived, the first thing I noticed was a hickie on her neck. My brain was already fried, so I didn't say anything. Didn't even let myself think about it. We ate.

I barely remember the conversation. Then she said it, I saw him yesterday. We were just talking. Then. I stayed the night. No guilt in her voice. No apology. Technically, she didn't owe me one, we weren't officially a couple.

But it still felt like getting stabbed. Hard. I was too numb to react. No yelling, no crying. Just silence. I nodded. We talked a bit about Grandma. She held my hand.

And then, I asked her, God knows why, if she could kiss me. I guess I was just desperate to feel wanted. She said she could, but didn't want to. Good. Then don't, I replied. She stayed the night, but I slept in the other room. I felt like nothing. Just hollow.

In the morning, she came out and I pointed to the shower. Then pointed up. She asked what I meant. You shower first, I mumbled. Speaking was hard. We had breakfast. We hugged. Then she left.

They didn't end up sending me to the front until summer 2022. My medical stuff bought me time. A year later, I saw June again. She came to my brother's party. I was fresh out of the hospital on vacation. She walked in. I said hi. We hugged.

Then I left. Yeah, that's how I know it still hurts. The end. Part 1. My, Rachel, 30F, have been married to my husband, Ryan, 32M, for six years. We have a really strong relationship. I would say the usual couple drama through our years, but we have grown from it and have a loving relationship. All was well until about eight months ago. My sister, Star 28F, moved back to our hometown, after living in Florida since she was 18.

Her long-term boyfriend dumped her and moved to a new city, leaving her destitute. The circumstance behind their breakup are still largely unknown. When my sister returned she told us that he had been cheating with men, I didn't really know him that well, but that sounded far-fetched. I only met the guy three times, as my sister would only come home for Christmas, and usually only stay for three to four days. He accompanied her twice during their five years together. The other time I met him was when my husband and I visited them for a day during our vacation three years ago. He just didn't strike me as the guy who would have a double life, and just

leave Star with nothing. I tried to reach out to him once but found I was blocked, so I just let it go. Star moved back in with my parents, Gina 55F and Jimmy 56M. For the first month she was here she struggled to find work, so I suggested that maybe Ryan could help her out. He is a higher up at his company, and figured he would have some pull. He did and she was able to get a position in his department, this is a job in her field. For some background, my sister and I have never been very close. She is the golden child, at least to our mom, and our dad is spineless when it comes to our mom. It's not super obvious, just a million little things. Like we both got cars when we turned 16, but I got an eight-year-old Dodge Neon, and she got a two-year-old Mitsubishi eclipse.

Her dance practices, outfits, competitions, I know they cost thousands of dollar over the years. Some of those competitions were six or seven hours away, and they never batted an eye. Meanwhile, when I would ask for $50 for a volleyball or basketball camps at the local college, in our town, they would give it to me, but you would have thought I was asking them to build me my own arena. I think what pissed me off the most ever was when I was 17, I was out with my boyfriend, lost track of time, and was 15 minutes past curfew. They took my car for a whole month for that. Then when my sister came home, two hours late, and smelled like pot, the next year, she just got a stern talking to. I wasn't exactly sad when she left for college and decided to stay in Florida.

Despite all of that, she began spending more and more time at our house, which at first I thought was nice, as maybe she was making the effort to be closer to me. Then I started to notice that her and Ryan were getting rather familiar with each other. They would talk about seemingly anything at length. They started having their own inside jokes, if I tried to include myself they would say, just a work thing. When I asked my husband about it, he just said they have a lot in common and are working on several projects together at work.

The first real red flag was that after about a month of this she would be there at our house when I got home from work. Ryan and I have different work schedules. While he gets a traditional 8 to 430 work day, I work 10 to 7. This was pretty often. When I asked about it, I always got the, we had some work stuff to do. Two months ago, I noticed something that had me questioning my own sanity. I make the bed every day before I leave for work. I always make it so the open side of the pillowcase is toward.

towards the edge of the bed. Star was over that day when I got home, she ate with us then went back to my parents' house. As we got in bed, I noticed two of the pillows had the cases in towards the middle. I asked my husband if he had been in bed today. He looked a little shook, but said, No, why do you ask? I said the bed's not the same as I made it this morning. He told me L, I must have been mistaken then, because no one was in the bed. I looked through his phone and laptop without his knowing and found nothing.

Then again they worked together eight hours a day, five days a week, then hang out after work. Why would they need to text? I felt like I was losing my mind. Two weeks ago my parents invited us over for dinner. It was going fine. Until I saw something. Ryan was simply walking by, Star lightly grabbed his arm and he turned to her. She whispered something and they touched foreheads together.

It was only a second and Ryan jolted up, then kept on walking. Star then just kind of looked at me, smiled, and went back to what she was doing. I'm not an idiot, I know this is a mountain of red flags. I just don't want to believe, I have been in love with my husband since I was 21 years old. I have planned a weekend get away to the city. I'm going to ask him about things there. I really hope it's not what I'm thinking.

Part 2. You are all right, and my world is destroyed. We went on our weekend adventure. It was a nice Friday night. We had drinks, we danced, we were intimate. The next day we had more planned, and I almost didn't say anything. Really thought he couldn't be doing that with her and this with me. I was so wrong.

We were almost ready to start our Saturday, and I point blank asked him if he was having an affair with my sister. He teared up and said, yes, he was. My heart crushed. I asked him why. He said he was sorry, he didn't mean for this happen. They just clicked and before he knew it they were kissing, then more. I asked if he had been sleeping with her in our bed before I got home from work.

He just turned his head in shame. I left at that point. I had nothing with me but my purse and I drove home without him. He got an Uber and arrived a few hours later with my other things. He tried to apologize but I didn't acknowledge him through my tears. He packed a bag and left for a hotel. The next day I told my parents. They already knew.

said they were sorry about what happened. Told me Starr had left last night and might not be back for a few days. I'm sure she went to stay with Ryan. That all happened three months ago. Our divorce is almost final. Ryan found an apartment to rent right away, and Starr moved in with him. I am only contacting him in regards to our divorce. He initially said I could just have the house and the savings. I think this was guilt talking. Then after a few days said that we would have to split the house. I know this was Star in his ear. I had already moved everything out of the savings into a new account, so there was no fight there. Just like that nine years of my life gone. He has no idea what he is getting himself into, she is a narcissist and will throw him away

eventually. Star has been exceedingly cruel during all this. A few days after I found out she tagged me in a Facebook post. It was selfie of her and him giving her a kiss on the cheek from behind. The caption read, Feeling Loved. It was disgusting. I logged out of my account and deleted the app off my phone. She texted me about an hour later saying, Sorry, sis, didn't mean to tag you, no hard feelings, I hope we can still be close. You'll meet your soulmate someday too.

I blocked her, blocked her on everything I could think of. My parents haven't been any better. They pretended to be sympathetic in the beginning. When I told them I was going no contact with Star and Ryan, My mother looked at me and said, I'm sorry this happened, it shouldn't have happened this way, but your sister deserves to be happy too. You'll meet someone, and then we can put this all behind us. I got really upset and told them what Star had tagged me in and the text she sent me and my mother said, well, you shouldn't be on that stuff anyway. My father hasn't said a thing this whole time.

He just sits there. I asked him once what he thought, and he just said, I agree with your mother. Then walked out of the room. I am going full no contact with them as. well. The house will sell soon and I'm moving to a different state. I am not telling any of my family where or when. I haven't told them that's my plan, I'm just done with all of them. I wish them all the worst. Part 3. Hi everybody, I know it's been four years since I last updated everyone, but we had a major situation happen. I'll start with giving you an update on myself. I am recently engaged. It took a lot of therapy to get myself back out there. I tried dating right away once I got settled here in Minnesota.

I went on one okay first date, and then I got shown just how much of an asshat he was, and I swore off men forever. That's when I went to therapy to process all the trauma from the betrayal of my husband and sister, as well the abandonment of my parents. It was a hard year of that when I met James, 37M, I'm working on getting over the fact he has the same first name as my dad, L.O.L. James is wonderful, he is a chef, him and his, fraternal, twin brother, Jack own a restaurant slash bar that is doing very well. I am very excited to start a future with

James. Enough about me, now to the drama. First off, I'd like to tell you about the audacity my family had. Roughly nine months after I left. I had been totally no contact, did not tell them where I moved to. I had told some friends, and a couple cousins, as I was close to them. I got home to my apartment, only to find a wedding invitation in the mail. To the wedding of Ryan and Star, with a gross picture of them hugging in a fucking sunflower field. In it was a letter from my parents. It basically read like I need to forgive and put all this behind us. That they know things didn't go the best, that's an understatement, but were a family,

and families work through problems. They also claimed Star wanted me to be a bridesmaid just like she was for me. WTF. That letter opened up all sorts of old wounds at the time, and my therapist got a lot more business. Today, I find it hilarious, but then not so much. I did not respond at all, the only thing I did was figure out which part of my extended family let my ex-family know my address and cut them off as well. That brings me to the most recent drama. Last week, Ryan of all people showed up at my apartment, James and I do not live together,

but that will be changing soon. He looked good, like too good, as in he was trying to look his best when he showed up. I asked, what do you want? He said, I just want to talk. I'm so sorry for what I did, Starr and I are divorcing. I figured out she was unfaithful our whole marriage, surprise, surprise. I don't expect you to take me back, but, we should talk and get some closure for both of our sakes. I did a double blink. He has lost his mind. I looked him right in the eye, no, I give you no closure, you made your own bed,

did you really think that golden hoo-ho of hers, that I'm telling you has had more visitors than Holiday Inn, was suddenly going to put up the no-vacancy sign just because you put a ring on it, You're even dumber than I thought. I forgive nothing, I want nothing from you, I don't care, I'm better off now, and that will always be the case. You can go to hell. Then I turned and went back in my apartment locking the door behind me. I immediately called my landlady, who is the sweetest old lady in the world.

I've gotten kind of close to her over these four years and she knows about my previous marriage. Ryan was still just loitering out in the hallway. A few minutes later her two nephews that helped maintain the apartment grounds where they're letting Ryan know he was not welcome here, and was on a band list. If he returned the police would be called for trespassing. I was hoping that would be the end of it, but it wasn't. I have a fairly easy nine-to-five work schedule now. Because of that I go to the restaurant almost any night James is managing.

I don't get in the way, just hang out and enjoy the few minutes here and there he can give me. I've become good friends with a lot of the staff, which include a lot of James and Jack's family, and it's really the family environment I always wished I had. I am there the next night, when Ryan walks in and just comes and sits at my table, it was a slow Tuesday night. James noticed and recognized Ryan from photos I had shown him. He immediately came over to check on me. Ryan stuck his hand out.

James just looked at it then said to me, want me to kick him out. I said, not yet, I got a question or two. Ryan perked up like he was winning or something, what a tool. I asked him to tell me what happened between him and Star. I'll admit it was pure morbid curiosity and I was hoping she got screwed over in the divorce. Ryan told us, she was having at least two affairs with married men, old habits die hard, I guess. This was two years in. It was a tough time for me, I roll.

I interrupted, you are not that dumb though, did you protect yourself, or did she get half of all your stuff? Ryan replied smugly, I stuck out almost another year with her so I could start stowing away savings and sold off some assets, in the end she got a fraction of what we she would have. I asked, and what happened to her then? Ryan replied, she had to move back in with your parents again. I satisfied said, Ah, yes, thank you, that's what I wanted to hear. He can go now. James, you heard her, out of my restaurant. Ryan, but, no, I want to. I cut him off, no forgiveness, no closure, I just wanted to know my loser sister was back living at home, get out. James stood and pointed, at the door. Ryan looked around and saw he was being glared at by the bartender and two members

of the wait staff. He stood, tucked-tailed, and turned towards the door. James started, and if you ever come back. Ryan quickly, yeah yeah, I know, cops, trespassing. After he was gone, I got checked on by almost everyone around. It was nice and embarrassing. My future-in-laws, who I adore, called me, they demanded I stay with James the next couple days just to be safe. It was really sweet. I have never had a family look after me like this. I didn't hear from Ryan again, and hopefully I never will. Part 4. Hi everybody, I didn't think it would happen, but I have another update for you all.

First to me. I am now a 41-year-old mother of 2, 6M and 2M. James and I are doing really well. I now work as a part-time office manager for the restaurants and a semi-somme. James Cousin bought into the business and we opened a second location three years ago. It's been a lot more work, but with the three of them staying heavily involved in both locations we are successful and it affords each of them some level of personal time. It wasn't ideal, but I'm pretty sure I got pregnant staying with James when his parents demanded I do so after my last posting. They now joke they always wanted to be grandparents and it was

all part of their plan. Now for the update. After the last time when Ryan tracked me down, I figured it was only a matter of time before my parents or sister showed up. It didn't happen right away. I eased up some as I felt I had a full support system and rejoined social media. I stayed no contact with much of family, including extended, but I also didn't have any illusions that they wouldn't be able to find me if they tried. It wasn't until after our first was born that I got my first message. It was from my mom. She gave a half-hearted apology, said something about forgiveness, and inquired about her grandson. I was just going to block her but the implication that my child was her grandchild I found insulting.

So I replied, you do not have any grandchildren, I am not your daughter, and thus my children have no relation to you. If you want grandchildren, then you should encourage Starr to get out there and do what she does best. At that point I blocked her. She made new accounts and tried contacting for a while, but I always just declined or deleted any requests or messages. That brings me to the recent drama. I was getting bombarded with requests, messages, etc., to contact them.

I read some and it was a sob story about missing out on the grandkids' lives, and wanting to make amends. I really didn't care, I had no intention of ever including them in my life again. Then the more shocking thing occurred. Starr started reaching out to me. She wasn't saying much other than she very much wanted to speak to me. After this went on for about three weeks I agreed to a Zoom meeting. Just me, no kids. When it started off, they kept asking to see the kids.

I was steadfast that wouldn't happen. They had three grandparents and that was it, James's mom, dad, and grandma. I kind of was getting the idea that this was about something else. Starr looked kind of terrible, and my parents were looking old and tired. As we started to talk, they began apologizing for everything that occurred. Even Star, she said she was wrong to do what she did, and that she wishes she could have her sister back. That was a laughable thought.

Mom then took over and went into her usual garbage about being a family and looking out for each other. When she was done, I just looked at them and said, is that all you got? I'm going to go then. They yelled for me to wait, and the facade dropped. The real reason was about to come out. Apparently Starr has been having health issues for the last couple years. For whatever reason her kidneys are failing and she needs a transplant. That's why they so persistently tried to get in touch with me. A family member is the most likely to be a viable match. I asked them direct, this is why you call me, you want me to save her after what she did. My husband wasn't enough now she needs a body part from me too.

My mother snapped, stop being like this, all of that was a long time ago, she began choking up and crying as she continued. I get it, you hate us, but she is going to die if she doesn't get a transplant soon, is that what you want? I know you think she wronged in the worst way, but please just this once can we set that aside. I got quiet, I wanted to see if they said more. Eventually Dad actually started to talk, look, we're sorry for all that happened, but we got some pretty big problems. Between her medical bills and not being able to work, your mom and I are

getting older and have our own problems. We got a lot of issues, we need you to come back to Missouri and see if you are a match, but we also could use some help, or we might lose the house. So you need my kidney and my money. I said, don't put it like that. He replied. I said. Star chimed in, please, just come home, I need my big sister, I don't want to die, can you just come and see if you're a match, if you're not, we will never contact you again. I told them I needed to think about it, do some research tonight. I would tell them tomorrow.

I ended the call and went to speak to my husband. He told me he supported me 100% whichever way I went, then asked if we should all travel as a family or if just he should come. I said no to both, I was going to go, and I was going on my own. I let my former family know I would get lab results here in Minnesota, and if I was match, I'd come there and we could talk about everything else then. About a week later I got results and it appeared Starr and I were a perfect match. I agreed to come back home to St. Charles.

By time I arrived, Starr had begun to have some issues and needed to be admitted to the hospital. This got everyone off my back about meeting for dinner, as I had no intention of doing anything social with these people. Especially since any time they seemed to have a free minute my parents were inquiring if I had thought about helping them get caught up on their financial struggles. They managed to stabilize Star. I went to meet with these doctors that would do the transplant. They began going over everything with me, and I said I'd like to have this conversation with everyone. We all went to Starr's room, my parents were already there. The doctor began explaining the situation. Star had maybe six months more without a transplant. They went over the process with us all,

and made a huge deal about how perfect of a match I was, that the likelihood of finding a more viable donor was minuscule, and that the sooner we scheduled the surgery the better. I then walked over to Star and took her hand, I gazed into her big brown eyes, and told her, did you hear that? I am perfect match, essentially I'm the only person who can save you, and I'm not going to, you are the most vile narcissistic piece of gutter trash I have ever known. I only came here so you would know the one person who could keep you alive

is the one person you have wronged the most, and now you're paying for that with your life. You're going to die, you should make peace with that. Star burst into tears, and my parents turned to accost me, the doctor and nurse were standing there in total shock. I looked at my parents and said, don't even talk to me, and don't you dare ever ask me for anything ever again. The only money I would ever spend on you would be for your funeral, under the stipulation that you be cremated and the ashes released to me. At which I point I will promptly deposit your remains in the dirtiest portagone I can find. Finished, I walked out of the room and never looked back. I'm back home now, my real

home, surrounded by my real family and couldn't be happier. Part 3. Hi everybody, I know it's been four years since I last updated everyone, but we had a major situation happen. I'll start with giving you an update on myself. I am recently engaged. It took a lot of therapy to get myself back out there. I tried dating right away once I got settled here in Minnesota. I went on one okay first date, and then I got shown just how much of an ass hat he was, and I swore off men forever. That's when I went to therapy to process all the trauma from the betrayal of my husband and sister, as well the abandonment of my parents. It was a hard year of that when I met James, 37M, I'm working on getting over the fact he has the same first name as my dad, L.O.L. James is wonderful,

he is a chef, him and his, fraternal, twin brother Jack own a restaurant slash bar that is doing very well. I am very excited to start a future with James. Enough about me, now to the drama. First off, I'd like to tell you about the audacity my family had. Roughly nine months after I left. I had been totally no contact, did not tell them where I moved to. I had told some friends, and a couple cousins, as I was close to them. I got home to my apartment, only to find a wedding invitation.

in the mail. To the wedding of Ryan and Starr with a gross picture of them hugging in a fucking sunflower field. In it was a letter from my parents. It basically read like I need to forgive and put all this behind us. That they know things didn't go the best, that's an understatement, but were a family, and families work through problems. They also claimed Starr wanted me to be a bridesmaid just like she was for me. WTF. That letter opened up all sorts of old wounds at the time, and my therapist got a lot more business. Today, I find it hilarious, but then not so much. I did not respond at all, the only thing I did was figure out which part of my extended family let my ex-family know my address and cut them off as well. That brings me to

the most recent drama. Last week, Ryan of all people showed up at my apartment, James and I do not live together, but that will be changing soon. He looked good, like too good, as in he was trying to looks his best when he showed up. I asked, what do you want? He said, I just want to talk, I'm so sorry for what I did, Starr and I are divorcing. I figured out she was unfaithful our whole marriage, surprise, surprise. I don't expect you to take me back, but we should talk and get some closure for both of our sakes. I did a double blink. He has lost his mind. I looked him right in the eye, no, I give you no closure, you made your own bed, did you really think that Golden Hoo-ha of hers, that I'm telling you has had more visitors than Holiday Inn, was suddenly going to put up

the no-vacancy sign just because you put a ring on it. You're even dumber than I thought. I forgive nothing, I want nothing from you, I don't care, I'm better off now, and that will always be the case. You can go to hell. Then I turned and went back in my apartment, locking the door behind me. I immediately called my landlady, who is the sweetest old lady in the world. I've gotten kind of close to her over these four years and she knows about my previous marriage. Ryan was still just loitering out in the hallway. A few minutes later her two nephews that helped maintain the apartment grounds where they're letting Ryan know he was not welcome here, and was on a band list.

If he returned the police would be called for trespassing. I was hoping that would be the end of it, but it wasn't. I have a fairly easy 9-to-5 work schedule now. Because of that I go to the restaurant almost any night James is managing. I don't get in the way, just hang out and enjoy the few minutes here and there he can give me. I've become good friends with a lot of the staff, which include a lot of James and Jack's family, and it's really the family environment I always wished I had. I am there the next night, when Ryan walks in and just comes and sits at my table,

it was a slow Tuesday night. James noticed, and recognized Ryan from photos I had shown him. He immediately came over to check on me. Ryan stuck his hand out. James just looked at it then said to me, want me to kick him out. I said, not yet, I got a question or two. Ryan perked up like he was winning or something, what a tool. I asked him to tell me what happened between him and Star.

I'll admit it was pure morbid curiosity and I was hoping she got screwed over in the divorce. Ryan told us she was having at least two affairs with married men, old habits die hard, I guess. This was two years in. It was a tough time for me, I roll. I interrupted, you are not that dumb though, did you protect yourself, or did she get half of all your stuff? Ryan replied smudley, I stuck out almost another year with her so I could start stowing away savings and sold off some assets, in the end she got a fraction of what we she would have. I asked, and what happened to her then?

Ryan replied, she had to move back in with your parents again. I satisfied said, ah yes, thank you, that's what I wanted to hear. He can go now. James, you heard her, out of my restaurant. Ryan, but, no, I want to. I cut him off, no forgiveness, no closure, I I just wanted to know my loser sister was back living at home, get out. James stood and pointed at the door.

Ryan looked around and saw he was being glared at by the bartender and two members of the wait staff. He stood, tucked-tailed, and turned towards the door. James started, and if you ever come back. Ryan quickly, yeah, yeah, I know, cops, trespassing. After he was gone, I got checked on by almost everyone around. It was nice and embarrassing. My future-in-laws, who I adore, called me, they demanded I stay with James the next couple days just to be safe.

It was really sweet. I have never had a family look after me like this. I didn't hear from Ryan again, and hopefully I never will. Part 4. Hi everybody, I didn't think it would happen, but I have another update for you all. First to me. I am now a 41-year-old mother of 2, 6M and 2M. James and I are doing really well.

I now work as a part-time office manager for the restaurants and a semi-somme. James Cousin bought into the business and we opened a second location three years ago. It's been a lot more work but with the three of them staying heavily involved in both locations we are successful and it affords each of them some level of personal time. It wasn't ideal, but I'm pretty sure I got pregnant staying with James when his parents demanded I do so after my last posting. They now joke they always wanted to be grandparents and it was all part of their plan. Now for the update.

After the last time when Ryan tracked me down, I figured it was only a matter of time before my parents or sister showed up. It didn't happen right away. I eased up some as I felt I had a full support system and rejoined social media. I stayed no contact with much of family, including extended, but I also didn't have any illusions that they wouldn't be able to find me if they tried. It wasn't until after our first was born that I got my first message. It was for my mom.

She gave a half-hearted apology, said something about forgiveness, and inquired about her grandson. I was just going to block her, but the implication that my child was her grandchild I found insulting. So I replied, you do not have any grandchildren, I am not your daughter, and thus my children have no relation to you. If you want grandchildren, then you should encourage Starr to get out there and do what she does best. At that point, I blocked her. She made new accounts and tried contacting for a while, but I always just declined or deleted any requirements. or messages. That brings me to the recent drama. I was getting bombarded with requests, messages, etc., to contact them. I read some and it was a sob story about missing out on the

grandkids' lives, and wanting to make amends. I really didn't care, I had no intention of ever including them in my life again. Then the more shocking thing occurred. Star started reaching out to me. She wasn't saying much other than she very much wanted to speak to me. After this went on for about three weeks I agreed to a Zoom meeting. Just me, no kids. When it started off, they kept asking to see the kids. I was steadfast that wouldn't happen. They had three grandparents and that was it, James's mom, dad, and grandma.

I kind of was getting the idea that this was about something else. Star looked kind of terrible, and my parents were looking old and tired. As we started to talk, they began apologizing for everything that occurred. Even Star, she said she was wrong to do what she did, and that she wishes she could have her sister back. That was a laughable thought. Mom then took over and went into her usual garbage about being a family and looking out for each other. When she was done, I just looked at them and said, Is that all you got? I'm going to go then.

They yelled for me to wait, and the facade dropped. The real reason was about to come out. Apparently Star has been having health issues for the last couple years. for whatever reason her kidneys are failing and she needs a transplant. That's why they so persistently tried to get in touch with me. A family member is the most likely to be a viable match. I asked them direct, this is why you call me, you want me to save her after what she did. My husband wasn't enough now she needs a body part from me too.

My mother snapped, stop being like this, all of that was a long time ago, she began choking up and crying as she continued. I get it, you hate us, but she is going to die. if she doesn't get a transplant soon, is that what you want? I know you think she wronged in the worst way, but please just this once can we set that aside. I got quiet, I wanted to see if they said more. Eventually Dad actually started to talk, look, we're sorry for all that happened, but we got some pretty big problems. Between her medical bills and not being able to work, your mom and I are getting older and have our own problems. We got a lot of issues, we need you

to come back to Missouri and see if you are a match, but we also could use some help. or we might lose the house. So you need my kidney and my money. I said, Don't put it like that. He replied. Star chimed in, please, just come home, I need my big sister, I don't want to die, can you just come and see if you're a match, if you're not we will never contact you again.

I told them I needed to think about it, do some research tonight. I would tell them tomorrow. I ended the call and went to speak to my husband. He told me he supported me 100% whichever way I would. went, then asked if we should all travel as a family, or if just he should come. I said no to both, I was going to go, and I was going on my own. I let my former family know I would get lab results here in Minnesota, and if I was match I'd come there and we could talk about everything else then. About a week later I got results and it appeared Star and I were a perfect match. I agreed to

come back home to St. Charles. By time I arrived Star had begun to have some issues and needed to be admitted to the hospital. This got everyone off my back about meeting for dinner, as I had no intention of doing anything social with these people. Especially since any time they seemed to have a free minute my parents were inquiring if I had thought about helping them get caught up on their financial struggles. They managed to stabilize Starr. I went to meet with these doctors that would do the transplant.

They began going over everything with me, and I said I'd like to have this conversation with everyone. We all went to Starr's room, my parents were already there. The doctor began explaining the situation. Starr had maybe six months more without a transplant. They went over the process with us all, and made a huge deal about how perfect of a match I was, that the likelihood of finding a more viable donor was minuscule, and that the sooner we scheduled the surgery the better.

I then walked over to Starr and took her hand, I gazed into her big brown eyes, and told her, did you hear that? I am perfect match, essentially I'm the only person who can save you, and I'm not going to, you are the most vile narcissistic piece of gutter trash I have ever known. I only came here so you would know the one person who could keep you alive is the one person you have wronged the most, and now you're paying for that with your life. You're going to die, you should make peace with that. Star burst into tears, and my parents turned to accost me, the doctor and nurse were

standing there in total shock. I looked at my parents and said, don't even talk to me, and don't you dare ever ask me for anything ever again. The only money I would ever spend on you would be for your funeral, under the stipulation that you be cremated and the ashes released to me. At which I point I will promptly deposit your remains in the dirtiest port-a-john I can find. Finished, I walked out of the room and never looked back. I'm back home now, my real home, surrounded by my real family.

And couldn't be happier. Part 1, my, Rachel, 30F, have been married to my husband, Ryan, 32M, for six years. We have a really strong relationship. I would say the usual couple drama through our years, but we have grown from it and have a loving relationship. All was well until about eight months ago. My sister, Star 28F, moved back to our hometown, after living in Florida since she was 18. Her long-term boyfriend dumped her and moved to a new city, leaving her destitute. The circumstance behind their breakup are still largely unknown.

When my sister returned, she told us that he had been cheating with men, I didn't really know him that well, but that sounded far-fetched. I only met the guy three times, as my sister would only come home for Christmas, and usually only stay for three to four days. He accompanied her twice during their five years together. The other time I met him was when my husband and I visited them for a day during our vacation three years ago. He just didn't strike me as the guy who would have a double life, and just leave Star with nothing. I tried to reach out to him once but found I was blocked, so I just let it go. Star moved back in with my parents, Gina 55F and Jimmy 56M. For the first month she was here she struggled to find work, so I suggested that maybe

Ryan could help her out. He is a higher-up at his company, and figured he would have some pull. He did and she was able to get a position in his department. This is a job in her field. For some background, my sister and I have never been very close. She is the golden child, at least to our mom, and our dad is spineless when it comes to our mom. It's not a Not super obvious, just a million little things. Like we both got cars when we turned 16, but I got an 8-year-old Dodge Neon, and she got a two-year-old Mitsubishi eclipse. Her dance practices, outfits, competitions, I know they cost thousands of dollar over the years.

Some of those competitions were six or seven hours away, and they never batted an eye. Meanwhile, when I would ask for $50 for a volleyball or basketball camps at the local college, in our town, they would give it to me, but you would have thought I was asking them to to build me my own arena. I think what pissed me off the most ever was when I was 17, I was out with my boyfriend, lost track of time, and was 15 minutes past curfew. They took my car for a whole month for that. Then when my sister came home, two hours late, and smelled like pot, the next year, she just got a stern talking to. I wasn't exactly sad when she left for college and decided to stay in Florida. Despite all of that, she began spending

more and more time at our house. Which at first I thought was nice, as maybe she was making the effort to be closer to me. Then I started to notice that her and Ryan were getting rather familiar with each other. They would talk about seemingly anything at length. They started having their own inside jokes, if I tried to include myself they would say, just a work thing. When I asked my husband about it, he just said they have a lot in common and are working on several projects together at work. The first real red flag was that after about a month of this she would be there at our house when I got home from work. Ryan and I have different work schedules. While he gets a traditional 8 to 430 work day, I work 10 to 7. This was pretty often.

When I asked about it, I always got the, we had some work stuff to do. Two months ago, I noticed something that had me questioning my own sanity. I make the bed every day before I leave for work. I always make it so the open side of the pillowcase is towards the edge of the bed. Star was over that day when I got home, she ate with us then went back to my parents' house. As we got in bed, I noticed two of the pillows had the cases in towards the middle. I asked my husband if he had been in bed today. He looked a little shook, but said, No, why do you ask? I said the bed's not the same as I made it this morning.

He told me L, I must have been mistaken then, because no one was in the bed. I looked through his phone and laptop without his knowing and found nothing. Then again they worked together eight hours a day, five days a week, then hang out after work why would they need to text? I felt like I was losing my mind. Two weeks ago my parents invited us over for dinner. It was going fine. Until I saw something.

Ryan was simply walking by, Star lightly grabbed his arm and he turned to her. She whispered something and they touched foreheads together. It was only a second and Ryan jolted up, then kept on walking. Star then just kind of looked at me, smiled, and went back to what she was doing. I'm not an idiot, I know this is a mountain of red flags. I just don't want to believe, I have been in love with my husband since I was 21 years old. I have planned a weekend get away to the city. I'm going to ask him about things there.

I really hope it's not what I'm thinking. Part two, you are all right, and my world is destroyed. We went on our weekend adventure. It was a nice Friday night. We had drinks, we danced, we were intimate. The next day we had more planned, and I almost didn't say anything. Really thought he couldn't be doing that with her and this with me. I was so wrong.

We were almost ready to start our Saturday, and I point-blanked asked him if he was having an affair with my sister. He teared up and said, yes, he was. My heart crushed. I asked him why. He said he was sorry, he didn't mean for this happen. They just clicked and before he knew it. they were kissing, then more. I asked if he had been sleeping with her in our bed before I got home from work. He just turned his head in shame. I left at that point. I had nothing with me

but my purse and I drove home without him. He got an Uber and arrived a few hours later with my other things. He tried to apologize, but I didn't acknowledge him through my tears. He packed a bag and left for a hotel. The next day I told my parents. They already knew. They said they were sorry about what happened. Told me Starr had left last night and might not be back for a few days. I'm sure she went to stay with Ryan. That all happened three months ago. Our divorce is almost final. Ryan found an apartment to rent right away, and Starr moved in with him. I am only contacting him in regards to our divorce. He initially said I could just have the house and the savings. I think this was guilt talking. Then after a few days said that we would have to split the house.

I know this was Star in his ear. I had already moved everything out of the savings into a new account, so there was no fight there. Just like that nine years of my life gone. He has no idea what he is getting himself into, she is a narcissist and will throw him away eventually. Star has been exceedingly cruel during all this. A few days after I found out she tagged me in a Facebook post. It was selfie of her and him giving her a kiss on the cheek from behind. The caption read, Feeling Loved.

It was disgusting. I logged out of my account and deleted the app off my phone. She texted me about an hour later saying, Sorry, sis, didn't mean to tag you, no hard feelings, I hope we can still be close. You'll meet your soulmate someday too. I blocked her, blocked her on everything I could think of. My parents haven't been any better. They pretended to be sympathetic in the beginning.

When I told them I was going no contact with Starr and Ryan, my mother looked at me and said, I'm sorry this happened, it shouldn't have happened this way, but your sister deserves to be happy too. You'll meet someone, and then we can put this all behind us. I got really upset and told them what Star had tagged me in and the text she sent me and my mother said, well, you shouldn't be on that stuff anyway. My father hasn't said a thing this whole time. He just sits there.

I asked him once what he thought, and he just said, I agree with your mother. Then walked out of the room. I am going full no contact with them as well. The house will sell soon and I'm moving. moving to a different state. I am not telling any of my family where or when. I haven't told them that's my plan, I'm just done with all of them. I wish them all the worst. Personal note log entry 4. Case, 19830410. Today's date, January 2nd, 2025. Date of Crime, December 27th, 2024. Victim, Colin Hyde, white male, 38 years old, location, Sunside Apartment Complex.

47th Street Apt 5D, called in, Shannon Mitchell, white female, 24 years old, victims live and girlfriend. Details, victim stabbed 57 times in the face, neck, back of the torso and the back of the thighs. No sign of forced entry. Small hunting knife belonging to the victim suspected to be murder weapon. Witness reports, Shannon Mitchell is a 20, year-year-old single mother to a seven-year-old boy, Nolan Willis. On December 26th at approximately 5 p.m. she began her shift working in the warehouse of

the AB warehouse on Florence Avenue. She worked until 1.30 a.m. in the morning of December 27th, 24. This is verified by security camera footage. At 1.41 a.m. she is seen by security cameras leaving the parking lot of the AB warehouse. Roughly 10 minutes later, she pulls into the QD on Harvard Avenue where she proceeds to get gas, three other items, then proceed on her way to her apartment on 47th Street. At approximately 2.10 a.m. she enters her apartment to the grisly scene. Her boyfriend of five months Colin is dead, face down, on the living room floor. Blood covers much of the living space and coats the walls. Shannon lets out a scream that alerts the across-hall neighbor, 58-year-old

Dennis Barlow. After her initial shock, Shannon runs across the crime scene, including stepping over the victim to Nolan's room. Shannon finds Nolan sound asleep in his bed. After waking him and realizing he is alive and seemingly unharmed, a panicked Shannon calls 911. During this time Dennis Barlow enters the apartment minutes after hearing the initial scream. Dennis sees the scene and calls out for Shannon. When Shannon responds, Dennis then crosses the crime scene and enters Nolan's room where the three of them stay until authorities arrive. Shannon reports leaving for work at approximately 4.35 p.m. on December 26, 24. She states that when she left the apartment, Colin Hyde was watching television and, playing, on his phone. Her son Nolan was in his room

reading a book to his newest toy, a Lenny Lion doll. At 7.29 p.m. Colin received a call from his boss, George Rice. Mr. Rice reports informing Colin of a change in his schedule for the next day. Shannon states that Nolan's bedtime is 9 p.m. sharp. Nolan says he went to bed about this time. but had difficulty sleeping. At around 11 p.m., Dennis Barlow reports hearing some commotion coming from the apartment belonging to the victim. In his statement, Mr. Barlow claims this is not unusual. He has often heard very loud, and seemingly destructive arguments occur between Shannon Mitchell and Colin Hyde. This is corroborated by a domestic disturbance call responded to by officers on December 14, 24. Apartment is silent until Shannon arrives home.

Me reports, still waiting on the full forensic report. Preliminary evidence leads us to believe Colin Hyde was murdered sometime around 11 p.m. Colin was sitting on the living room couch, and believed to be accompanied by our unknown assailant. He was drinking bush light and eating summer sausage, a block of cheddar, crackers, and mustard. His hunting knife was likely being used to slice the meat and cheese. Medical examiner believes that at some point the assailant took the knife and stabbed Colin in an upward angle in the right side. of his neck. Colin attempted to run and stood up to move towards the door. Colin was then met with another stab wound to the back of the right thigh that caused him

to fall to the ground. From there Colin was stabbed 55 more times in the back, neck, and right side of his face as he lay on the ground. The knife was then wiped on the removable shirt of the Lenny Lion doll before both items were tossed onto the couch. Doll, shirt, weapon, plate, foods, and beer cans were all collected by forensic personnel. Forensic interviewer, the professional forensic interviewer that interviewed Nolan has reported he believes the boy may have been a victim of sexual abuse at the hands of Colin Hyde. Nolan has reported that Colin often touched him in inappropriate places. Nolan also reports that Colin threatened to hurt him and his mother if anyone should find out. From statements made by Shannon, Colin moved into the apartment she leased on December 1st of 2024.

Nolan reports the abuse began shortly after that. A scab on Nolan's lip was also reported to have been caused. by Colin a few days before Christmas. On the night of the murder Nolan states that he stayed in his room most of the night, and Colin did not come in at any point. Nolan recalls that the programmed alarm on one of Shannon's old phones went off at 9 p.m. as usual. Nolan then turned the alarm off, brushed teeth, put on his pajamas and climbed into his bed. When asked if Colin helps him with this bedtime routine, Nolan responded that Colin does not.

Nolan stated that he had some trouble falling asleep, but did eventually. Nolan remembers that he was awoken by a bad dream some time later. When asked if he exited his room at any point he said, No, Nolan did not report hearing or seeing anyone else in the apartment on the night in question. Personal thoughts, probably the most brutal murder I have ever seen. The perpetrator's level of overkill makes me think this was personal. I would like to have Nolan re-interviewed to see if he told someone else about the abuse. Also need to dig into Collins' past.

Maybe this was a revenge killing from a prior visit. or relative of a prior victim. I hated to do it, but I did entertain the thought that perhaps Nolan committed this crime. Looking at the evidence, though, that seems unlikely. Nolan had no blood on him or in his bed. His hands were not cut, which is very common amongst stabbings. The only blood found in his room was clearly from the two adults involved running through the crime scene before entering. Shannon has been thoroughly interviewed as well, and it is believed that she was unaware of the abuse. CPS ruled Shannon was not a threat and she maintains custody.

I cannot at this time rule Shannon Mitchell out as possibly being involved in the murder. Personal note log entry 4. Case, 19830511. Today's date, January 22nd, 2025. Date of crime, January 9th, 2025. Victim 1, Charlotte Owens, white female, 46 years old. Victim 2, Dana Owens, black male, 48 years old. location, 58th Street near S. 91st E. Called in, Regina Kirby, neighbor.

Reported fire. Details, victim one doused in gasoline and set ablaze. Found deceased at scene. Victim two not directly doused, suffered severe third-degree burns. Survived for four hours before dying at an area hospital. No sign of forced entry. Small gas can belonging to the victims was kept in an attached garage. Witness reports. Regina Kirby noted that on January 9, 2025 at approximately 11.30 p.m. she was in her kitchen

getting a drink when she saw a bright flash come from the bedroom window of her neighbor's house. Regina stated that the light continued and was accompanied by the sounds of screaming. After just a few seconds Regina realized that it was a house fire and called authorities. Me reports, still waiting on full forensic report. Preliminary evidence indicates that gasoline was used as the accelerant for the fire. Me reports Charlotte Owens had a large amount of gasoline directly poured onto her. In the case of Dana Owens, the evidence indicates that he was not covered in gasoline and burns were the product of his close proximity to Charlotte, and attempts to extinguish the fire.

Me states that the clothing worn by victim one, as well as the lower quality cotton bedding led to a more intense and longer-lasting fire. Charlotte never escaped the bed and died from the burns before fire crews could extinguish the blaze. Dana Owens suffered severe third-degree burns and passed out from smoke inhalation, succumbing to injuries approximately four hours later. Fire report, CFI has shared that gasoline was poured from the hallway into the open bedroom door of the victims, up to Charlotte Owens' side of the bed where it was then poured directly onto the victim. The trail was lit from the hallway by a camping lighter that was left on the floor. The materials in the bedding and bedspread led to a larger and more long-lasting fire. Fire crews were able to extinguish the flames before it spread to other areas of the house.

Gasoline residue was noted on the base interior edge of the dog door leading from the house into the garage. Personal thoughts, on the surface this seems like a senseless killing of a middle-aged interracial couple. Initial thought was possibly racially motivated. No forced entry in this case is very alarming. Neighbors have indicated that the couple was not well liked. Several statements indicate that both Mr. and Mrs. Owen were rude and grumpy, but nothing indicating that they caused issues within the neighborhood. Front door, back door, and garage entrance had heavy locks that were latched when fire crews arrived. All windows were found to be locked. The only point that was truly unsecured was a small dog door leading from the garage to the backyard, and a second larger dog door leading from the

garage into the house. The gas residue found on the bottom of the dog door suggestions the gas can was brought in through the dog door. Meaning the killer must have come in through those dog doors as well, as the locks were still secure on both doors. While the door leading from the house into the garage was larger. The one leading from the garage into the backyard is very small. The Owens family dog was located wearing an anti-bark collar explaining why the couple was not alerted to the presence of the killer. The dog is a miniature docksurn and it appears the dog doors were installed with the dog's size in mind. The opening for the backyard could not fit any individual bigger than your typical five or six-year-old. This would also align with

four small mud spots on the garage floor leading from the backyard door towards the house door. They somewhat resemble small very round feet. I cannot ignore the fact that again I had a murder that pointed to a child. Upon further investigation I have discovered that Charlotte Owens is an elementary school teacher, and is in fact the first grade teacher of Nolan Willis. While this may just be coincidence, I will have to follow up with Nolan and his mother Shannon. Local Facebook message groups indicate that Charlotte was an unpopular teacher, and several parents have complained about her being, mean, to her students. Is this a retaliation for something that happened at school? Further interviews will be necessary.

Personal note log entry 1. Case, 19830679. Today's date, January 24, 2025. Date of crime, January 22, 2025. Victim 1. Connor DeBerg, White male, 11 years old. location, 73rd Street. Called in, Amelia DeBerg, victim's mother. Details, victim was stabbed in both left and right sides of neck by paring knives while sleeping.

No sign of forced entry. Witness report, victim was discovered by his mother, 34-year-old Amelia DeBerg, at around 6.15 a.m. on the morning of January 23rd. In a state of panic she moved the body. Initial impression suggests time of death of approximately 11 p.m. on January 22nd. Two pairing knives were found on the floor of the bedroom are believed to be the murder weapons. Paring knives were the property of the DeBerg family and Mrs. DeBerg stated they were put away in the drawer at bedtime the previous night. Brandon DeBerg, victim's father, 34 years old, reports that the sliding back door was not locked. Mr. DeBerg also recalled closing the drawer that the pairing knives were kept in at 5.30 a.m.

morning of January 23rd prior to leaving for work. Two younger children were also in the home at the time. They report being asleep through the entire night. Amelia DeBerg states that she put the two younger children to bed at 8 p.m. per usual. Amelia reported that Connor brushed teeth and went to bed at approximately 9.30 p.m. and Brandon de Berg state they stayed up until about 10.30 p.m. on the night before turning out lights, confirming the front door was locked, and retreating to their bedroom. They further reported that at around 11 p.m. they put on music to drown out the sounds of them engaging

in sexual intercourse. Both DeBird parents state they believe this led to them being unable to hear the assailant entering the home. Me report, Forensic report in the beginning stages. Two pieces of evidence have been discovered. In the left palm of Connor DeBerg's hand was discovered a golden colored hair. Forensics on scene collected the sample and informed me that it doesn't look like real hair. It appears to be fake fur. The second piece of evidence came from the DeBerg's blinked doorbell camera. Following the approximate time the crime was committed, the camera picks up a figure that appears to run from the north side of the house, across the street, and between two houses disappearing into the darkness. I paused the video to the point the figure is most clear.

Detective Bruce Goodwin has experience in calculating the relative size of objects based on surrounding objects. Detective Goodwin estimated the figure escaping is approximately two feet tall. Personal thoughts, the hair and doorbell footage have me thinking impossible, crazy. thoughts. Thoughts that terrify me. I won't entertain them at this time. I need to focus on the facts. During my interviews with the victim's parents they mentioned he had been sent home from school Wednesday, January 22nd, 25. Reason given was picking on younger students. Conner attended the same school as Charlotte Owens taught. This is the same school that Nolan Willis attends. I spoke to Connor's fifth grade teacher, off the record. She informed me that one of the two students

involved in the incident with Connor was Nolan Willis. We have a serial killer in this area. In this one specific area of the city. One who can get into houses undetected. One that doesn't leave fingerprints or DNA. I hate to jump to any sort of conclusion but Nolan Willis having a personal connection to a third victim cannot be a coincidence. I need to speak to Nolan and his mother Shannon as soon as possible. Transcript of interview with Nolan Willis, psychologist, Irma Tittle Ph.D. Date, February 18th, 2025. Meeting note, third appointment. Section on events of December 23rd, 24. IT, Nolan, so you told me you got your Lenny Lion doll early, before Christmas morning. Why was that? N.W., I don't know, my mom said I could have it.

IT, she didn't tell you why she let you open that present early. N.W., it was to help me be brave. Lions are very brave. I.T. Why did she want you to be brave? N.W., my mom said it would help when she was gone, and it was just me and Colin at home. I.T. Nolan, you told me last time that your mother's boyfriend, Colin, had touched you in a bad place, before that night. But something happened that night that hadn't happened before. Can you tell me today what else happened that night? N.W., I bit him. I T. Is that when he hit you? N. W., Nolan nods. IT, that hurt I bet.

Your mom told me that it busted your lip open. After that happened, do you remember what you did next? N.W., I ran to my room. IT, did Colin try and come after you? N.W., Nolan shakes his head. He just yelled that he would hurt my mom if I told her. IT, were you bleeding? N.W., yes, IT, did you clean yourself up? Like with a washcloth or napkin?

N.W., no. IT, were you crying after he hit you? It would have been totally okay to cry, I'm sure it hurt, and you told me last time you were scared. N. W., I just held Lenny over my face, but that got blood and stuff on him. I.T. Oh, so Lenny was very helpful that night. Did you do anything else, like did you talk to Lenny, or pray, or wish for anything? N.W., I wished I could be Lenny. I T. Why did you want to be Lenny? N.W., because he is brave, he wouldn't let people hurt him. Transcript of interview with Nolan Willis, psychologist, Irma Tittle Ph.D. Date, February 25.

5th, 2025. Meeting note, fourth appointment. Sections on dreams. IT, I saw on your file from the night Colin died. You said you woke up after having a bad dream. Do you remember what you dreamt? N. W., I dreamt that Colin was bleeding. IT, and did that scare you? N. W., Nolan nods, but begins to speak and stops himself. IT, was there something you wanted to say? N.W., I was also happy he was bleeding. IT, that's understandable, it's natural for people to want to hurt those that hurt them. But it's also important to understand that there might be consequences to that. N.W., I know, IT, Nolan, you also must understand that sometimes people might make us mad, or sad, but that doesn't mean we should hurt them. Do you believe that?

N.W., I guess. IT, did you have any other dreams where people you didn't like were hurt? N.W., my teacher. IT, Mrs. Owens, yes, what happened to Mrs. Owens in your dream? N.W., she got burnt. IT, did you ever have a dream about Connor DeBerg, the fifth grader that pushed you into the urinal? N.W., what's a urinal? IT, that's the toilet that's built up the wall, the one that's only for peeing.

N.W., Nolan nods. IT, what did you dream? N.W., Nolan gets quiet and refuses to answer. I.T., okay, let's not talk about that right now. Have you ever had any dreams about anyone else? About your mother maybe? N.W., Nolan continues his silence. He would not answer any further questions during this session.

Personal file entry. Today's date March 1st, 2025. This record is being created should it ever come to light what I have done, or what has transpired. No one will ever believe this. In December 2024 and January 2025, I investigated three separate homicide cases. At the core of these cases was a seven-year-old boy named Nolan Willis. On January 24th, 2025 at 1117 p.m. I received a phone call that has completely changed me as a detective, and as a human being. The call came from Shannon Mitchell, the mother of Nolan Willis.

Shannon was in hysterics saying she had been attacked by her child's toy, Lenny Lion. I would have assumed this woman was on hallucinogens if not for evidence that had me pondering my own wild ideas. Shannon later told me she called my cell phone because she didn't think anyone else would believe her. I rushed to the Sunside apartments. Shannon and Nolan had been allowed to move into a different unit after the murder of Colin Hyde. I arrived and entered the apartment without knocking, simply verbally identifying myself upon entry. On the living room floor lay the Lenny Lion doll in question. Alongside it was a small amethyst gem decoration.

I went to Nolan's bedroom where I found Shannon and Nolan. Shannon had a nasty dash on her forehead. After getting everyone calmed down, I inquired as to what happened. Shannon told me that Nolan had been acting up earlier in the night. She had given him a spanking at that time and put him in bed. She was doing things on her phone when she fell asleep at some point on the couch. She was woken by a hard hit from the amethystacourt to the right side of her head. Her natural instinct to flail her arms and jump up likely spared her a second hit.

Shannon indicated that her flailing knocked the lion doll across the room. Shannon stated she watched in terror as it stood again and began moving towards the amethyst decor. Shannon released a loud shrieking scream. It was at that point she observed the doll slump back down and become immobile. A moment later Nolan came from his bedroom. Nolan stated his mother's scream woke him up. Shannon verified the lion doll was still in the same spot from when it stopped. At this point I returned to the living space and inspecting.

the doll. Shannon tried to tell me not to touch it and to be careful. Looking the doll over I noticed the subtle evidence of the past crimes. There was some dried blood in the fur, a patch of fur missing on the doll's right side, slight cuts on the palms, and the faint smell of gasoline. I knew this didn't make sense, though. That a safari friend's shirt on the doll did have some red staining on it, likely from the murder of Connor DeBerg, but was missing the blood smears it had the night of Colin Hyde's murder. This was a different shirt. Yet it was the same doll.

This doll was collected for evidence the night of the Hyde murder. I asked Shannon about this doll and she told me that they had gotten Nolan another Lenny Lion doll after the police took his first. I asked to look through Nolan's room and buried in a closet was a shirtless Lenny Lion doll. This doll was unsoiled in any way. Nolan once again had the original doll in his possession. I bagged both dolls and took them with me. I requested that Shannon not let Nolan sleep until I had arrived back home.

When I reached my home I placed the suspected doll in an old metal dog crate. I then pad locked it. From what I could tell it was inescapable. I phoned Shannon and let her know it was okay for Nolan to fall asleep. I waited. Approximately two hours later the doll stood up and attempted to escape from the cage. I recorded the footage with my cell phone. It spent hours pushing on different spots trying to escape.

This lasted until morning when the doll suddenly stopped moving. I phoned Shannon and my suspicions were verified. Nolan had just awoken. I told Shannon I was on to something, and asked that she not inform anyone of what has happened. I simply asked that she text me when Nolan goes to sleep or wakes up, no matter when that was. Shannon did for the most part. Over the next week I experimented with the original doll, the new doll never moved on its own. Each night it would awaken one to two hours after Nolan went to bed.

bed. It would attempt to escape the cage. In a brazen moment I decided to test the strength of the doll. I sealed my home office in the event I was not able to control it. My fears were laid to rest quickly. The doll didn't possess strength beyond anything you would expect from a two-foot-tall six pounds piece of plastic and fabric. Its hits did not affect me, it was not strong enough to pull away. The lion doll did possess small rounded fangs, and while its bite did hurt. It was nothing more than a hard pinch in feel. The doll did not possess the bite force to break bone or tear flesh. From further testing I believe the doll is capable of lifting five pounds to ten pounds. It has the strength of a small child, roughly that of a two to three-year-old.

The one thing it has that makes it more dangerous from a physical standpoint. The doll does not get tired. It never exhausts. The most concerning factor to me is that the doll seemed to be on a mission. It wanted nothing more than to escape the room. On the last night of my experiments my curiosity got the better of me. I informed Shannon of what I was doing so that she could be prepared. Shannon asked me to not do this, but I reassured her that it was necessary. Though even I questioned if I would have been able to forgive myself had something happened. I sewn an air tag into the doll as a precaution.

Upon releasing it began running. It was hard to keep up with, not because it was overly fast, but because of its size it could get through areas I could not. It also pushed me to my limit as stated above, the doll does not fatigue. I tracked it all the way back to Shannon's apartment, where I observed it trying to figure out how to get in. I called Shannon and asked her to open her door on my mark. I knew the doll did not currently have a weapon. After some convincing, and me promising to have my firearm at the ready, she opened the door. The doll made a direct route to Nolan, where it laid down next to him. He had been recalling

it every night in his sleep. This must have been how it got back to him the first time. I decided to inspect the evidence locker where forensics worked. The clerk that worked the locker, was very nervous when we found the bag that originally held Lenny Lyon. It was torn open. I threatened the clerk for show. I wanted him to sweep this under the rug, and a little intimidation would likely keep him in check. In the back of the locker a vent cover was missing. The vent led down into the basement. I could see nothing out of place, or a way that the doll had escaped the basement. I inquired to maintenance and they informed me that they had recently replaced a small ceiling-level window that had been broken. In the weeks since Shannon got

Nolan some psychiatric care. I don't know what the long-term plan for Nolan is going to be, but I wish that young boy the best. He doesn't deserve the stigma of being a killer. Shannon and I are agreed to hide the truth from him, and everyone. I destroyed the accursed Lennie lie in doll. It is nothing but Ash at this point. Hopefully with therapy and support, this will give Nolan the opportunity to have a normal life. He deserves it. Note, I have attached a redacted transcript of Nolan's interview with a child psychologist as further evidence of what really happened should this information ever be necessary. I am still the lead investigator on these murders. I am just waiting for the right perk to turn up in a ditch somewhere. I'll pin these crimes on him,

and close the cases. It's wrong, it goes against everything I've ever stood for, but this, I'll never be the same. Detective Jim Bowman, Tulsa Police Department, six years it took for him to get to this point. His mother had him institutionalized through much of that time. Shannon had seen firsthand what he could do, he knew she was terrified. He also knew she had always kind of resented him. Her getting pregnant really messed up her life. When Shannon met Solomon, she saw her chance to get out of the poverty that she had

always wallowed in. Nolan knew his mother would do anything to keep this new life. She saw him as just a way it could get messed up. Solomon had two children from his first marriage and Shannon was going to be the best wife and stepmom she could. He didn't fit the aesthetic. He was weird. He wasn't like Solomon and his perfect kids. Shannon did everything she could to keep her burden far from her perfect life. Even when he was here it was no home. The steps barely acknowledged his existence, and when they did it was usually because they had a problem with him. A year ago is when Nolan found the lockbox in his mother's closet. The files, the interviews, the statements from the psychiatrists. The dreams he had about killing those people weren't dreams.

They were real. He had a gift. The abandoned shed on the neighbor's property had been his refuge the times he had been, home over the years. When he realized what he could do, it became his training ground. To walk up on it would be the most ridiculous of sights. For a year, he had secretly placed online orders, scrounged yard sales and resale shops. His mother would fully panic if she knew what he had. The shed was rotten and old, something a dumb character in a horror film would hide in. So when you enter, and see the shelves on the walls lined with Safari friends, it was hard not to laugh. Nolan was extra delighted this day. Each of his weapons, with their smiling plastic furry faces, had the item he had hidden in the woods in its hands.

The previous night's test had been a success. He could do it, he could control all of them at once, and at distance. Just in time too. His sleepover was that night. Joey was a means to end, a nice kid with no friends too, the perfect alibi. Nolan would be miles from home when he became an orphan. That detective would be the only loose end, and he wouldn't have much longer himself. No one, absolutely no one, was ever going to hurt him again.

All right, so here goes nothing. I'm 28 years old, and for the past few months, I've been dragging around this massive secret that's been chewing at my insides. It's one of those things you wish you could forget, buried deep down and pretend it never happened, but no matter what I do, it just won't go away. So, I figured maybe writing it all out might help me make sense of it. Or maybe I'm just hoping someone out there will tell me what the hell I'm supposed to do next. My best friend, Jake, who's 29, got himself into a mess a few months ago.

And when I say a mess, I mean the kind of thing you see in crime documentaries and never imagine happening in real life. It was late at night, and he was driving home after a rough day. His dad had just passed away a few weeks before, and he was barely hanging on at work. I'd never seen him that emotionally wrecked, honestly. And then it happened. He hit someone. Not on purpose, obviously.

But it was dark, the road was empty, and out of nowhere, this girl just stepped out in front of his car. He didn't even have time to hit the brakes. He said she looked like a shadow until it was too late. He freaked out. And I don't mean your standard panic attack. I mean full-on breakdown. Instead of stopping, calling the cops or checking on her, he sped off like a bat out of hell. He called me maybe ten minutes later, voice shaking, words all over the place. I could barely make out what he was saying. I rushed over to his place, and he was just,

broken. Sitting on the floor, hands covered in sweat, pupils dilated. I asked him over and over what happened, and when he told me, I swear my blood ran cold. Now, I know what you're thinking. Call the cops. Do the right thing. But it wasn't that simple. Jake had already been teetering on the edge. Losing his dad crushed him. His job was hanging by a thread. He was this close to losing his apartment. He was barely holding it together, and now this? In my head, I thought I was being a good friend. I didn't want to see him locked up for something that wasn't entirely his fault. The girl had walked right into the road, no warning. It felt unfair. And yeah, I know how that sounds. Like I was making excuses. Maybe I was. I don't know anymore. So instead of going to the police,

I helped him. I actually helped him cover it up. God, even writing that feels wrong. We went out to where it happened, and she was already gone. Someone must have called an ambulance. There was blood on the road, bits of glass from the headlights, a piece of fabric. We cleaned up what we could. Then we took his car and drove at two towns over to this sketchy junkyard Jake knew from his cousin. Paid a guy cash to get rid of it. That was that.

Or so we thought. At first, I convinced myself we'd done what we had to do. That maybe the girl would be fine, maybe no one would ever figure out who hit her. Maybe it would all blow over, and Jake could just keep on living. But, maybe, doesn't keep the guilt away. A few days later, the news broke. A 24-year-old woman had been hit by a vehicle in the early hours of the morning. She was in critical condition, and the police were searching for the driver.

Seeing her face on TV hit different. It wasn't just a story anymore. It was real. She had a name, Alyssa. She had a family, a job, friends. She wasn't just some shadow in the road, she was a human being. I started losing sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the accident.

And I wasn't even there. I just pictured it over and over, like some kind of horror reel stuck on loop. Jake tried to pretend everything was okay, but I could see it tearing him apart too. He'd call me at random hours, just to say he couldn't stop thinking about it. Sometimes he'd cry, other times he'd just sit in silence on the other end of the line. One night, he told me he was thinking about turning himself in. Said he couldn't live with himself knowing what he'd done. I didn't know what to say.

What do you say to that? Part of me wanted him to do it. I mean, it was the right thing, wasn't it? He hit someone. He ran. He lied. And I helped him lie. But the other part of me, the part that still sees him as my best friend since we were 12, wanted to stop him.

I kept imagining him sitting in a cell, rotting away, and thinking about how I might have pushed him there. The guilt started to eat away at me, and not just about Alyssa. about everything. I lied to my girlfriend. I lied to my family. Every time someone talked about the hit and run, I had to pretend I didn't know anything. I felt like a coward. A liar.

A fraud. I started looking up articles about her. Alyssa. She worked at a coffee shop downtown. Was saving up to go back to school. Her parents had started a go-fund meet. help with medical bills. I donated anonymously. I don't even know why. Maybe to make myself feel better. Spoiler, it didn't help. The worst part. She survived. But she's not okay.

She's got brain damage, limited mobility, and might never walk again without assistance. Her life is changed forever. And I'm partly responsible. Jake's a wreck. He barely leaves his apartment. He lost his job. He's drinking more. He's not the same guy anymore. And honestly, I'm not the same either. This thing has changed both of us.

I'm constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for the knock on the door. Wondering if today is the day someone finds out. Sometimes I think about just going to the police myself. Telling them everything. laying it all out. The car, the cover-up, the lies. Maybe if I do it, Jake will follow. Or maybe he'll hate me forever. Maybe we both go down. Maybe I deserve it. But then I remember those late nights. The tears. The pain in Jake's voice. And I wonder if turning us in would just make things worse. Would it help Alyssa? Or would it just be punishment for the sake of

I keep having this nightmare. I'm standing in court and Alyssa's family is there. They're looking right at me, and I can't say anything. I open my mouth, but no words come out. They just stare, broken, waiting for me to explain why I helped their daughter's life get torn apart. And I have no answer. That's the thing no one tells you about guilt. It doesn't scream. It whispers. It's always there, in the background, nudging you. Whispering. Reminding you of what you did. What you didn't do. So yeah, I'm stuck. On one hand, I want to believe I was being loyal. A good friend. That I helped someone I love when he was at his lowest. But on the other hand, I know I hurt someone else in the process. And that truth, that ugly, heavy truth, won't let me go.

Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and wonder who I even am anymore. Am I still the guy who always tried to do the right thing? Or did I cross a line I can't uncross? I'm not asking for sympathy. I know I probably don't deserve it. I just need to know what you would do. If you were in my shoes, if your best friend called you in the middle of the night, scared out of his mind, asking for help, would you have done the same?

Am I a monster for helping him? Or am I just a flawed human who made a terrible call in a moment of panic? Should I go to the police? Tell them everything. Or should I keep this secret buried and try to live with the consequences? I don't have the answers. But maybe someone out there does. Maybe someone reading this knows what it's like to carry something this heavy and still try to keep walking.

I just needed to get it off my chest. Maybe that selfish. But it's all I've got. Thanks for listening, whoever you are. The end. Disposable account. I am from Peru, from a provincial city, when I was 18 years old my cousin, who is the same age as mine, accused me of having raped her, she and I were very close since we were children since we used to spend time together, due to family problems she began to have depression. It wasn't like before, now all she did was scream, get angry or even blame me because I didn't have the same problem.

as her, the truth is I was trying to help her, but my own mental health was beginning to deteriorate, so I decided little by little to move away. Months passed and I had no contact with her until one day my father came to my house and called me, I went out to meet him and he received me with a slap in the face, it should be noted that my father had never hit me before, who did that was my mother and only for specific reasons. When I ask him about the reason behind the hit, he slapped me again and told me to get out of the house, that his brother, my cousin's father, had told him that my cousin said that I raped her

and that's why she was so depressed. Apparently her dad realized that she was cutting herself, and to get out of it, she just blamed me for everything. My cousin didn't press charges, obviously because there is no proof, but still my dad told me that my uncle wanted to beat me up. My dad was disappointed in me, he hit me again, called me an abuser, insulted me and told me to get out of his house.

My mom was always a submissive person with him, so she didn't say anything to him. I simply with my lip bleeding grabbed my most valuable things and left. Thank God I had my savings on my card from what I had worked for and I was able to go to the Capitol by public transportation. Once in the Capitol I managed to rent a small room, I had a bad time for the next few years, I had a couple or two for a few years and jumping from job to job to survive.

When I was 20 years old, my partner at that time told me that I could work at the KFC where she worked as a delivery order receptionist. The part-time job paid well and with the bonuses you could even earn double or triple my salary, so I worked there doing the best I could while studying a technical degree in administration. years passed and I ended up becoming a supervisor and then manager of that store thanks to my technical degree in business administration. At the age of 25 I became a partner with a former university classmate with whom I still had contact, she is a lawyer, and the age of 27 we got married, it was a small wedding because both she and I are modest with expenses and because I had no family to invite,

we currently have a one-year-old son whom I love with all my soul. It was after this that everything went to hell, today in the middle of the afternoon there was a knock at my door, was my parents. It had been more than a decade since I had seen them. I was frozen, but not with fear, but with anger. My dad asked me if he could come in, I told him no, so we talked in a nearby park, in short. They told me that my cousin had committed suicide and that in her letter she confessed the whole truth, that the person who actually abused her was her mother's brother, and that everything was orchestrated by him to be able to cover up and other things. The truth is I was very indifferent. For me, whoever accuses of those crimes deserves to suffer them in flesh,

so I didn't feel sorry for her, I told them kindly, and resisting my urge to yell at them, to go away and never contact me again, that they were dead to me. When I stood up from the bench to go home my dad grabbed me by the shoulder, he told me that we have to keep talking, I told him no, he insisted, I told him no, he insisted again, so I turned around and instinctively gave him a hit. I don't know when my dad became so weak, any Latino knows that countrymen are quite strong. But one hit was enough to break his nose, he stood stunned looking at me with his eyes open and his nose bleeding and my mom was covering her mouth, for some reason that I don't explain,

my next reaction was to throw myself at him, it wasn't difficult to knock him to the ground and I continued hitting him. When he started to cover his face I started hitting his head or forehead, I'll not lie, it felt liberating, I felt like I was crying while I hit him and I continued until my right hand was hurting. My mother stood still, for some reason she didn't do anything, she just stood there watching and crying, by that time it was already night and in our area it was difficult to find people on the street, even less so considering that today there is a soccer game, my mom helped my dad and took a taxi, she didn't say anything to me, she didn't scream, she just cried and as soon as she grabbed my dad she ran away, I'm not lying, if she had

tried to intervene maybe she would have gotten the same treatment. A few hours later my mother writes to me on my cell phone, apparently they contacted a friend from university, I still have my social networks active, who told them where I lived, saying that my father needs a septum reconstruction because it was perforated in dental reconstruction for having four broken teeth. Everything was going to cost the equivalent of $4,000 U.S. dollars, which is a lure of money here, not a fortune, but it's a lot. I have already been clear with her, I am not going to put in a single cent, for my sake she and my dad could end up just like my cousin, I don't care,

she has been calling me, asking for forgiveness for everything, that she wants to come back into my life, that she was afraid and that she should have protected me or at least believed me. According to her my dad felt the same and according to him he deserves every hit I gave him, I guess we agree on that. I told my wife everything, she already knew what happened in the past with my parents, she just told me that she understood, that, according to what I told her, my father died when he kicked me out of his house, so who did I hit was just a stranger with his face, I found

her comparison funny and I agreed with her. She told me that if they tried legal measures we would simply say that it was in self-defense, a law was recently passed in which lethal force can even be used when it's about self-defense, so if something happens to him we can rely on that, right now I'm glad I have a lawyer-wife, I can't help but feel more liberated after this. My parents aren't poor so I know they'll get the money for the operation. I hope they just aren't idiots enough to come back to my house. This is my home now and if I have to beat them both to get the hell out of my life,

I will, at the end of the day, they are the ones who started all this. I was just offending myself. I still feel a little euphoric and happy. The truth is, I am a little happy that they are suffering, they deserve it, I am happy with my life and my family, and I would protect them at any cost, that includes my parents. I needed to get this off my chest somehow, so I'm writing this to release it, somehow telling it all has made me feel better. I, um, I don't really know how to begin with this.

My, my name is Henry Carcright. I'm 26 years old, and I have a story to tell. I've never told this to anyone, God forbid, but something happened to me a couple of years ago. Something horrible, beyond horrible. In fact, it happened to me and seven others. Only two of them are still alive, as far as I'm aware. The reason that I'm telling this now is because, well, it's been eating me up inside. The last two years have been absolute torture, and I can't tell this to anyone without being sent back to the loony bin.

The two others that survived, I can't talk to them about it because they won't speak to me, and I don't blame them. I've been riddled with such unbearable guilt at what happened two years ago, and if I don't say something now, I don't. I don't know how much longer I can last, if I will even last, whether I say anything or not. Before I tell you this story, about what happened to the lot of us, there's something you need to understand. What I'm about to tell you, you won't believe, and I don't expect you to. I couldn't give two shits if anyone believed me or not. I'm doing this for me, for those who died and for the two who still have to live on with this. I'm going to tell you the story.

I'm going to tell you everything. And you're going to judge me. Even if you don't believe me, you're going to judge me. In fact, you'll despise me. I've been despising myself. For the past two years, all I've done since I've been out of that jungle is numb myself with drink and drugs, numb enough that I don't even recall ever being inside that place. That only makes it worse.

Far worse. But I can't help myself. I've gotten all the mental health support I can get. I've been in and out of the psychiatric ward, given a roundabout of doctors and a never-ending supply of pills. But what help is all that when you can't even tell the truth about what really happened to you? As far as the doctors know, as far as the world knows, all that happened was that a group of stupid adults, who thought they knew how to solve the world's problems, got themselves lost in one of the most dangerous parts of the world. If only they knew how dangerous

that place really is, and that's the real reason why I'm telling my story now, because as long as that place exists, as long as no one does anything about it, none of us are safe. None of U.S. I journeyed into the real heart of darkness. The locals, they, they call it the assoli. Like I said, um, this all happened around two years ago. I was living a comfortable life in North London at the time, waiting tables and washing dishes for a living. That's what happens when you drop out of university, I guess.

Life was good though, you know. Like, it was comfortable. I looked forward to the football at the weekend, and honestly, London isn't that bad of a to live. It's busy as hell, people and traffic everywhere, but London just seems like one of those places that brings the whole world to your feet. One day though, I, I get a text from my girlfriend Nadia, or at the time, my ex-girlfriend Nadia. She was studying in the States at the time and, we tried to keep it long distance, but you know how it goes, you just lose touch. Anyways, she texts me, wanting to know if we can do a video chat or something, and I said yes,

and being the right idiot I was, I thought maybe she wanted to try things out again. That wasn't exactly the case. I mean, she did say that she missed me and was always thinking about me, and I thought the same, but, she actually had some news. She had this group of friends, you see, an activist group. They called themselves the, um, B-A-D-S, what that stood for I don't know. They were basically this group of activist students that wanted equal rights for all races, genders and stuff.

Anyways, Nadea tells me that her and her friends were all planning this trip to Africa together, to the Congo, actually, and she says that they're going to start their own commune there, in the ecosystem of the rainforest. I know what you're thinking. It sounds, well it sounds bad shit mad. And that's what I said. Nadia did somewhat agree with me, but her reasoning was that the world isn't getting any more equal and it's never really going to change, and so her friends said, why not start our own community

in paradise? I'm not sure a war-torn country riddled with disease counts as paradise, but I guess to an American, any exotic jungle might seem that way. Anyways, Nadea then says to me that the group are short of people going, and she wondered if I was interested in joining their commune. I of course said no, no fucking thank you, but she kept insisting. She mentioned that the real reason we broke up was because her friends had been planning this trip for a long time, and she didn't think our relationship was worth carrying on anymore. She still loved me, she said, and that she wanted us to get back together. As happy as I was to hear she wanted me back, this didn't exactly sound like the Nadea I knew. I mean, Nadea was smart, really smart, actually, and she did get carried away with politics

and that, but even for her, this, this all felt quite mad. I told her I'd think about it for a week, and, against my better judgment I, I said yes. I said yes, not because I wanted to go, course I didn't want to go. who seriously wants to go live in the middle of the fucking jungle? I said yes because I still loved her, and I was worried about her. I was worried she'd get into some real trouble down there, and I wanted to make sure she'd be all right. I just assumed the commune idea wouldn't work and when Nadea and her friends realized that, they would all sod off back to the States.

I just wanted to be there in case anything did happen. Maybe I was just as much of an idiot as them lot. We were all idiots. Well, a few months and malaria shots later, I was boarding a plane at Heathrow Airport and heading to Kinshasa, capital of the, um, Democratic Congo. My big sister Ellie, she, she begged me not to go. She said I was putting myself in danger and... I agreed, but I felt like I didn't really have a choice.

My girlfriend was going to a dangerous place, and I felt I had to do something about it. My sister, she, um, she basically raised me. We both came from a dodgy family, you see, and so I always saw her as kind of a mom. It was hard saying goodbye to her because I didn't really know what was going to happen. But I told her I'd be fine and that I was coming back, and she said, you better. Anyways, um, I get on the plane and, and that's when things already start to get weird. It was a long flight so I tried to get plenty of sleep and, that's when the dreams start, or the, um, the same dream.

I dreamt I was already in the jungle, but, I couldn't move. I was just floating through the trees and that, like I was watching a David Attenborough documentary or something. Next thing I know there's this, fence, or barrier of sorts running through the jungle. It was made up of these long wooden spikes, crisscrossed with one another, sort of like a long row of X's. But, on the other side of this fence, the rest of the jungle was like, pitch black. Like you couldn't see what was on the other side.

But I can remember I wanted to. I wanted to go to the other side, like, it was calling me. I feel myself being pulled through to the other side of the fence and into the darkness, and I feel terrified, but, excited at the same time. And that's when I wake up back in the plane. I'm all panicked and covered in sweat, and so I go to the toilet to splash water on my face, and that's when I realize. I really don't want to be doing this.

All I think now of doing is landing in Kinshasa and catching the first plane back to heat. I'm still asking myself now why I never did. I land in Kinshasa, and after what seemed like an eternity, I work my way out the airport to find Nadea and her friends. Their plane landed earlier in the day and so I had to find them by 1 p.m. sharp, as we all had a riverboat to catch by three. I eventually find Nadea and the group waiting for me outside the terminal doors, they looked like they'd been waiting a while. As much anxiety I had at the time about all of this, it still felt really damn good to see Nadea again, and she seemed more than happy to see me too. We hugged and made out a little, it had been a while after all, and then she introduced me to her friends.

I was surprised to see there was only six of them, as I just presumed there was going to be a lot more, but who in their right mind would agree to go along with all of this? The first six members of this group was Beth, Chantal and Angela. Beth and Angela were a couple, and Chantal was Nadea's best friend. Even though we didn't know each other, Chantal gave me a big hug as though she did. That's Americans for you, I guess. The other three members were all lads, Thai, Jerome, and Moses. Moses was the leader, and he was this tall intimidating guy who looked like he only worked out his chest,

and he wore this gold-cross necklace as though to make himself look important. Moses wasn't his real name, that's just what he called himself. He was a kind of religious nut of sorts, but he looked more like an American football player than anything. Right from the beginning, Moses never liked me. Whenever he even acknowledged me, he would call me some name like Oliver Twist or Mary Poppins, either that or he would try mimicking my accent to make me sound like a chimney sweeper or something. Jerome was basically a copy and paste version of Moses. It was like he idealized him or something, always following him around and repeating

whatever he said. And then there was Thai. Even for a guy, I could tell that tie was good looking. He kind of looked like a Rastafarian, but his dreads only went down to his neck. Out of the three of them, Ty was the only one who bothered to shake my hand, but something about it seemed disingenuous, like someone had forced him to do it. Oh, I, um. I think I forgot to mention it, but, everyone in the group was black. The only ones who weren't was me and Angela. Angela wasn't part of the BADS. She was just Beth's girlfriend.

But Angela, she was, she was pretty cool. She was a little older than the rest of us and she apparently had an army background. I mean, it wasn't hard to tell, she had short boys' hair and looked like she did a lot of rock climbing or something. She didn't really talk much and mostly kept to herself, but it actually made me feel easier with her there, not because of, you know. But because neither of us were BADS members. From what Nadea told me, Moses was hoping to create a black utopia of sorts. His argument was that humanity began in Africa and so as an African-American group, Africa would be the perfect destination for their commune. I guess me and Angela tagging along kind of ruined all that.

As much as Moses really didn't like me, Thai. It turned out Thai hated me for different reasons. Sometimes I would just catch him staring at me, like he just hated the shit out of me. I wouldn't learn till later why that was. What happens next was the journey up the Congo River. Not much really happened, so I'll just try my best to skip through it. Luckily for us the river was right next to the airport, so reaching it didn't take long, which meant we got to avoid the hours-long traffic.

As bad as I thought London traffic was, Kinshasa was apparently much worse. We get to the river and, it's huge, I mean, really huge. The Congo River was apparently one of the largest rivers in the world and it basically made the Thames look like a puddle. Anyways, we get there and there's this guy waiting for us by an old wooden boat with a motor. I thought he looked pretty shady, but Moses apparently arranged the whole thing. This guy, he only ever spoke French so I never really. really understood what he was saying, but Moses spoke some French and he pays him the money.

We all jump in the boat with our things and the man starts taking us up the river. The journey up river was good and bad. The region we were going to was days away, but it gave me time to reacquaint with Nadea, and the scenery, it was, it was unbelievable. To begin with, there was people on the river everywhere, fishing in their boats or canoes and ferries more crammed than London underground. At the halfway point of our journey, we stopped at this huge, crowded port town called Mbondaka to get supplies, and after that, everything was different. The river, I mean, the scenery, it was like we left civilization behind or something. Everything was green and exotic, it. It honestly felt like we stepped back in time with the dinosaurs.

Someone on the boat did say the Congo had its own version of the Loch Ness monster somewhere, that it's a water dinosaur that lives deep in the jungle. It's called the um, Macole Bambi or something like that, where, we were going, I couldn't decide whether I was hoping to see it or not. I did look forward to seeing some animals on this trip, and Nadea told me we would probably get to see hippos or elephants, but that was a total letdown. We could hear birds and monkeys in the trees along the river, but we never really saw them. I guess I thought this boat ride was going to be a safari of sorts. We did see a group of crocodiles sunbathing by the riverbanks, and if there was one thing on that boat ride I feared the most, it was definitely

crocodiles. I think I avoided going near the edge of the boat the entire way there. The heat on the boat was unbearable, and for like half the journey it just poured with rain. But the humidity was like nothing I ever experienced. In the last two days of the boat ride, all it did was rain, constantly. I mean, we were all drenched. The river started to get more and more narrow, like, narrow enough for only one boat to fit through. The guy driving the boat started speeding round the bends of the river at a dangerous speed. We honestly didn't know why he was in a rush all of a sudden.

We curve round one bend and that's when we all notice a man waving us down by the side of the bank. It was like he had been waiting for us. Turns out this was also planned. This man, uh, Fabrice, I think his name was. He was to take us through the rainforest to where the group had decided to build their commune. Moses paid the boat driver the rest of the money, and without even a goodbye, the guy turns his boat round and speeds off. It was like he didn't want to be in this region any longer than he had to.

It honestly made me very nervous. We trekked on foot for a couple of days, and honestly, the humidity was even worse inside the rainforest. But the mosquitoes, that truly was the fucking worst. Most of us got very bad diarrhea too, and I think we all had to stop about a hundred times just so someone could empty their guts behind a tree. On the last day, the rain was just pouring down and I couldn't decide whether I was too hot or too cold. I remember thinking that I couldn't go on any longer. I was exhausted, we, we all were.

But just as this journey seemed like it would never end, the guide, Fabrice, he suddenly just stops. He stops and is just, frozen, just looking ahead and not moving an inch. Moses and Jerome tried snapping him out of it, but then he just suddenly starts taking steps back, like he hit a dead end. Fabrice's English wasn't the best, but he just starts saying, I go back. You go. You go. I go back. Basically what he meant was that we had to continue without him. Moses tried convincing him to stay, he even offered him more money, but Fabrice was clearly too afraid to go on. Before he left, he did give us a map with directions on where to find the place we were wanting to go. He wished us all good luck, but then he stops and was just staring at me,

dead in the eye, and he said, good luck Arsenal. Like me, Fabrice liked his football, and I even let him keep my Arsenal cap I was wearing. But when he said that to me, it was like he was wishing me luck most of all, like I needed it the most. It was only later that day that we reached the place where we planned to build our commune. The rain had stopped by now and we found ourselves in the middle of a clearing inside the rainforest. This is where our commune was going to be. When everyone realized we'd reached our destination, every one of us dropped our back

packs and fell to the floor. I think we were all ready to die. This place was surprisingly quiet, and you could only hear the birds singing in the trees and the sound of swooshing that we later learned was from a nearby stream. In the next few days, we all managed to get our strength back. We pitched our tents and started working out the next steps for building the commune. Moses was the leader, and you could tell he was trying to convince everyone that he knew what he was doing, but the guy was clearly out of his depth, we all were. That was except Angela. She pointed out that we needed to make a perimeter around the area, set up booby traps and trip wires. The nearby stream had fish, and she said she would teach us all how to spear fish.

She also showed us how to make bows and arrows and spears for hunting. Honestly, it just seemed like there was nothing she couldn't do, and if she wasn't there, I... I doubt any one of us would have survived out there for long. On that entire journey, from landing in Kinshasa, the boat ride up the river in hiking through the jungle, whenever I managed to. to get some sleep, I. I kept having these really uncomfortable dreams. It was always the same dream. I'm in the jungle, floating through the trees and bushes before I'm stopped in my tracks

by the same makeshift barrier fence, and the pure darkness on the other side, and every time I'm wanting to go enter it. I don't know why, because, this part of the dream always terrifies me, but it's like I have to find what's on the other side. Something was calling me. On the third night of our new commune, though, I dreamt something different. I drent I was actually on the other side. I can't remember much of what I saw, but it was dark, really dark.

But I could walk. I was walking through the darkness and I could only just make out the trunks of trees and the occasional branch or vine. But then I saw a light ahead only twenty meters away. I tried walking towards the light but it was hard, like when you walk or run in your dreams but you barely move anywhere. I do catch up to the light and it's just a light, glowing, but then I enter it. I enter and I realize what I've entered. It's now a clearing. A perfect circle inside the jungle.

Dark green vegetation around the curves, and inside this circle, right bang in the middle, is one single tree, or at least the trunk of a tree, a dead, rotting tree. It had these long, snake-like roots that curled around the circle's edges, and the wood was very dark, almost black in color. A pathway leads up to the tree, and I start walking along it. The closer I get to this tree, I see just how tall it must have been originally. A long stump of a tree, leaning over me like a tower. Its shadow comes over me and I feel like I've been swallowed up. But then the tree's shadow moves away from me, as though beyond this jungle's darkness is a hidden rotating sun, and when the shadow disappears. I see a face. High above me on the bark of the tree,

carved into it. It looked like a mask, like an African tribal mask. The face was round and it only had slits for eyes in the mouth, but somehow, the face looked like it was in agony, the most unbearable agony. I could feel it. It was like, torture. Like being stabbed all over a million times, or having your own skin peeled off while you're just standing there. I then feel something down by my ankles.

I look down to my feet, and around me, around the circle, the floor of the circle is covered with what look like hands. Severed hands. Scattered all over. I try and raise my face. feet, panicking, I'm too scared to step on them, but then the hands start moving, twitching their fingers. They start crawling like spiders all around the circle. The ones by my feet start to crawl up my legs and I'm too scared to brush them off. I now feel myself almost being molested

by them, but I can't even move or do anything. I feel an unbearable weight come over me and I fall to the floor and, that's when I hear a zip. I wake, and in the darkness of mine and Nadea's tent, a light blinds me. I squint my eyes towards it, and peeking in from outside the tent as Moses, Ty and Jerome, each holding a wooden spear. They tell me to get dressed as I'm going spearfishing with them, and Nadea berates them for waking us up so early. I'm by no means a morning person, but even with Nadea lying next to me, I really didn't want to lie back down in the darkness, with the disturbing dream I just had fresh in my mind. I just wanted to forget about it instantly. I didn't even want to think about it.

Later on, the four of us are in the stream trying to catch our breakfast. We were all just standing there, with our poorly made spears for like half an hour before any fish came our way. Eventually the first one came in my direction and the three lads just start yelling at me to get the fish. There it is. Get it. Go on get it. I tried my best to spear it, but it was too fast, and them not shouting at me wasn't helping. Anyways, the fish gets away downstream and the three of them just started yelling at me again, saying I was useless.

I quickly lost my temper and started shouting back at them. Ever since we got on the boat, these three guys did nothing but get in my face. They mocked my accent, told me nobody wanted me there and behind my back, they said they couldn't see what Nadea saw in that, white-limy. I had enough. I told all three of them to fuck off and that they could catch their own fucking fish from now on. But as I'm about to leave the stream, Jerome yells at me, dude.

Watch out. There's a snake, pointing by my legs. I freak out and quickly raise my feet to avoid the snake. I panic so much that I lose my footing and splash down into the stream. Still freaking out over the snake near me, I then hear laughter coming from the three lads. There was no snake. Having completely had it with the lot of them, I march over to Jerome for no other reason but to punch his lights out.

Jerome was bigger than me and looked like he knew how to fight, but I didn't care, it was a long time coming. I can even try, Ty steps out in front of me, telling me to stop. I push Ty out the way to get to Jerome, but Ty gets straight back in my face and shoves me over aggressively. Like I said, out of the three of them, Ty clearly hated me the most. He had probably been looking for an excuse to fight me and I had just given him one. But just as I'm about to get into it with Ty, all four of us here, guys, we all turn around to the voice to see it's Angela, standing above us on high ground, holding a perfectly made spear with five or more fish skewered on there.

We all stared at her kind of awkwardly, like we were expecting to be yelled at, but she instead tells us to get out of the stream and follow her. She had something she needed to show us. The four of us followed behind Angela through the jungle and Moses demanded to know where we're going. Angela says she found something earlier on, but couldn't tell us what it was because she didn't even know, and when she shows us, we understand why she couldn't. It was, it was indescribable.

But I knew what it was, and it shook me to my core. What laid in front of us, from one end of the jungle to the other, was a fence, the exact same fence from my dreams. It was a never-ending line of sharp, criss-crossed wooden spikes, only what was different was, this fence was completely covered in bits and pieces of dead-rotting animals. There was skulls, monkey skulls, animal guts, or intestines, infested with what seemed like hundreds of flies buzzing around, and the smell was like nothing I'd ever smelt before. All of us were in shock, we didn't know what this thing was.

Even though I recognized it, I didn't even know what it was. And while Angela and the others argued over what this was, I stopped and stared at what was scaring me the most. It was, the other side. On the other side of the spikes was just more vegetation, but right behind it you couldn't see anything. It was darkness. Like the entrance of a huge tropical cave.

And right as Moses and Angela start to get into a screaming match, we all were all. turned to notice something behind us. Standing behind us, maybe fifteen meters away, staring at us, was a group of five men. They were wearing these dirty, ragged clothes, like they'd had them for years, and they were small in height. In fact, they were very small, almost like children. But they were all carrying weapons, bows and arrows, spears, machetes. Whoever these men were, they were clearly dangerous.

There was an awkward pause at first, but then Moses shouts, hello, at them. He takes Angela's spear with the fish and starts slowly walking towards them. We all tell him to stop but he doesn't listen. One of the men starts approaching Moses, he looked like their leader. There's only like five meters between them when Moses starts speaking to the man, telling them we're Americans and we don't mean them any harm. He then offered Angela's fish to the man, like an offering of some sort. The way Moses went about this was very patronizing.

He spoke slowly to the man as he probably didn't know any English. But he was wrong. In broken English, the man said, you, American. Moses then says loudly that we're African American, like he forgot me and Angela were there. He again offers the fish to the man and says, here. We offer this to you. The man looks at the fish, almost insulted, but then he looks around past Moses and straight at me.

The man stares at me for a good long time, and even though I was afraid, I just stare right back at him. I thought that maybe he'd never seen a white man before, but some of him. Something tells me it was something else. The man continues to stare at me, with wide eyes, and then he shouts, our fish. You take our fish, frightened by this, we all start taking steps backwards, closer to the fence, and all Moses can do is stare back at us. The man then takes out his machete and points it towards the fence behind us.

He yells, N. O. Safe here. You go home. Go back America. The men behind him also began shouting at us, waving their weapons in the air, almost ready to fight us. We couldn't understand the language they were shouting at us in, but there was a word. A word I still remember. They were shouting at us. Assoli.

Asali. Asali, over and over. Moses, the idiot he was, he then approached the man, trying to reason with him. The man then raises his machete up to Moses, threatening him with it. Moses throws up his hands for the man not to hurt him, and then he slowly makes his way back to us, without turning his back to the man. As soon as Moses reaches us, we head back in the direction we came, back to the stream and the commune.

But the men continue shouting and waving their weapons at us, and as soon as we lose sight of them, we run. When we get back to the commun, we tell the others what just happened, as well as what we saw. Like we thought they would, they freaked the fuck out. We all speculated on what the fence was. Angela said that it was probably a hunting ground that belonged to those men, which they barricaded and made to look menacing to scare people off. This theory made the most sense,

but what I didn't understand was, how the hell had I dreamed of it? How the hell had I dreamed of that fence before I even knew it existed? I didn't tell the others this because I was scared what they might think, but when it was time to vote on whether we stayed or went back home,

I didn't waste a second in raising my hand in favor of going, and it was the same for everyone else. The only one who didn't raise their hand was Moses. He wanted to stay. This entire idea of starting a commune the rainforest, it was his. It clearly meant a lot to him, even at the cost of his life. His mind was more than made up on staying, even after having his life threatened, and he

made it clear to the group that we were all staying where we were. We all argued with him, told him he was crazy, and things were quickly getting out of hand. But that's when Angela took control. Once everyone had shut the fuck up, she then berated all of us. She said that none of us were prepared to come here and that we had no idea what we were doing. She was right. We didn't. She then said that all of us were going back home, no questions asked, like she was giving us

an order, and if Moses wanted to stay, he could, but he would more than likely die alone. Moses said he was willing to die here, to be a martyr to the cause or some shit like that. But by the time it got dark, we all agreed that in the morning, we were all going back down river and back to Kinshasa. Despite being completely freaked out that day, I did manage to get some sleep. I knew we had a long journey back ahead of us, and even though I was scared of what I might dream, I slept anyways. And there I was, back at the fence. I moved through it, through to the other side.

Darkness and identical trees all around. And again, I see the light and again I'm back inside of the circle, with the huge black rotting tree stood over me. But what's different was, the face wasn't there. It was just the tree. But I could hear breathing coming from it. Soft, but painful breathing like someone was suffocating. Remembering the hands, I look around me but nothing's there, it's just the circle. I look back to the tree and above me, high up on the tree.

I see a man. He was small, like a child, and he was breathing very soft but painful breathes. His head was down and I couldn't see his face, but what disturbed me was the rest of him. This man, this, childlike man, against the tree, he'd been crucified to it. He was stretched out around the tree, and it almost looked like it was birthing him. All I can do is look up to him, terrified, unable to wake myself up. But then the man looks down at me. Very slowly, he looks down at me and I can make out his features.

His face is covered all over in scars, tribal scares, waves, dots, spirals. His cheeks are very sunken in, and he almost doesn't look human. And he opens his eyes with the little strength he had and he says to me, or, more whispers. He knew my name. That's when I wake up back in my tent. I'm all covered in sweat and panicked to hell. The rain outside was so loud, my ears were ringing from it. I try to calm down so I don't wake Nadia beside me,

but over the sound of the rain and my own panic breathing, I start to hear a noise. A zip. A very slow zipping sound. Like someone was trying carefully to break into the tent. I looked to the entrance zip door to see if anyone's trying to enter, but it's too dark to see anything. It didn't matter anyway, because I realized the zipping sound was coming from behind me,

and what I first thought was zipping, was actually cutting. Someone was cutting their way through mine and Medea's tent. Every night that we were there, I slept with a pocket knife inside my sleeping bag. I reach around to find it so I can protect myself from whoever's entering. Trying not to make a sound, I think I find it. I better adjust it in my hand, when I... When I feel a blunt force hit me in the back of the head. Not that I could see anything anyway, but everything suddenly went black.

When I finally regain consciousness, everything around me is still dark. My head hurts like hell and I feel like vomiting. But what was strange was that I could barely feel anything underneath me, as though I was floating. That's when I realized I was being carried, and the darkness around me was coming from whatever was over my head, an old sack or something. I tried moving my arms and legs, but I couldn't, they were tied. I tried calling out for help, but I couldn't do that either. My mouth was gagged.

I continued to be carried for a good while longer before suddenly I feel myself fall. I hit the ground very hard which made my head even worse. I then feel someone come behind me, pulling me up on my knees. I can hear some unknown language being spoken around me and what sounded like people crying. I start to hyperventlate and I fear I might suffocate inside whatever this thing was over my head. That's when a blinding, bright light comes over me. Hurts my brain and my eyes, and I realize the sack over me has been taken off. I try painfully to readjust my eyes so I can see where I am, and when I do, a small childlike man is standing over me.

The same man from the day before, who Moses tried giving the fish to. The only difference now was, he was painted all over in some kind of gray paste. I then see beside him are even more of the smaller men, also covered in gray paste. The rain was still pouring down, and the wet paste on their skin made them look almost like melting skeletons. I then hear the crying again. I look to either side of me and I see all the other commun members, Moses, Jerome, Beth, Thai, Chantal, Angela and Nadea.

All on their knees, gagged with their hands tied behind their back. The short gray men, standing over us then move away behind us, and we realize where it is they've taken us. They've taken us back to the fence. I can hear the muffled screams of everyone else as they realize where we are, and we all must have had the exact same thought. What is going to happen? The leader of the gray men then yells out an order in his language, and the others raise all of us to our feet, holding their machetes to the back of our necks. I look over to see Nadia crying.

She looks terrified. She's just staring ahead at the fly-infested fence, assuming. We all did. A handful of the gray men in front us are now opening up a loose part of the fence. like two gate doors. On the other side, through the gap in the fence, all I can see is darkness. The leader again gives out an order, and next thing I know, most of the Kami members are being shoved, forced forward into the gap of the fence to the other side.

I can hear Beth, Chantal and Nadia crying. Moses, threw the gag in his mouth, he pleads to them, please. Please stop. As I'm watching what I think is kidnapping, or worse, murder happen right in front of me, I realized that the only ones not being shoved through to the other side were me and Angela. Ty is the last to be moved through, but then the leader tells the others to stop. He stares at Ty for a good while, before ordering his men not to push him through. Instead, to move him back next to the two of us.

Stood side by side and with our hands tied behind us, all the three of us can do is watch on as the rest of the commune vanish over the other side of the fence. One by one. The last thing I see is Nadia looking back at me, begging me to take me to watch. help her. But there's nothing I can do. I can't save her. She was the only reason I was here, and I was powerless to do anything. And that's when the darkness on the other side just seems to swallow them. I try searching through the trees and darkness to find Medea, but I don't see her. I don't see any of them. I can't even hear them. It was as though they weren't there anymore,

that they were somewhere else. The leader then comes back in front of me. He stares up to me and I realize he's holding a knife. I look to Angela and Ty, as though I'm asking them to help me, but they were just as helpless as I was. I can feel the leader of the gray men staring through me, as though through my soul, and then I see as he lifts his knife higher, as high as my throat. Thinking this is going to be the end, I cry uncontrollably,

just begging him not to kill me. The leader looks confused as I try and muffle out the words, and just as I think my throat is going to be slashed, he cuts loose the gag tied around my mouth, drawing blood. I look down to him, confused, before I'm turned around and he cuts my hands free from my back. I now see the other gray men are doing the same for Ty and Angela, to our confusion. I stare back down to the leader, and he looks at me. And not knowing if we were safe now or if the worst was still yet to come, I put my hands together

as though I'm about to pray, and I start begging him, before he yells, shut up. Shut up, at me. This time raising the knife to my throat. He looks at me with wide eyes, as though he's not. he's asking me, are you going to be quiet? I nod yes and there's a long pause all around, and the leader says, in plain English, you go back. Your friend's gone now. They dead. You no return here. Go, he then shoves me backwards and the other men do the same to tie and Angela, in the opposite direction of the fence. The three of us now make our way away from the men,

still yelling at us to leave, where again, we hear the familiar word of Assoli. Asili. But most of we were making our way away from the fence, and whatever danger or evil that we didn't know was lurking on the other side. The other side, where the others now were. If you're wondering why the three of us were spared from going in there, we only managed to come up with one theory. Me and Angela were white, and so if we were to go missing, there would be more chance of people coming to look for us.

I know that's not good to say, but it's probably true. As for Thai, he was mixed race, and so maybe they thought one white parent was enough for caution. The three of us went back to our empty commun, to collect our things and get the hell out of this place we never should have come to. Angela said the plan was to make our way back to the river, flagged down a boat and get a ride back down to Kinshasa. Tai didn't agree with this plan. He said as long as his friends were still here, he wasn't going anywhere. Angela said that was stupid and the only way we could help them was to contact the authorities as soon as possible. To Ties and my own surprise. I agreed with him. I said,

said the only reason I came here was to make sure Nadiah didn't get into any trouble, and if I left her in there with God knows what, this entire trip would have been for nothing. I suggested that our next plan of action was to find a way through the other side of the fence and look for the others. It was obvious by now that me and Ty really didn't like each other, which at the time seemed to be for no good reason, but for the first time, he looked at me with respect. We both made it perfectly clear to Angela that we were staying to look for the others. Angela said we were both dumb fucks and we're going to get ourselves killed. I couldn't help but agree with her. Staying in this jungle any longer than we needed to was basically a death

wish for us, like when you decide to stay in a house once you know it's haunted. But I couldn't help myself. I had to go to the other side. Not because I felt responsible for Nadea, that I had an obligation to go and save her, but because I had to know what was there. What was in there, hiding amongst the darkness of the jungle. I was afraid, beyond terrified actually, but something in there was calling me, and for some reason, I just had to find out what it was. Not knowing what mystery lurked behind that fence was making me want to rip off my own face, peel by peel.

Angela went silent for a while. You could clearly tell she wanted to leave us here and save her own skin. But by leaving us here, she knew she would be leaving us to die. Neither me nor Ty knew anything about the jungle, let alone how to look for people missing. in it. Angela groaned and said, fuck it. She was going in with us. And so we planned on how we were going to get to the other side without detection. We eventually realized we just had to risk it. We had to find a part of the fence, hack our way through and then just enter it, and that's what we did. Angela, with a machete she bought at Ambondaca, hacked her way through two different parts,

creating a loose gate of sorts. When she was done, she gave the go-ahead for me and tied to tug the loose piece of fence away with a long piece of rope. We now had our entranceway. All three of us stared into the dark space between the fence, which might as well have been an entrance to hell. Each of us took a deep breath, and before we dare to go in, Angela turns to say to us, remember, you guys asked for this. None of us really wanted to go inside there, not really. I think we knew we probably wouldn't get out alive. I had my secret reason, and Ty had his. We each grabbed each other by the hand, as though we thought we might easily get lost from each other, and with a final anxious breath, Angela lead the way through.

Through the gap in the fence. Through the first leaves, branches and bush. Through to the other side, and finally into the darkness. Like someone's eyes when they fall asleep, not knowing when or if they'll wake up. This is where I have to stop, I can't go on any further. I thought I could when I started this, B-U-Dash, no. This is all I can say, for now anyway. What really happened to us in there, I.

I don't know if I can even put it into words. All I can say is that. What happened to us already, it was nothing compared to what we would eventually go through. What we found. Even if I told you what happens next, you wouldn't believe me, but you would also wish I never had. There's still a part of me now that thinks it might not have been real. For the sake of my soul, for the things I was made to do in there.

I really hope this is just one big nightmare. Even if the nightmare never ends, just please don't let it be real. In case I never finish this story, in case I'm not alive to tell it. I'll leave you with this. I googled the word Assoli a year ago, trying to find what it meant. It's a Swahili word. It means. The beginning.

It's been a year now. You've all been asking me to finish the story. You've been trying to track me down, spreading my story on the internet, coming up with your theories as to what the Assali really is. You were all wrong. You want to know how the story ends. Fine. I'll tell you. But everything I've told you so far. The fence. The gray men. Our friends lost inside the Assali. Everything that comes next is what I've been afraid to tell. The stuff of nightmares. We'd passed through the barrier and entered the darkness on the other side. I woke. I woke up and all I could see was the tops of the trees high above me. They were that

tall I couldn't even see where they ended. I couldn't even see the sky. I remember not knowing where I was. I couldn't even remember how I'd ended up in this jungle. I hear Angela's voice, and I see her and Ty standing over me. I didn't even remember who they were at first. I think they knew that, because Angela asks me if I know where we are. I take a look at my surroundings, and I see the jungle. We were surrounded on all sides by a never-ending maze of almost identical trees. They were large and unusually shaped, like, the trunks were twisted, and the branches were like the bodies of snakes.

And everything was dim, not dark, but dim. It all comes back to me. The river. The jungle. The fence. The gray men. We were on the other side. We were in the Assali.

We're here to look for others, for Nadea. I take another look around and I realize we're right bang in the middle of the jungle, as if we'd already been trekking through it. I asked Ty and Angela where the fence had gone, but they asked me the same thing. They didn't know. They said all three of us woke up on the jungle floor, but I didn't wake for another good hour. This didn't make any sense.

I started freaking out and Ty and Angela tried to calm me down. Not knowing what to do next, we decided we needed to find which way the rest of the commune went. Angela said they would have tried to find a way back to the fence, and so we needed to head south. The only problem was we didn't know which way south was. The jungle was too dark and we couldn't even use the sun because we couldn't see it. The only way we could find where south was, was to guess. Following what we hoped was south, we walked for days through the dimness of the jungle, continually having to climb over the large roots of trees, and although the jungle was flat, we felt

as though we had been going up a continual incline. As the days went by, me, Ty and Angela began to recognize the same things. Every tree we passed was almost identical, in a way. They were the same size, same shape and even the same sort of contortion. But what was even stranger to us, stranger than the identical trees, was the sound. There was no sound, none at all. No birds singing in the trees. No monkeys howling. Even by our feet, there were no insects of any kind. The jungle was dead quiet. The only sound came from us, from our footsteps, our exhausted breathes. It was as if nothing lived here, as if nothing even existed on this side of the fence. Even though we knew something was seriously wrong with this jungle, we had no choice but to

continue, either to find the others or to find the fence. We were so exhausted that we lost count of the number of days we had been trekking, even Angela forgot. On one of those days, I felt as though I reached my breaking point. I had been lagging behind the others for the past two days. I couldn't feel my legs anymore, only pain. I struggled to breathe with the humidity, that was still here on this side of the jungle. I'd already used up all my water from my backpack, and I was too scared to sleep through the night. On this side of the fence, I was afraid the dreams would be far more intense.

Through the dim daylight of the jungle, I wasn't sure if I was seeing things, hearing things. What fueled me to keep going was to find Nidea, and if not even that, to find what was here. What was calling me? It didn't even matter anymore, because I was done. It all became too much for me. The pain. The exhaustion. The heat.

I decided I was done. By the huge roots of some tree, I collapsed down, knowing I wouldn't be getting up any time soon. Realizing I wasn't behind them, Ty and Angelette came back for me. They berated me to get back on my feet and start walking. We didn't have time on our side after all. I told them I couldn't. I just couldn't carry on anymore. I just needed time to rest.

Hoping the two of them would be somewhat sympathetic, that's when Ty suddenly starts screaming at me. He accused me of not taking responsibility and that all this mess was my fault. He was blaming me. Too tired to argue, I just simply told him to fuck off. But he wasn't having it. He said he hated guys like me, that didn't follow things through or some shit like that. I reminded him that we both chose to go beyond the fence, not just me.

Angela told us to stop, she said we didn't have time for this shit. Tai, clearly wanting to leave nothing unsaid, he brought Nadia into it. He claimed Nadia didn't really want to be with me. He said the commune didn't have enough members, and so Nadia tricked me into going, that later down the line, she would break up with me once the commune was a success. I didn't believe him, but I was pissed. I called him a liar. I said him and the others just couldn't stand to see one of their own with a white guy.

And that's when he said it. What I'd suspected all along. He didn't hate me just because I was with Nadea. He hated me because, he was with Nadea. She didn't end things with me because we were drifting apart, or this fucking trip to Africa. It was because she was with him. It was all a lie. I had risked my life for her.

For a lie. I think all three of us knew where this was going and before it did, Angela tried shutting the whole thing down. She told me to get the fuck up and for Ty to keep walking. She said, we're not doing this now. She knew. She already fucking knew. Ty already finished what he had to say, but I wasn't done with him. Despite how tired I was, I got to my feet and shouted after him. I demanded to know if it was true. He didn't answer me, he just kept on walking. Even though he had his back turned to me, I saw that stupid grin on his face. Wanting to make him angry, I got right behind him and I shoved him in the back as hard as I could.

It worked. Tie turns and gets in my face. He warns me not to get into it with him. Wanting to get further under his skin, I then say it doesn't matter if he was with Nadia or not, because one thing was still true. Confused to what I was talking about, I then said to him. It's true what they say, you know. Once you go white, all the rest are shite.

Expecting Ty to punch my lights out, he instead tackles me hard to the floor, and he just starts wailing punches at me. I've never been much of a fighter, and the only thing I think to do is try and gouge his eyes. It works, and I can hear him yelling out in pain, but suddenly he grabs me by the wrist and twists me hard enough to get me on my back. He then puts me in a chokehold and starts squeezing the light out of me. I can't breathe, and I can already feel myself passing out.

Images start coming to me, the fence, the tree with the face, Nadia. Just as everything's about to go to black, Angela effortlessly breaks up the hold. While she puts tie in an arm lock, telling him to calm down, I do all I can just to get my breath back. And just as I think I'm safe from passing out, I feel something underneath me. I get up on all fours, and underneath me is just a pile of dead leaves, but there's something hard beneath it. I press down on the leaves and something feels almost metallic. Sound comes back in my ears and I can hear Angela shouting at me. Feeling something underneath me, I brush away the dead leaves, and what I find, is a fence.

Not the same fence we passed through, but an old rusty wire fence. Angela and Ty realize I've stumbled onto something and they come over to help brush away the dead leaves. We discover beneath the leaves, an old and very long metal fence lining the jungle floor, which eventually ends at some broken hinges. But that's not all we found. Further down the fence, Angela found a sign. A big red sign on the fence with words written on it. It was hard to read because of the rust, but the first word said, danger.

The other two words were in French, but Thai knew enough French to understand what it meant. The sign said, danger. Keep out. We made camp that night and discussed the metal fence in full. Angela suggested that the fence may have been put there for some sort of containment, that inside this part of the jungle was some deadly disease, and that's why we hadn't come across any animal life. But if that was true, why was the metal fence this far in?

Why wasn't it where the wooden fence was, where this dark part of the jungle began? It just didn't make sense. Angela then suggested that we may even have crossed into another dimension, and that's why the jungle was now darker and uninhabited, and could maybe explain why we passed out upon entering it. We didn't have any answers. Just theories. We trekked again for the next couple of days, and our food supply was running dangerously low. We'd used up all of our water by now, but luckily, this jungle had rain, and was more than moist for us to soak whatever we could from the leaves. You wouldn't believe how fucking good leafy moist water tastes after a day of

thirst. Nothing seemed like it could get any worse. This dim, dead jungle was just a never-ending labyrinth of the same fucking trees over and over. Every day was the fucking same. Walk through the jungle. Rest at night. Fucking groundhog day. We might as well have been walking in circles. But that's when Angela came up with a plan. Her plan was to climb up a tree until we found ourselves at the very top, in the hopes of finding wherever this jungle ended, any sliver of civilization, or anything. I grew up in London. I had never even seen trees this big. And what's worse, I was terrified of heights. The tree was easy enough to climb, because of its irregular shape.

The only problem was, we didn't know if the treetops even ended. They were like massive fucking beanstalks. We start climbing the tree and, we must have been climbing for about half an hour before, we finally found something. Not even halfway up the tree, Angela, ahead of us, tells us to stop. We ask what's wrong but she doesn't answer. She's just staring over at a long snake-like branch. Me and Ty see it.

It wasn't the branch she was staring at, it was what's on the branch. We didn't know what it was at first, and so we got closer to it. It was some sort of white material hanging from the branches, almost like a string puppet, and whatever this thing was, it was extremely long. It might even have been fifty feet. We still didn't know what the hell this thing was, and so Angela gets close enough to feel it. She could barely describe to us what it felt like, but she said it was almost rubbery in texture. But eventually, we realized what it was, and when we did, it made all of our skins crawl.

It was snake's skin. This skin, this fifty feet long skin, it belonged to a snake. How big was this fucking snake? For the first time in this jungle, the three of us realized we weren't alone, and if its skin was up here in the trees, then IT was probably in the trees. We climbed down from that tree immediately. If this snake was still around, we didn't want to be around when it found us. We thought we knew the answers now.

We thought we knew why this place was contained. A massive fifty-fucking feet-long snake. It seemed big enough to swallow a cow. If this snake was in here, then what else was in here? More snakes? Worse. Is that why the grey men warned us to stay away from this place? Is that why Nydia and the others were thrown in here, as some

sort of sacrifice to it. We thought we were finally beginning to solve the mystery of this place. But we were wrong. Dead wrong. I did sleep a handful of those nights. As terrified as the dreams made me, I still wanted answers. Ty and Angela thought we found them, and even though I knew we hadn't, I let them keep on believing it.

For some reason, I was too afraid to tell them about my dreams. Maybe they also had the same dreams, but like me, kept it to themselves. I needed answers. How had I foreseen the fence? What was the tree with the face? The crucified man. I needed the answers, I needed it. That night, knowing there was a huge prehistoric-sized snake that could take any one of us at

any minute, I chose not to sleep. We usually took turns during the night to keep watch, but I kept watch that whole night. All night I stared into the pure black darkness around us, just wondering what the hell was out there, waiting for us. I stared into the darkness and it was as if the darkness was just staring back at me, laughing at me. Whatever it was that brought me into this place, it must have been watching me. I guessed it was now probably the earliest hours of the morning, but pure darkness was still all around.

The fire had gone out and I couldn't see anything, not even my own hands. Like every night in this place, it was dead quiet. But then I hear something. It was so faint, but I could barely hear it. It must have been so far away. I thought maybe my sleep deprivation was causing me to hear things again. But the sound seemed to be getting louder, just so slightly, like someone was turning up a car radio inch by inch. The sound was clearer to me now, but I couldn't even describe it to myself.

It was like a vibration, getting louder ever so slightly. As the minutes passed by, I quickly realized this wasn't some vibration. It was like a wailing. A distant but loud ghostly wail. It was getting louder. Closer, close enough that I knew I had to wake up Angela. She was deep in sleep but I managed to kick her awake. Almost instantly, she heard the sound and was alert to it.

We both listened. It was getting closer. We woke up Ty and the three of us looked around to find which way the whales were coming from. It seemed to be coming from all around us. We quickly get our things and got the hell out of there, but wherever we went, the sound was following us amongst the darkness. It was so loud by now that we couldn't even hear one another. We put our headlights on and followed behind Angela, but no matter where we went, it just

seemed like we were heading directly towards the sound. Barely able to see anything, we were stopped in our tracks by a large tree route and we desperately had to climb over it because the wailing was now directly behind our backs. I struggled to climb over and I could hear Angela yelling, come on. Hurry up. We ran down the other side of the tree, thinking we finally managed to outrun the sound, but it was waiting for us. We ran directly into it. We ran into the sound and I realized what it was. It was people. Dozens and dozens of them. All around us. For my headlight, I could see their

faces. Men, women, children, the elderly. They were barely clothed in torn pieces of clothing and were so skinny. They were basically just skin and bones. Their eyes were pure white like they were blind and they began to grab us. Claw at us. Pulling us to the ground, there was so many of them on top of me, I couldn't move. Thinking I was going to be ripped apart, I then noticed something. None of them, absolutely none of them had any hands. Some of them didn't even have wrists, just stumps where their hands and arms should have been.

Their groans were so loud on top of me, I couldn't hear myself think. I couldn't breathe. the countless groans, I then hear what sounds like gunshots. The armless zombie people on top of me start to move away, but my body's still pinned down. I then feel an arm, and it was Angela. Holding a revolver, she drags me to my feet. She shoots more of them and the entire horde are scared off. Once we find Thai, we just leg it out of there, shooting or shoving the zombie people out of our way. We ran so far that the sound of their groans was almost gone. We kept running through the darkness, far away as we could from them.

I was ready to collapse but I was too afraid to stop, but then we did stop. The ground beneath us suddenly wasn't there anymore and I feel myself falling. For a few seconds we're just weightless, before we crash back down against the ground. I was in so much pain. I could feel leaves and dirt all over me and when I try to crawl up on my knees, I reach out to feel something in front of me. It felt like a wall. A dirt wall, all around us.

we've fallen into something, I look up with my headlight and see we've fallen into a ten-feet deep hole. I could see glimpses of Ty next to me, I could hear him moaning in pain, but I couldn't hear or see Angela. I look up again with my headlight and I see Angela pulling herself out of the hole. She must have managed to hold on to the edge. Once she was on the surface, me and Ty yelled out for her, but all Angela could do was stare down into the hole, clueless on how she would get us out.

Being trapped down there wasn't the worst of our problems. The groans had returned. We could hear them up there. It now sounded like there were hundreds of them. Gaining closer. We were too far down to see Angela's face, but we saw her headlight moving frantically back and forth, from us and the oncoming wails. We yelled out to her again, but she couldn't hear us.

We were too far down and the sounds on the surface were too loud. Angela was shouting something back down to us, but we couldn't hear her either. I can't be certain what she said, but I think it was. I'm sorry. And before the whales could reach us, could reach her. Angela's headlight was gone. She had left us. She left us to the whales.

To the dozens or even hundreds of zombie-like people. She left me alone, alone with Thai. We were now down there for what felt like ours. Our headlights had died, leaving us both trapped in pure darkness. And for hours, all we heard was the painful noise from the people above our heads. It was like fucking torture. I felt like I was going mad from it. Even though Ty was right next to me, I couldn't help but feel like I was completely alone down here,

with only the darkness and the endless whales taking his and even Angelus place. But then the darkness gives me something. Gives us something. A light, a faint, warm orange light. Ten feet above our heads. It was the reflection of fire. It seemed like it was moving repetitively around the edges of the circle. Tai must have seen it too, because suddenly it was.

I can feel him hitting me, getting my attention. And if there was fire, then there was people, real fucking people. Even though it was useless, I tried yelling over the whales to whoever might be there. If the two of us wanted out this hole, this was our only chance, but then something changed. The groans of the zombie people began to die down. Some of it changed into what sounded like screams. They were all screaming. But over the screams I then heard what sounded like growls.

Deep, aggressive animal growls, like roaring. There was something else up there. As if all at once, the screams and thudding of footsteps above us suddenly just vanish away, back into the darkness where they came. But we could still hear them. Outside of that burning orange rain, we could hear the ones who didn't get away. We could hear them being ripped apart. Eaton.

We were no longer trapped by the endless whales. We were now trapped by something else. Something apparently worse. Something that could rip us apart. It's all so clear to me now. Everything that happened to us, it was all planned. It was planned from the beginning. For days we saw absolutely nothing, and then suddenly, we saw everything at once.

Those people, those zombie-like people, they were supposed to find us, and we were supposed to fall into that hole. It was divine intervention. Believe it or not, we did find the others. I did find Medea. But we almost wished we hadn't. We knew there were monsters inside of this jungle now, and we did find our way out of that hole. But it wasn't monsters that was waiting for us on the surface, not the monsters you're thinking of. What we found in that jungle wasn't monsters.

It was men. White men. This was multiple years ago, back in the young hooligan days, at some party in the absolute middle of nowhere outside of some small town with absolutely nothing. There weren't too many people there and I honestly still don't know how my group ended up there, but we did. We weren't even from anywhere around here we the night just took us there. Everything was going great, having a great time being normal 17 to 20 year old kids, doing what kids that age did. Had the music loud, beers flowing, just being kids. I, 20M, with two of my friends, 20m and 18M, kind of sticking to ourselves most the night due to the fact that we really didn't know how we got there or anybody else that was there, were throwing them back like we never have.

As the night rolls on we each find our own little fling to keep us occupied, making sense. small talk and such, we all know how it goes. The night kept going and we were all in and out of conversation with each other and our little flings, but deep into conversation with one of my buddies I realized that the girl I was flirting with had disappeared, which was weird due to the fact that she rode with the girl one of my friends was messing with. So I walk up to her and my friend and ask her what happened to her friend, if she had went home early or what, to which she responds I am her only way out of here so she's got to be here somewhere. So that rouses suspicion, nobody's seen her in about 30 minutes.

so we all begin to look. In a decent-sized house with what had to have been three to four bedrooms. I come across a closed door with a light shining from under and I knock and get no response, so I try the door handle and it's locked. So I asked they guy whose house we were in about the door, to which he responds there shouldn't be anybody in that room. So I immediately think the worst and stumble with the door handle trying to get it unlocked with no reward, then kick the door of the hinges and what I saw still chills me to the

I want go into too much detail for the young minds out there, but it was a disgusting sight. One the bed, the girl I was flirting with, no clothes on, hands and feet tied to the bed, a rag taped in her mouth with blood coming from everywhere, and some dude on top of her having his way. I'm sure we've all had this feeling before, but I immediately saw red. I jump on this dude's back and wrestle him out of the room, down the hall and out of the front door. We get on the front porch and get at it, having no ravers for his well-being at all at this point.

After going at it for a couple minutes, breaking the furniture and whatever else these people had on their front porch, he falls off of the porch face first. I jumped down and still have no clue what made me do it, grab my pistol out of the back of my jeans, and ping it right at his face right when he turns around. He's begging me not to and everybody else is screaming at me, I still have no clue what made me do it, but I pulled the trigger. After what felt like a lifetime sitting there trying to realize and taken exactly what I had just done, I feel one of my friends grabbed the pistol out of my hand. and make sure it was clear before anything else happened. I immediately run back to the room to check on the girl, her friends had already untied her at this point and wrapped her with a bed sheet. Her face was almost unrecognizable, she was so scared her friends could barely get close to her.

And then the cops arrive and handcuff everyone they could until they got the full story. Which I never denied any of it. So they put me in the back of the car and haul me off. Sitting in my cell waiting for court, which didn't take long due to the fact that there's was maybe 1,000 people within a 300-mile radius, family and friends came to see me from times to time for the two weeks I was stuck there. But finally the court date comes, and by the grace of the good Lord above and Lord knows what else, the girl that was tied to that bed, was the county judge's niece. We went through the motions of court and he ended up thanking me for what I did.

He couldn't just let me go without anything so I did get charged with stolen firearms possession and 500 hours of community service. Tell me I wasn't the luckiest man in earth that day. After a while I caught wind of what happened to the girl, almost every bone in her face was broken and was blinded in her left eye. At first this news made it a little bit easier for me to deal with. But I still took a young man's life. Whether he deserved it or not. And I know the place I sent him to is a lot worse than what that girl had to live with for the rest of her life. It's been five years now.

I still don't get much sleep because every time I close my eyes is see that kid's face, begging me not to do what I did. I'm not 100% sure that it will ever go away. Some days are better than others, but it's never not there. I ask myself every day if I did the right thing or not. Some days I tell myself yes and others it's hard to convince myself of that. I had to say this somewhere because words of the mouth just don't come out right most of the time. But that's my story and I hope somebody can help me out. I'm going to lay it all out for you guys, just like it was and with four-part harmony and everything.

It's going to sound impossible, crazy and far-fetched when you hear it, and these are just the parts of the story I remember well, so imagine what it would sound like if I told you everything that happened. Yeah. It's like that. The story starts out the same way as a million different other sad stories starts that you hear and read about, you know, those four words that let you know nothing good can come out of it. I met a girl. It was a crazy time in my life. I was living between bottles and beds. In fact, I met the girl while working as a cook in a steak place I had been managing two months

earlier, but I laid out with a waitress for a week on a bender and got fired. The main manager knew that no matter what I worked my ass off and he had hired me back as a cook with a decent wage. So, I was standing in the kitchen at work pulling up a big basket of chicken out of the deep fat friar by the door when that door swung open and into my life she did come walking. She was headed to the time clock to punch in, putting her long blonde hair under the steak sizzler ball cap, letting that ponytail come through the back of the hat to lay sparkling against her back.

I swear I thought she was walking in slow motion. She looked over at me and our eyes met. I put on my best mischievous smile to let her see that me seeing her had made me smile. When she smiled all coy back at me and then looked down at the floor, still smiling, then reached up to stroke her ponytail, making sure it was laying perfect I had to contain myself from jumping in the air like I had just shot the championship-winning three-pointer. By the end of that first week we were stealing away with each other into the cooler for a kiss or a quick feel, taking our breaks at the same time, showing up early when we were working together. Just any way we could get our hands on each other.

The thing is, I was a bit of a man-hor at the time. Truth be told, more than a bit, to be honest. So I wasn't starved for affection, if you feel me, and I wasn't looking to fall in love at all. But this woman, with her hazel green eyes, LED smile, and that sun-kissed skin tightly wrapped around her own. oh so petite perfection of a body had me going places that I hadn't been since high school. I wanted her so bad that on the nights I slept alone it was her face that was first and foremost on my mind. I had given up on love for more than ten years at that time because of a soul-crushing parting of ways with my first true love, Gina, but this was stirring up thoughts and feelings

I hadn't had since then. I had met Gina while working in a restaurant as well. I was a busboy and she was a waitress. I was kind of naive and it came to relationships being barely 19 compared to Gina's 23. I had been with my fair share of women, but nothing more than just going together. I was mostly what people nowadays call a fuck boy. I was an attentive lover, though, good-looking, who never went around school bragging or trying to tear some girls' reputation down. This made me the guy to call to blow off steam in the neighborhood.

When Gina and I finally consummated our lust for each other we ended up laying out of work and keeping the room for a couple extra days. The boss man got tired of that happening and gave us the same days off each week, but that didn't stop us from being late every day because we would invariably stop and run into the woods for some quick reaffirming of our love on that hour drive to our job. Before I could find my suitcase we were living together in a house her dad's friend owned. Her dad. A man who made himself all too clear in his all-around distaste of me and my kind.

Even going as far to tell me, I don't like you or your kind one day while we were awkwardly alone together in the same room. I guess my kind was a reference to all men with real long hair, I could tuck mine in my jeans at the time, who played that evil rock and roll, I was a drummer slash singer in a little starter band. We got the occasional paying gig, music and fornicated every chance they got. Which, to be fair, he kind of had me on that. Right after we moved and together she let me know that when the tourist season dried up for the year that her profession during the other months was call girl. This, of course, led to some soul searching on my part."

Gina understood, right there to set my soul at ease whenever possible. In the end it was the fact that she was the Mjoste beautiful woman I'd ever been with, who had opened up a whole new world of sex for me, a sexual awaking, if you will, and my inability to even fathom a world without hearing her laugh again that won me over. I told her that I could deal with it and that it by no means stopped me from loving her. That's when she let me know that her partner and lover since they were thirteen, Elizabeth, would be moving in with us in a couple of weeks and then I could decide myself whether to join in at any time, watch the show, or just leave for a bit. You'll never believe the choice I made.

Then again, yeah, you probably will. Let's just say that every day for the next three months could have started with Deer Penthouse. I did real good with my promise, though, letting Gina know it was her that owned my heart. Before long I started taking them around town and dropping them off four, dates, and coming back an hour later to honk my horn and let everyone know time was up. I got over the jealousy when they would come out with a grand and cash apiece that led to a sheet of acid in the freezer at all times and some of the best mountain homegrown that could be found. I just overlooked the other drugs, their preferred buzz. I was pretty naive to cocaine in those days, but I knew enough to know I didn't want it. I also got a little nagging when I thought it was getting out of control.

That's when they started hiding it from me. Through it all I honestly loved Gina, no matter how it might sound to the contrary. And Gina genuinely loved me, we both knew it. Our feelings were so strong that even Elizabeth got jealous of the bond we had. I was told that it was the first time since they'd been together that she had ever been jealous of a man. She would get mad and show her ass if Gina and I fell asleep in each other's arms, or when we would steal away alone for a while. It got to the point that I couldn't wait for tourist season to kick back in so Elizabeth could start following the convention circuit again. Before that day came, though, the Coke had started to become Gina's only true love it seemed,

and I got my lesson on love and addiction. The fight started to get nasty, both of us dying inside just a little more each time. No woman had ever made me feel so high and so low at the same time. She would shoot words into my heart like arrows dipped in poison and I would try to go one step worse, saying things that shocked me as the words flew from my mouth before I could catch them and think about what I was saying. As bad as we hurt each other, we probably hurt ourselves worse every night. We moved out and Elizabeth moved on and things didn't get any better.

We saw each other once or twice a week for the most part. When we did there would be desperation in our love-making. Maybe because we knew deep down in our hearts that it could very well be our last time and that feeling of love that we tried so hard not to reveal to each other now was desperate to be together regardless of us. I don't know. What I do know is that we always seemed to part with each other on a sour note. Then came the day that she told me she had found someone else.

Not only that, but they were going to get married. She explained that he came from the family that owned more than half of the tourist town we worked in. His family name was everywhere. Dugles Waterpark, Dugles Campground and Arena, grocery store, motels, beer stores, attractions. There was even a Duggles used car lot. She said that she would put me up in an apartment so we could still be together. That it would be no more than sharing me with a trick, Only this trick was worth millions.

That before you know it they would get divorced and we would be worth millions. Together. I told her that I couldn't do it this time. That I wanted us to be together, one-on-one, just her and me. She said it would all be different, that she had quit doing coke and just wanted us to have everything we wanted. I let her know that she was all I wanted. She reached for her purse at one point to go to the bathroom and a vial of powder fell out. I picked it up and she just looked at the floor.

This better be what you want, I told her, because if I walk out that door, I won't walk back in it. It's either me you want or after today we will never see each other again. We will always see each other again. We can't stay apart. You know that, was the last thing she ever said to me, and then I walked through the door and never walked back in. I swore that no woman ever again would make me feel that way, that venerable to the arrows. For ten years I kept myself at arm's length for many and all women.

I was honest with everyone right off of Jump Street that it was never going to be anything other than a good time, some laughs and some fun sex. Who taps out first? For ten years I had kept my promise to myself faithfully. Then Stacy walked through that goddamn kitchen door. I got back to my place and started packing up. About the only thing I knew for sure at the moment was that the only way I was going to be able to keep my promise to myself or Gina would be to put a state or two between us. I had to make it more than just a little difficult to accidentally pop up somewhere that she was known to frequent. I know myself well. Hell, if I could have, I would put a couple of continents between us just to be on the safe side. I sat on the edge of my bed and surveyed my room. The three lead Zeppelin posters, the giant poster of Keith Moon grinning at the camera like the madman he turned out to actually be,

my Stuart Copeland poster, my defiance poster with the mouse laying on its back, flipping the bird at an eagle that was about to snatch his butt up with the words, defiance, an open act of aggression or hostility even in the face of overwhelming odds. And my all-time favorite, Uncle Sam all-red-faced as smoke comes out of his nose while he held out a three-stage water pipe with the words, strike a blow for freedom. Smoke U.S. bongs. As I sat there contemplating my next move the water work started. The only other time I cried like that was when I was 13 and my folk put our 12-year-old

collie slash German Shepherd to sleep. At that time I didn't think life would ever be worth living without my only real buddy. My family moved a lot due to my dad's job, so that dog was literally my only constant friend, companion, confidant. All my life, at least as far back as I could remember, that dog was by my side. Twelve years of a buddy through thick and thin. When we were facing that monster tornado in Wichita, Laddy was the only thing I went looking for, I couldn't bear him being alone when I was certain everyone was going to die. How could some damn woman who I had only known for less than three years cause me to revisit that feeling of being totally alone?

Did I really love another person that much? Shit! This was going to harder than I thought. As I started to deal with that feeling, I heard the front door open and then slam, a surefire sign that Polly was home. Then I heard him belting out Carn Evil No. 9, which meant he was in a good mood. He had a set of pipes on him, let me tell you. Natural perfect pitch, lungs that pushed more air through his vocal cords than any other person on earth, at least as far as I knew. I constantly tried to get something going with him musically, but he would have none of it.

A huge waste of a gift, as far as I was concerned. This was his house we were living in, just the two of us in a three-level colonial-style mansion. Three and a half bathrooms, five bedrooms, a huge finished basement that housed four pinball tables, two billiard tables, and a snooker table. The room was garnished with three couches, a built-in bar with 12 stools, a television set, stereo, and one stuffed Wolverine wearing an Iron Butterfly concert shirt. I paid him 50 bucks a week for rent, sometimes and on occasion. He didn't really care. He got a five grand-cheque every month from his trust fund, set up by his granddad before his untimely death at 99 years of age.

He also got the house we were in with the 200 acres of mountainside it sat on, a fishing cabin with all the luxuries on the St. John's River. in Florida with its pontoon boat, bass boat, and vintage Chris Craft boat that only God could appraise. Oh, and the 25 acres it sat upon. He made it clear when he asked me if I wanted to come stay that he wasn't concerned with the rent, and the only reason he drew up an agreement was so he wouldn't have to listen to his lawyer wine and cry. Every time I did give him a 50 out of my twisted sense of responsibility he would just hold on to it and give it back on my birthday or Christmas in a greeting card. Polly was set for life. He would never have to work a job on his life, and he made it quite clear that he was never going to work a job ever if he could help it.

But he was far from lazy. He farmed some of the best weed I personally have ever blazed. And lots of it. Between that and his passion for hiking to hard to get places, going all over the world to add to his snake collection, his weeks or months long secret trips to change a needy person's life every so often, golf, fishing, hang gliding, flying his Cessna, or one of his many other ADHD-fueled endeavors. The guy stayed plenty busy without some job time. him sown. He was also hands down the best friend I'd ever had outside of Laddie. I tried my best to return the favor. I heard him in the living room, no doubt that his stereo hi-fi finding an album to pop on the turntable so I went to tell him that I was going back to

North Carolina. I wasn't about to tell him why. It would make me look lame as hell if I told him that I was changing states because I loved a woman too much to stay here. When I walked into the living room he was right where I thought he'd be, kneeling in front of the open glass doors of his new stereo looking for an album to put on. He was now humming Carn Evil No. 9 while he studied the records. How about fear of music, I said, nearly scaring Polly out of his skin? God damn, dude. You scared the shit out of me. You should warn a man before you pop up out of nowhere and start talking. He stared intently at me as he got his breath and heartbeat regulated again. So, why ain't you at that job you like so much? Not used to seeing you around the house this time of day.

Yeah, uh, about that. I quit today. I'll probably let them know about it tomorrow. Looks like I'm going to go back to North Carolina. What the fuck are you talking about? Why would you want to move back there? What about Gina? I winced, visibly it seems, at the sound of her name and Polly saw.

So now a little white lie wasn't going to be necessary, the beans were spilled. Ah, oh shit man. You guys broke up and you're going to skip out of state. Is that it? Yeah. Fuck. I was going to make up some shit about a lumberjack job opening up back home. You know I've always wanted to be a lumberjack.

You never said as much, but all those flannel shirts was a dead giveaway. His face got serious, and he added, you really love that girl. Didn't you? Love. I love her. She ain't dead, bro. What's with the past tense? Then my mood dropped mightily as I choked back a tear, she ain't dead, she's just marrying

a dougalls. Polly's eyes went wide as a plate and he said, a dougal. Are you for real, man? Does she realize that every dougal ever born goes morbidly obese by thirty? It's also a well-known fact in these parts that all the dougal men are extremely underhung. Did you know that? That's why all the dougal men raise gerbils. The only animal that makes them feel not so inadequate.

The son of a gun actually got a laugh out of me. Right then I realized that I was really going to miss him. I really hope all that shit is true. It gives me a reason to shower every month, I said, then added, but right now I have a problem. I don't think I have enough money to pay out of that lease you drew up while trippin, and then I got drunk and signed. Yeah. Well, a deal's a deal.

A cat is a cat. A cloud's a cloud. A kangaroo is a kangaroo. we can do about that? I've tried. I mean, that's a lot of money, bread, mula, green, lettuce, syrup. No matter how you say it. You know, there is 28 more years left on that lease at 50 a week. I'm going to need that money. I'm thinking I'm going to have to owe you. For a week or so. Tell you what? Just leave that U.S. Bond poster and we'll call it even. Nah, that thing is worth way more. No can do. I'll throw in a buck.

done. I made all the arrangements to move in with my grandparents. I reassured them that I wouldn't be there long since I had a little over three grand saved up and knew at least four places I could find a job so I wouldn't be unemployed for long. Polly let me borrow one of his small work trucks that he had on the property. This made sure that we would hang out together soon when I returned it, and we made the date for three weeks after my move. I also left a few things in my room I would have to come back and get. I was honestly surprised that I had more than enough stuff to pack the bed of the Ford Ranger pickup. The 10-hour drive was brutal.

All I had was an AM-slash FM radio in the truck to listen to and stations were spotty in the mountains, eventually turning into nothing but static. Naturally my mind kept going back to Gina and the love I thought would grow old with me. Gone now. Completely vanished, never to be again. All our little inside jokes, the way we would tease each other about our quirks, or the comfortable way we merged into each other just sitting on the couch and watching television. Or how she used to snuggle into my shoulder, a place she always called, her spot.

Would it someday be someone else's spot? I won't let that happen ever again, I told myself as I wiped the memories from the corners of my eyes. I finally got to Taylor'sville, retracing the route to my grandparents' house almost mechanically, as if by robot control. Turning into the neighborhood I saw my parents' car sitting in the driveway and thought, great. I guess my mom couldn't miss a chance to relish in my defeat. I knew this wasn't going to be pleasant. I pulled off the road as far as I could into my grandparents' front yard

and was immediately illuminated by the front porch light, as if someone was waiting right there by the door to light my path. That sounded typical of my grandmother. She was always so happy to see me. I got out of the truck and walked around the bed undoing the bungee cords that held my world in place. Nonsense, came my grandma's voice, you can do that later. Come on in and get something to eat. After that drive you have to be hungry.

You know me too well, Grandma, you know I do. As I got closer she half whispered, just so you know, your mom's here. I figured as much, I told her as we embraced. She won't shut up about what a mistake it was for you to move in with that girl and how now you probably expect to bum off of us in our twilight years. She also is adamant that you go back to Charlotte with her. Just a little heads up. Bring it on.

I declared. We both laughed and then I added, Grandma, I'm not going to be here long enough to mooch. I've got enough to get a place as. We'll get to all that once you get settled in. All right. You know I love you. Right? Shit, what's not to love? We were both laughing at that as we walked into the house, hand in hand.

I was slapped back 20 years by the smells of fatback, bacon, and biscuits. That house always smelled a perpetual breakfast. Walking through that door was like walking through a wormhole into the past. I always felt like I was ten years old for a little while. My mom got up and acted so happy to see me as she walked over for a hug, but she was nearly tripped by Snoopy, my grandparents' dog of unknown origin, who ran sideways through her legs to me. The little guy ran sideways like to make sure he wouldn't miss out on some good scratches.

God-dammit dog, my mom scolded, and just for a brief second I could see the mom of my childhood all across her face. That evil face that she kept covered for the majority of her life. The look my granddad gave her was probably the same look he gave so many Japanese soldiers in World War II as he pushed bayonets into their beings. No one here really cared too much for my mom. She was pretentious, crass, and mean. It all came to a head one summer when her and my dad got into a big fight and she came here to spend the summer with me and my grandparents. She tried to make out like she was just missing me so much she couldn't stand it, her June Cleaver act as it would be

come known. She was addicted to amphetamines and pain pills at the time, although it hadn't got nearly to the point it would years later when even my dad had to admit there was a problem. After years of being in denial because he believed that if a doctor prescribed the pills, then they were the right things to take. He never once doubted the doc's motives. One day she decided to give my grandparents' house a detailed cleaning and that meant I was now her assistant. Right away my grandparents weren't happy. My grandma felt insulted. She kept a clean house and she didn't appreciate my mom acting otherwise. My granddad first got upset because of the noise she made and about hit the roof when he saw

me cleaning next to her. He believed that a 10-year-old boy had no place cleaning a clean house on a beautiful summer day, a day meant for playing and finding mischief. Then it happened. My real mom came out for just a second. Right in front of everyone. I did some small little thing wrong, and my mom lit into me about how worthless I was and what kind of idiot would make such a mistake. Then, as if a switch was turned on, she stopped.

She looked at my granddad who looked back like he was going to hit her. You better never goddamn talk to that boy like that again. Do you understand me, woman? His voice bellowed across the room. I felt my grandma's hand on my shoulder as she told me I should go outside and play now. I did as I was told. For 12 hours my mom stayed locked up in a guest room until my dad got there to pick her up. How he drove from Kansas City to that house in Taylor'sville that quick astounded everyone. Jesus Christ, son. You must have done a hundred all the way. My granddad chided him when he came through the door to rescue his abused princess. He didn't even get to sit down before my mom exited the room, suitcase in hand. Let's go. She demanded. He just drove

12 hours Dolores. Let the man catch his breath. My grandma offered. That didn't even break her stride. I'll be in the car if you should start caring about your wife. She said as she opened the front door. Then she looked back at my dad and spit out like Venom, Jean. He looked at everyone, obviously embarrassed at being talked to that way, and then walked out the door. Since then my grandparents never were the same around her. Many was the time I heard them try to convince him to leave her, but Dad always came back for more. When my mom reached me and completed her cold hug, she whispered in my ear, you need to follow me and your dad back to Charlotte. I'm not going back to Charlotte. We've been through all this, Mom. He'll be

all right here, Dolores. Leave that boy B. My granddad spoke, so the matter was settled. Well, Mom started, I knew you and that girl wouldn't be together long. She was way out of your league. That kind of girl marries money. Thanks, Ma. You always know just the right thing to say. Then I added, and she's still alive for God's sake. Not past tense. It's just the truth, son. Dolores, will you be quiet? My dad shocked everyone when he spoke up. Don't you talk to me that way. She countered. Shut up, Dolores. Now everyone was standing there with their mouths wide open as my mom's face flushed bright red and she bolted out the door, signaling that the visit, or rather, the intrusion was over. Well, it's good to see you, son, but I must be in my way. I'll stop

back by here next week. I have to go to Tennessee and I'll leave a day early so we can spend some time. Leave the little woman at home. My granddad advised as my dad vanished out the door. I was there. In little old Taylor'sville. Population 50,000. The fuse had been lit and I didn't even know it. In a matter of years I would meet the woman who would challenge everything I thought I knew about love, life, and even myself. I was on a countdown towards a hot summer Friday the 13th of June when I would look up to the opening of a kitchen door and Stacy would steal my heart and nearly end my life. Growing up, I spent most of my summers at my grandparents' house in Taylor'sville. No matter where we were living at the time I would always make my way back there. Because of that I knew everyone in their neighborhood.

The only person I really needed to know was Mikey because if you know you'd be. knew Mikey, you knew just about everyone else in town. If he wasn't the most popular person in town he had to be a close second. At five foot eleven inches, he was three inches shorter than me, but a lot broader in the shoulders. He was also a little darker skin than I'd do to his Cherokee blood. With his bright ever-present smile, impeccable manners, and clean-cut boyish good looks he was popular with both young and old. He appeared to be that guy that every dad hoped would date their daughters. But looks can surely be deceiving. Mikey was the guy to go to for whatever your illicit needs.

If it was against the law to possess, then Mikey knew 20 people selling it. He was just as at home dealing with bikers from any outlaw gang to having dinner at the preacher's home after service on Sunday. Some days he would do both. He never missed a beat or a way to make a dollar. Mikey came from a huge extended family. Almost everyone on his dad's side of the family was some kind of drug dealer, while everyone on his mom's side was competition for the drug dollar. It was like some backwood small-town crime syndicate. I used to joke that as soon as a baby was born in his family that it had to take an oath of secrecy before they would take it home from the hospital.

His dad was like the odd man out in the family, although it was rumored that he bought his first restaurant with weed and acid money. Mikey's dad was just your run-of-the-mill small-town entrepreneur with three restaurants, four or five rental houses, and something else on the side always going on. Legal, of course. Little did the dads of this town know, but Mikey was the last guy you would want anywhere near your daughter. He screwed around on all his girlfriends, was known to take his dates to some shady places to meet up with shadier people to make even shadier deals, and drove while I intoxicated more often than not. There was a guy who lived with his small family on the outskirts of my grandparents' neighborhood who was known as Chief Crazy Horse, although his real name was Eddie.

He was kind of an urban legend. His exploits were talked about all over town, but very few people seemed to really know him very well, or even at all. One story was about the time he shot a guy in the butt after getting a rare ass kicking by a guy who had insulted his wife in the parking lot of a bar. They charged him with attempted murder, but it got reduced to aggravated assault and then dropped completely when the guy didn't show up for court. At one point during the proceedings he blurted out to the presiding judge that if had wanted to kill the guy then he wouldn't have popped him in the butt. He explained that he had no problem taking an ass whooping and moving on, but the old boy had insulted his wife and he had to have by God satisfaction.

I had heard a lot about him, but we didn't meet until that summer I moved in with my grandparents. To say we hit it off is a big, no, huge understatement. We were like long-lost twin brothers from the moment we first shook hands, and through the coming years I became Uncle Scott to his two kids and brother to Crazy Horse. We fought back to back and more than once came home looking like we had tried to go a few rounds with Ollie, Tyson, foreman with Rocky thrown in on many a night. Black eyes, split lips and the occasional stitch somewhere in the head was kind of a regular thing. Same thing with bruised and battered knuckles.

We gave as good as we got. I held my 25th birthday party at his house, which sat about 200 yards off the road with a huge front yard. We packed his yard so full of cars that for the first two days' cars had to be parked along the main road. For two days it was lined on both sides of the street for more than 700 yards in either direction. It lasted for four days straight, and anyone who was anyone on the rustic party scene of Taylor'sville was there at one time or another. Even my mom, who had come to town to wish me happy birthday, made her appearance. She was so horrified that she only stayed about six hours before I took her back to my

grandparents' house where she promptly passed out in the side yard. We went through 12 kegs of beer and left the liquor store with hand trucks at least once per day. My buddy Terrell was passing out free blotter acid, Mikey went through two ounces of blow, and I had nothing but empty bags to show for a quarter pound of top shelf wheat I bought on the first day. A few of us set up a stage and tried to play some tunes, but we blew the power out for the whole neighborhood. That party cemented my reputation in town and it was talked about for years. I was now an A-list celebrity in an F-list little town.

True to my word I had secured a job, a little two-bedroom house, and a decent running car in less than one month of being in town. Even so my mom still told everyone who would listen that I was mooching off of my elderly grandparents. On the outside it appeared that I was doing all right, but behind the facade I was losing control and coming undone. My drug and alcohol use has combined to take over my life and although I thought I was keeping it well hidden, the fact was that everyone near me could tell.

Every once in a while I would hit a rehab facility, swearing all the way there that I was done with being fucked up all the time. Then I would either leave early or get kicked out. Once I got kicked out of a rehab after bribing a cab driver to bring me a half gallon of vodka. Rehab had become my go-to when I had fucked up pretty bad due to dope or booze for the most part, for the other part, it was a place to go and rest before carrying on with my non-stop partying. Some rest and good food before getting back on that horse to chase dragons all over the place.

People said I was wasting everyone's time, but the truth is that I knew I had a problem and each rehab stint left something in the back of my mind. A little voice that kept growing louder, more assertive. I dated a lot but never one person for too long. I became that guy I never dreamed I would be, never letting anyone get through my defenses, no matter how good for me they would have been. If things started going too good then I would break up and run away. I broke some hearts, but at the time I figured better them than me.

No matter who I was with they were always being compared, at least subconsciously, to Gina. No one could hold a candle. And while it seemed to most that I had gotten over her, the fact was that I couldn't even enjoy being intimate with anyone unless I closed my eyes and thought about my long-lost love. I applied for a job as a cook the day they started taking applications at the newly built steak sizzler. It opened a week later and got hired at four times what I was making with Mikey's dad at Danny's barbecue and burgers. Within four months my hard work and knowledge of kitchens earned me a salary position as assistant manager making three times what I made as a cook. I also got a monthly bonus

check based on profit that was almost always big enough to pay the rent. I filled my apartment with nice furniture, a top of the line television in stereo, and then filled my closet with stylish top brand clothes. Then I got a credit card and bought an ounce of Coke with cash advances. The idea was that I would get rich peddling grams and such. I had become Lord God Almighty. I quickly found out that I wasn't a good Coke dealer. I was always running off all my customers so I could keep it to myself. After doing almost the entire ounce all by myself, I decided I had enough of it and quit cold turkey. My drinking actually went down when I quit the blow. I guessed because now I wasn't up three and four days at a time all wired out. I started feeling sane again.

Mikey had gone off and got married and Chief Crazy Horse got in some trouble and wouldn't be eligible to hang out again for two to five years, depending on his good behavior, when I got my job at the steakhouse. So I was getting pretty lonely for my buds. I got a DUI just after being promoted and had to really rely on my wits to get back and forth, but I managed. For the most part. But then that one rule I was told about when I became a manager came back to bite me on my ass. Fraternizing with the employees. Particularly those of the opposite sex. I got caught at a local park with a married waitress by her husband, which resulted in me staring down the barrel of a snub-noses 38. What saved my job was that she never came back to work,

not even to pick up her last check. So I got off with a warning. Then I found out that the reason we didn't hear from her after that night was because her husband had taken her and their five-year-old daughter out to some really isolated parking spot in a field somewhere and shot them both dead with that snub-nosed-nosed-38. Then he turned the gun on himself. My fun and games had cost three lives, including that of a child. I hit a depressive episode of the likes I had never imagined possible for me. I drank and cried, cried and drank.

Then, in what I'm sure was an example of self-sabotage, I went home with a waitress and pulled a four-day drunk. The steak sizzler responded by changing the locks, since I had keys and no one knew where I was, and promoted that fish-faced, backstabbing weasel of a turd muncher carry to my position. Jerry, the general manager, out of friendship, offered me a job cooking if I attended at least two AA meetings a week. He even gave me a lot more money than any other cook there was making. I took him up on his offer, and I made the meetings like clock.

That is, until they asked me not to come back unless I was sober after being caught with a styrofoam cup full of bourbon. Jerry never brought it up, and neither did I. I did slow down tremendously on my drinking. So much so that I suffered through some withdrawals, which were no fun. I felt like everything was getting back on track, but then that door opened and Stacy smiled at me and my fucking train derailed. Since the day that Stacy walked, or rather, bounced through those doors on that Friday the

the 13th, I had been feeling as though the very ground beneath my feet was always shifting around, always unsure of what I was doing, if I was even doing it right or not. My concentration was off all the time now. Her voice stayed in my head hours after we went our separate paths for the night. She drove a 1981 Chevy Impala, and I mean she drove the hell out of that car. The first time she drove me home from work I got the idea that she really didn't have much to live for. At least judging from the way she flew down Highway 37.

I've always been a little more mindful of the safety aspect of driving techniques. I don't crowd, tailgate or drive too slow. I believe in the Arrivalive philosophy. She was from the mountains of West Virginia and decided to relocate after getting out of a bad marriage. She moved here for a clean slate and another chance. While I was just glad that she was here. In no time at all we were spending almost every possible second together that we could swing. A camping trip that a few of my buddies and I had planned almost a year or

earlier came around, and I realized that I forgot to tell Stacy about it. I was extremely pleased when Stacy didn't get any kind of way about it. My last girlfriend would have declared a state of emergency for an oversight like that. I had been looking forward to it for so long, but all of the sudden I didn't really want to be away from Stacy for two weeks. My last girlfriend. I didn't even put a name to her. She wasn't even Gina anymore.

That's when I realized that the sound I was hearing deep down inside was the alarm going off, and I hadn't been paying attention. I felt like I needed to make that hike. I promised myself and my friends that I was going to go. Now I realized that I had to go no matter what. I needed some time alone to clear my head. To put a little distance between Stacy and myself. All of a sudden I started to understand that I didn't just like her, a lot, or have some crush.

I was falling head over heels. Something that I swore to myself I would never do again. Fall in love. There is a reason they call it falling. I had to get straight with myself and two weeks hiking the Appalachian Trail would be just the prescription I needed. She spent the three nights prior to my leaving at my place. We laid in bed all day unless we were working.

Hanging out, really. Taking a little breath for each other. We took our meals there, watched some classic comedies and horror movies, and talked about stuff endlessly, subconsciously feeling each other out for possible future compatibilities, looking for landmines now before we went too far and stepped on one later. On the day of the gang's departure it seemed to me for the briefest of moments that she might cry. We embraced so long at Timmy's van that we had to be reminded that we were indeed on a loose schedule. We were told that we needed to remember that we would only be gone for two weeks and could probably get to a stopping point at any time.

We got all the standard issue remarks like, why don't you two get a room and the like? Then I heard Mikey say, Smoochie, Smoochie. My little possum bottom. I loves you, and the van erupted with laughter, including Stacy and I. We kissed one last time and I climbed into the van, forcing myself to be a man and not look back as Eddie pulled the vehicle on to the highway. With a little bark of the tires as we hit pavement, our adventure was afoot. Something like eight hours later we pulled into a little town three hours from our first

destination. We had planned on spending our last night in civilization in a motel room, with a fine steak dinner in our bellies, and then a smoke off. Every one of us had decided to bring at least a half ounce of the best weed we could get our hands on, so we were going to have our own little version of the cannabis cup to see which of us had bragging rights from now on out. There was Mikey, Eddie, Timmy, John A, and me all together at one table at the steakhouse. The crew. Never a dull moment. I was surrounded by the kinds of friends most people never have the fortune of knowing. It had been a long time since we were all together. The older you get it

seems the less of a priority hanging out with your buds becomes. Eddie was married with two kids. In a perpetual loop of job hunting. Every other day or so he would get halfway dressed up and go, pound the pavement, in search of that elusive beast known as gainful employment round these parts. Although most days it seemed he would get confused. Those days his car could be seen parked off Highway 37 beside the Cushion Creek pull off. He would park there and then go sit on an outcropping by the deepest part of the waterway.

throw out a fishing line and decide no one was hiring. Mikey was working two jobs and fixing up a small house he bought over the previous summer. He was 26 and this was his second house that was paid for and coming right along. But he was in the middle of a full-blown psychological meltdown situation in his love life. His fiancé announced that instead of being a criminal defense attorney as previously planned, she now wanted to work in the DA's office. There was no way in hell he would marry to a DA or anyone in their office, and that includes the receptionist.

He'd be damned if he would even live in the same house with someone of such dubious character. John A. had been married a little more than a year and a half. He had been promoted to project manager at his dad's engineering firm and was making mad money. Yet he never seemed happy anymore, always worrying about making even more money. Timmy was still knocking around trying to find a foothold. Me? I was working as a cook in a steakhouse, spending way too much money on whatever substance would help me forget that I was a cook in a steakhouse. That meant I spent way too much time hung over or chasing normal

one shot at a time. My car had been repossessed a month prior to the trip, I was already imagining how I was going to ask my grandparents if I could return because I was on thin ice with the management at my apartments due to my drunken escapades. And I was one more call out from work from not even being a cook at all. Something that I didn't know at that time was that in one month I would get my first of two DUIs. That would be one small catalyst for a change. Little did I know at the time that in just five months I would be on track for a new life. A sober life. The one thing I did of going for me was I was in love.

There was no doubt about it now. When me and the crew were together, there was never any time for anything else to be on my mind except for the then and now. For the first time in a long time I had someone who was somewhere else but constantly on my mind. Would Stacy like this, would she be able to let her hair hang down around my boys and have fun with us? I found myself thinking about her almost all the time we were apart. How nice it would have been if she were there. Would we hang out late with the guys or would we end up going back to our room early to simply enjoy each other? At times she was there in my mind more than the people who were actually there in person.

We had a blast on the trail for those two weeks. I had done a lot of thinking about my relationship with Stacy and decided that when I got back I would sit her down and explain my feelings. I would ask that we put a little distance between us, start going a little slower so my head and my heart could be on the same page. A little distance couldn't hurt things if she felt about me as I did her. As soon as I got back and she stood up on her tiptoes to give me a kiss and every single plan I had created to put a little distance between us when out the window. I told her we should move in together. So much for distance. She agreed with all the giddiness of a school girl meeting her favorite band and we set our sights on one month out.

I told her that I didn't like any surprise knowledge bombs being dropped on me after I had unpacked my stuff, put my toothbrush in the bathroom, and ruffled up the bed. I looked her in the eyes and asked if there was anything about her that I should know about. She said yes, there was something I should know. Two things actually. One was that she was still married to her husband, he wasn't an ex after all. At least not yet. She assured me that it was me that she loved, and she had never intended for that to happen. But now that it had, she loved me more than she had ever loved anyone before.

Way more than she had ever loved her husband. The second thing was something that she had planned on telling me as soon as I returned from the hike, and that was that she had a son. He was six years old and his name was Noah. She explained that she didn't think to tell me at first because she didn't think in a million years that things would get serious between us. She just wanted to basically have a good time and had promised herself that she wasn't going to let anyone near her heart for a long time to come.

By the time she realized how close we had become, she was scared if she told me that it would scare me away. I looked at her with the most intense no-nonsense look I could muster up and asked, one question. Should I move my drum kit to your place? You should, she assured me. And that's exactly what I did. I put them up right there in the front room of the mobile home. I've always believed that a drum kit was living room or den furniture.

It looked good over by the window, so I could keep an eye out for guest while I played or practiced, because there was no way I was going to hear a knock or doorbell. Things were great between us, it was as natural as could be. We got to the point where we could be in the same room sometimes for hours without ripping each other's clothes off. It was a load off my mind when we discovered we had fun together and still felt that bond even when we had our clothes on. It scared me for a while that this wouldn't be the case, but it turns out that we could

just enjoy time together playing a board game or some cards. Her mother came to visit three weeks after the move-in was complete and a week after that first DUI. She brought Stacy's son with her and decided to stay a week to get to know me, the guy that she didn't know who would be living with her daughter and grandson. Now, I had been around kids all my life, and I never had any issues at all with being around them. I had helped raise my two nephews until one moved out on his own and the other was getting his license. The secret to being around kids is to make them like you by acting like you didn't care if they liked you or not, while letting them know that you like them. Just do that and make sure you talk to them like you with any one of your more grown-up friends.

And most of all, listen to what they have to say and at least act like it's one of the most important things you've heard all day. If you do that then you and almost any kid will get along. I didn't have to worry about any of that with Noah, though, he took one look at my drum sitting there and decided I was his best friend. Turns out he was a pretty cool little dude. Smart and mature acting for his age and a pretty astute student of percussion. Her mom was a real trip.

She showed us the bullet hole Stacy's dad had put in the back of her car for not making a pot of soup before coming to visit us. There was a noise picking up decibels in the distance, but I just ignored it. Stacy was scheduled to work the day after her mom came to stay with us. That morning I woke her up with a fresh cup of coffee. She sat up in the bed, cupping the precious coffee in her hands and inhaling the steam. I had started getting into the habit of waking her up with a cup of coffee in bed every morning she had to wake early and I didn't.

Show some solidarity. Now, you're going to be here with my mom, don't you let her talk you into doing anything you wouldn't be doing if I were here, she said with a little sly smile. I don't know. She looks good for her age. I didn't have to lie to make that statement.

Man, don't say that shit. Not even in jest. Stacey, I don't care if that was Kristen Bell in there, I have invisible blinders on for you and you only. I found myself really meaning that. you're the most beautiful woman in the world to me. There may be someone out there that is just as beautiful as you are in their own sort of way, but there hasn't been the woman born on this planet who can truthfully say that they are more

beautiful than you. She stared at me like she was looking for some tell that would reveal me to be a liar, but I wasn't lying. I meant every word of what I said. She was the total package for me. Physical perfection to me. She finally softened up a little and I wondered if I would ever know the story about that scene. What past event had made her feel she had to worry about such a thing.

I didn't have to wait long for the answer to that question. Within an hour of waking up her mom, Sherry, was blistered drunk and going way off track. Her come-ons got cruder and cruder, each one more sexually overt than the last. When Noah just missed out on a perfect eyeful of grandma's tits, I figured it was time to get him out of there. I asked Noah if he wanted to go for a walk and check to see what might be living in the woods across the street. Before we could get out of the house, Sherry had grabbed for my crotch three times and left nothing to the imagination when explaining what she was in the mood to do. I couldn't believe the kind of display she put on in front of her own grandson.

She had no embarrassed, mad, ashamed, and depressed all at once. I didn't want to bring it up to him, but I would have if necessary. He broached the subject as soon as we went through the front door. He asked me if that was how I acted when I got drunk. It occurred to me that I'd been known to show my butt, especially if 151 rum was involved. Those moments when everything around is spinning one direction but you're spinning in the other direction.

Those moments when you knew you would be puking shortly so you go looking for a landing spot. This was the first real time I witnessed first hand the effects of one's social rustiness being a little too lubricated. Here was a boy I barely knew and yet even I could tell how that scene with her mom changed his behavior. I made a promise to myself that I would pay more attention to how much I was drinking when he was around. And furthermore, I would not allow any of my drinking buddies in the house when he was around. Noah was a tough little kid, but seeing his grandma acting like that was pretty

close to traumatizing him. I had to do better, be better. As Noah and myself walked around the park and the neighborhood, he tried to steal a bicycle out of a neighbor's yard. I was very diplomatic about getting him to put them back and it didn't fuss about doing it. The whole thing made me think the little guy was actually testing me. Gaging my leadership abilities. Stacy got home early that afternoon and I was glad to see her. We hadn't been back to the trailer since we left that morning. We treated ourselves to some burgers and fries, then he headed to the playground while I sat at a table that allowed me a pretty good line of sight

to anyone coming and going at our place. Then I just sat there nursing a coffee for hours and keeping an eye on our driveway. When I saw that sky blue Impala pull in the gravel drive, I immediately felt my heart slip a beat. I wasn't sure about what I was going to tell her about today, or if I was going to tell her anything at all. Turns out, I didn't have to address it at all because Noah walked up to her and said, Mama got drunk and acted stupid just as soon as you left for work.

And what do we do in times like those? I could have rushed home and made sure you were fine. No problem, Mom, he assured her, me and Scott went around the block a few times. He really likes walking around the block. Then we went and checked out a creek in the woods across the street. He sounded really happy with my Hail Mary pass to the woods. I did good. Stacey smiled and looked at me, still smiling and asked him in a dramatically louder voice all sudden, so, did Scott do good taking care of things? He did great, Mom.

You might want to get a new doghouse and keep this one a while. She laughed, then added in that over-the-top voice and checking to make sure I was hearing her loud and clear, we might know a. We might just keep this one a right spell. Her mom left early two days later. I never told her what had happened. I just didn't want to hear the excuses for the way she behaved. I had barely drank any alcohol at all since that day. Somewhere, deep in my brain a light had gone off, or maybe it came on, I'm not really too sure, but I could feel it in my soul that my drunken self was slowly on the way out. Sherry said she didn't remember anything about that morning, which seemed to me just an evasion tactic. She considered blackouts to be a good thing. I don't know how I completely

missed what had to have been the most red flags thrown in just a 72-day period ever. Put it this way, I heard tales which led me to believe that Stacey's family was considered eccentric even for West Virginia Mountain Standards. At that very moment some 800 miles away, just outside of Morgan, West Virginia, James Murdow's, Stacy Murdow's husband, was walking through the kitchen of the remote little cabin feeling the sun's rays as they finally starting the place warming. He walked loudly through that kitchen, boots proud to be on his feet while putting a cigarette to his mouth with a little snap of his wrist. He looked to the couch and made a mental inventory,

1.45 Auto Smith and Wesson, a .357 long barrel magnum, also Smith and Wesson, 112-gauge pump-action shotgun, illegally modified by the sawing off of any unnecessary lengths making the weapon that is commonly known as a street sweeper. And Barry's all-time favorite, the Thompson 45 submachine gun, front stock grip, straight clip. Every time James told him that he wanted that gun Barry had told him the same thing time after time after time. You can have this gun the day you pry it from my cold dead hands, followed by that self-satisfied chuckle. A little earlier, that day had come.

Just a few minutes ago James had indeed pried them all from Barry and his family's cold dead hands. James gathered all the supplies he would need from Barry's shed, seeing as Barry, his wife nor teenage son would be using any of that stuff again. Finding Barry's car keys, James walked his sharp, noisy stride out of the front door. He turned, locked the door and walked to the car while singing an old James Taylor song. In my mind I'm going to Carolina. Can't you see the sunshine can't you just feel that moonshine and ain't it just like a friend of

mine to hit me from behind? Yes, I'm gone to Carolina in my mind. First off, I apologize for the lengthy delay but one of those, that's life, buddy, things happened. Without further delay. Hey babe, I need to get to a meeting tonight. I yelled to Stacy while fishing for her keys in the kitchen. She was down the hall checking in on Noah, who had those creeping cruds in his chest and had been down for three days so far.

Do you think you could risk it tonight? I don't want to drag him out into the night air. Yeah, there's one about two miles away. I can do that. I answered, then walked back to where they were. I kissed her on the top of her head and gave Noah my pitiful look, then morphed it into a goofy look complete with my tongue hanging out. He chuckled a little. Probably more for my sake than anything else.

What Stacey meant by Risk It was that my license has been revoked for a DUI, but if the mission was dire then I would sometimes risk it. Going to court ordered AA meetings was a risk it if I had to. Besides, I was getting something from these meetings now. I even had a sponsor. They definitely couldn't have come at a better time and by this point I was freely admitting that I was an alcoholic and it kind of felt good to get it off my chest. I didn't know it at the time, but there was one more Ben-Benzheny.

in me before I finally laid it down. The meeting was fun that night. A lot of laughs were had and I managed to learn a thing or two by accident. I donated to the coffee fund, shook some hands and made my way to the grab a lot of the small church. I started the car and made my way onto the road home and I noticed that the brakes felt a little squishy, they weren't really grabbing the car. I made a mental note to check the fluid when I got home.

As I came closer to my left turn I put my foot on the brake pedal and it went straight to the floor this time. I was rolling along at 50, and I was still doing 50 after I hit the brakes. I put my foot on the emergency brake and found they worked. I slowly applied them and pulled off to the side of the road to catch my breath and right my course. She had just had those brakes replaced. Boy, was I going to raise hell to some mechanic as soon as possible? Had I not been on a straight road with no other cars in sight, that would have been a completely different outcome. I slowly made it home and told her what happened and her face lost all color. She ran to the kitchen junk drawer and retrieved a flashlight, then to the closet for a small

tool kit we kept, then she dashed out the front door to the car. By the time I got up and went to find out what was going on, she had the hood up and the brake fluid tank open. She put two fingers in and inspected them under the flashlight beam. She looked at me and simply said, oil. What are you talking about? I asked her. There's oil in the brake fluid." Someone put oil in the brake fluid. You think it happened back at the shop where you got the brakes? No.

No way. The brakes wouldn't have lasted this long. Oil eats the seals and then air gets in the line. A matter of days, depending on how much you use the brakes and then, all of a sudden, no brakes. She was staring at me with an expression of deep thought. She shook her head slightly and said, it's kind of a popular way to send a message where I come from. Losing breaks in those mountains can be a real-day spoiler. Who the fuck would

have done that? James. He's here. She pushed me out of the way as she hurried into the house. God damn Scott, he could be watching us right now, so you're just going to run away. Run out on me. I've got to get me and Noah someplace safe. This isn't about you. If it's about you, then it's about me. I'm not running Stacy. He will have to go through me to get to you. We can take Noah to my grandparents' house. He can't follow us there without being seen quick enough. I'm not scared of him. That's because you don't know him.

She looked at me, slowed herself down a bit, then explained, there's something you should know about James. He's a professional fighter, or rather was. Now he has a new career. He goes to a nearby city's and in no time he'll get some decent drug deal set up. Then he simply robs the people. Him and his partner David. Inside I felt terror. Some kind of fucking mobster or something.

Either way, I knew this dude was a whole new level of dangerous compared to me. I'm not going to just run and hide. If nothing else, if it comes down to it, I can at least be an obstacle so you and Noah can get a better head start. I'm not leaving or running out on you. You would really do that for me. She looked almost stunned. Without question. I love you.

That's what you do if you love someone. I'd never be able to look myself in the mirror if I'd never be able to look myself in the mirror if I I did otherwise." Okay, she said, let's drop Noah off at your grandparents and get a room to discuss what we should do. I called Eddie and asked him if he would be up for a break job right quick. I promised I would smoke him out and throw in forty bucks. He was there with fluid and everything we needed within an hour.

His dad once was a mechanic in a NASCAR pit crew and his garages were better stocked than AutoZone. I asked Stacy if I could let Eddie know what was going on. I let her know that he could be very helpful at a time like this. She agreed and so I did. Man, you know that you are more of a brother to me than my own real flesh and blood brother. Right? I could tell this might turn into a lecture at any minute. As a brother then I am down with you.

I got your back or I'll fucking die trying. Same here, I've never left you hanging for backup before. We changed the breaks out and Eddie told me he had a plan. The three of us were sitting outside still and I was rolling one. got any weapons? I know you can access a few. He aimed that last bit at me. He knows I lived in the boondocks and finding a shoot-in' iron was as easy as walking across the street. No. We don't have anything currently, but, you know, I have a gun. Stacey said matter-of-factly. It's a 32 automatic. When were you going to tell me you had a gun in the house? We can do Jerry Springer

at a later time. I'm going back to my dads and drop off these tools and grab a couple of things from one of his gun safes along with some ammo. I'll be back here in about 30, he jumped into his car and took off like a man on a mission. Look, about that gun. Stacey started, but I just held my hand up and stopped her. I'm sorry. I was being a bit of a dick. I don't blame you, if I was you I'd probably do the same thing. I got no right to judge you or be mad. Thanks. I love you, I love you, too. I'm not going anywhere. Eddie showed back up with some firepower. 2 AR-15s, 2 Glock 9mm and his 30-06 deer hunting rifle. Eddie could shoot the wings off a fly with that sucker and has the ribbons and trophies to prove it.

We divided up the weapons and ammo and threw some things in the car. Eddie spent the night on the couch and I stood watch until morning light. Then we all slammed some coffee while Noah ate a couple bowls of cereal. I called my grandma and asked if Noah could stay with them and spend the night as Stacy and I wanted to use our days off together to take a row. romantic car ride and get a room in the hills. They agreed and we drove over there. Eddie waited for about five minutes then he two headed that way, both of us sticking to the same route so that Eddie would be five minutes behind us in case James pulled out to follow us. My grandparents had accepted and really seemed to like Noah a lot, and in return, Noah loved going over there to hang out.

I had felt little pangs of jealousy at times over the way they fawned over him. When we left him there he was happy and so were my grandparents. My granddad giving me a lewd grin the whole time we were there. We headed to the travelers in about 30 minutes outside of town. Of course, Eddie was five minutes behind us the whole way. Once we were all safely checked in and I had my little arsenal safely inside the room, Eddie pulled up, rolled down his window and told us that he had to take his wife to her mom and dads and would be checking in on us every 30 minutes or so. He would drive by but wouldn't stop or show himself unless he has to. The rest of the of it was on us, but Eddie was quick to note he was a phone call away.

Stacy and I ordered up some pizza for dinner that night. She sat at the table next to the front window looking out of a small crack in the curtain. I'll never be free as long as that bastard is alive. She said to herself it seemed. I felt so bad about what she was going through, it enraged me to think this guy was willing to hurt his own son just because he couldn't take no for an answer. It bothered me deep down inside, giving me a whole new perspective on domestic violence. Have you ever taken out an order of protection against him?

Yeah. One time when I was naive enough to think it would do any good. At the end of the day, it's just a piece of paper and won't stop a grown man from doing what he wants to do. I guess not. Did he break it? Did you report it? Yeah, but half the cops in our hometown are his buddies and even help him rip off dope dealers

at times. What about your dad? I mean, he shoots at his wife over some soup, but lets this guy hurt his daughter. Fuck, what kind of dad is that? I knew right then that I wouldn't get along with her dad. No matter what. He's scared of him. Plus, James always has enough drugs to share when he comes around.

She never once looked away from the crack in the curtain. Then she added, Mom though. One time he gave me a black eye, right after we first got married. I'll never forget it. That was back when he would still do the whole apology thing. I had run to Mom and Dad's because, well, Mom and Dads. Dad. Right? Well, here he came pulling into the driveway and you could see he had a whole bunch of balloons in the passenger seat. All of a sudden I heard the crack of a rifle coming

from the old barn about 50 feet from the house. Bullet holes started appearing on James windshield, then it just disintegrated. I heard two more cracks and there went the balloons. The only time I ever saw that bastard scared. He turned around and got the fuck out of Dodge. I don't blame him. Your mom's a nut. I'm going to take a shower. I was up all night and it's starting to catch up to me. I made my way to the back of the room. Looking back as I walked into the bathroom I saw her sitting in the glow of the television and staring intently out of the window. Broke my heart. The shower felt so good and relaxing that I almost fell asleep standing up. The next thing I knew I had been in there

so long that the hot water was running out. So I cut the water off and got out to dry myself off. I put on the same pants with a new clean shirt. I decided it would be best to stay dressed in case anything happened. Did you want to get a shower tonight? The hot water will need to build up first. Sorry. I got no reply and figured Stacy had probably fell asleep. She didn't sleep to well the night before.

Pulling on my shirt I walked into the main room and saw she had moved from the window. Babe? She wasn't in the room and figured she had gone to get something to drink and some ice. I looked around and saw the ice bucket sitting where it was. What was missing was all of Stacy's stuff. I dashed to the door and swung it open to check the parking lot. Sure enough, the car was gone. I looked back through the room for some kind of clue,

that's when I saw a piece of hotel stationery. I picked it up and read, no one needs me. Call your grandma. Had to go. No matter what happens, just know I love you. A sudden, almost tangible wave of a loneliness washed over me. I called my grandparents' house and my grandma answered. I asked her if she had talked to Stacy.

She told me that Stacy had called to say goodnight to Noah, that's when Grandma told her that his dad, James came by and picked him up for a surprise night out. She thought Stacy knew. James told her to tell Stacy he was going to the trailer and she would know what to do. What's going on Scott? None of this feels right. Noah said it was his dad, but he sure didn't seem to want to go with him. If there is some kind of trouble you've got yourself in then you need to tell me.

I don't really know what's going on myself. I have to go for right now, though. I'll let you know something as soon as I know something. She's still married, Scott. Not only that, there's a child involved. You don't need to be in the middle of this. I know, Grandma, but for now I have to be in this. At least until Stacy is safe.

Well, I'm telling you something. Her husband isn't right. His eyes, it seemed like they were just, I don't know. Vacant. Like he was just going through the motions. I know, I've heard at least. I need to go, Grandma. I'll let you know as soon as I know something.

I'll be careful and I love you. You be careful and we love you, too. The trailer. He was going to take Noah to the trailer and Stacy was on her way to meet them. Fuck. I called Eddie, and I took great comfort in the fact he grabbed it on the second ring. Hey man, Stacy is on her way to meet up with him at the trailer. She took off while I was in the shower, all tight, don't get too bent. We'll get this shit straightened out. Look, don't get

pissed, but I called my brother Jimmy and let him know. He's here with me now, at this minute, I don't care. He brought up a good point. Why aren't we calling the cops? For what? What has he done? Shit. Nothing. Except, he had to be stalking you to find your grandparents' house. Right? And do you think they'll arrest him over that? Dude. This is on me. If you don't want to help, I get it.

I don't blame you. Jimmy's going to go by there and put eyes on them and I'm coming to get you. Be ready to roll, I'm 15 minutes away. He hung up and I hastily packed up my stuff and looked at my watch. It took me all of four minutes. The next 11 minutes were the longest and hardest minutes of my life. Every terrible thing I could imagine ran through my mind. mind. It was a lousy time to discover what a vivid imagination I have. At least when Eddie

showed up he did it in grand style, sliding into the half-gravel parking lot of the motel with the flare of a professional stunt driver in a vehicle that I'd long forgotten about, the matter than Max minivan. It was a project a few of us had worked on after watching the old Mad Max Road Warrior movies. Eddie has won a slightly wrecked Chrysler minivan, when minivans has just came on the scene in a drunken poker game. A couple sheets of bro, natural acid and way too much time, money and unfettered access to the finest auto shop filled with his dad's tools and we went to town. There was me, Eddie, his brother Jimmy, Marcus and Tommy, all of us pitching in to recreate our own version of an Armageddon vehicle. This van could have doubled

as a light tank by the time we got done. All glass was bulletproof thanks to Eddie's dad's connections with an armored limousine company, and all the side panels had a sheet of angled steel behind each one that would bounce an AK-47 round from 50 yards. We took the entire back of the van off and welded two inches of steel with bulletproof glass and gun slits that promised a full field of fire. Then, Eddie and Jimmy tripped especially hard for about a week and created the damest thing. They widened the wheel base and dropped in a built 350 cubic-inch motor to move the beast at highway speeds and with the added base, the four tires that were obvious were also not real. The real tires that made contact with the road were inside, behind the outer fakes.

It made it damn near impossible to shoot the tires out. We drove that thing through barns, old abandoned houses, and straight over small trees. Then, we lost interest in it and thought it had gone away. But, apparently, Eddie had never lost complete interest, because there it was in its full glory. He slid sideways to where I was and I opened the side door and threw my stuff, including my little arsenal into the bench-middle seats. My armory, I noticed when I packed up was missing Stacy's 32 automatic. I was glad she was armed.

Okay, bro. I got the CB fired up and Jimmy has eyes on the trailer. He's at the bridge pretending to set up a duck blind. She doesn't know him, so I believe they won't really notice him. He said there's an old Dodge pickup in the parking spot in front and her car is pulled in behind. The truck won't be able to get out unless she moves her car. What's Jimmy got to fight with? his 30.30-deer rifle with scope, and of course his two Glock nines.

He said they've got the blinds drawn so he has no idea about what's going on in the trailer, but you know he's got them Hawkeye Field glasses. You can count on him. You know that. Right? Of that I have no doubt. And I didn't have a doubt. I wasn't nearly as close to Jimmy as I was Eddie,

but Jimmy was a goddamn certified maniac who I wouldn't cross to save my life. So, what do you think? Noah's there so we can't just come on like the 82nd Airborne. Subtlety, and that ain't my specialty. We had about 20 minutes before we would be within range to engage and that didn't leave me much time. I had to think of something, and I didn't even know where to start. I wanted to just pull up and let him take me and let them go, but that was a plan I didn't feel James would be too keen with.

Then the van topped the last hill that stood between us and I could see the trailer. The front lights of the den were on and so were the ones in Noah's bedroom. I saw the blinds moving in his bedroom in such a way that I could tell he was in that room playing basketball off the goal I rigged up on his bunk beds, so at least I felt sure he was at somewhat out of the way if any plan went fuck all. We crested the hill and just kept rolling until we came to Jimmy's now completed duck blind. I rolled down my window as far as it would go and asked if there had been any changes. I was assured that there had been none by Jimmy wearing his full-on insane smile. The fucker was actually getting turned on by this shit. I got an idea, Jimmy announced, I'll go up, unarmed except a Glock or two down my pants and ask if someone is there.

Then I can get us some situational awareness. Get the lay of the land. Maybe even end this shit right then and there. Dude, that's a whole new world of danger. What is he just freaks out starts shooting? I asked. I suppose that could happen, he replied with a smile that fucking scared me. Let's hope it don't.

He added as he started towards the trailer, fucking started singing long-hair country boy as he crossed over the road. I couldn't believe the balls on this guy. You got anything better? Eddie asked as he backed the van behind the blind. No. I don't. Damn it.

We watched as Jimmy disappeared for a second or two and then emerged from the woods about 20 yards from the front door. Then he walked right up and knocked. I almost shit my pants when I saw the light of the front door open, and for the first time, I saw James in person. He stood about six foot, obviously chiseled through his wife-beater t-shirt. His jet black hair smoothed into a fucking pompadour, and a smile so big and white his face has to be plugged in. There was a little back and forth, and then damn if both of them didn't bust out laughing like old pals.

My heart just stopped. I felt like my breath could be heard a million miles away. Then James shook his head, still smiling as Jimmy turned to walk back. I couldn't believe the crazy son of a bitch pulled it off. The door closed and then he started back out direction. Just as Jimmy made it to the other side of the trailer park, the door opened again and I saw the silhouette of James Ame a handgun of some sort with a silencer on it. He fired twice and then Jimmy fell, rolling down the hill and back towards us.

Everything changed in the flash of his muzzle. My name is Richard. I'm 33 years old, and I left my crazy obsessed wife, and I do not regret it. I met Jessica during childhood. The first time I ever saw her was when a... family was moving into the house next door. I was watching through the window, excited that we finally had new neighbors after the old ones moved out. The house had been on the market for a while because it was a bit run down, and nobody wanted to fix it. My sister Lily, who was

also 16 at the time, went outside to offer her help. It looked like they said yes because Lily had a big smile on her face as she started helping them move furniture inside. After that, she stayed in the house for a while, and I guessed they were talking. A couple of weeks of weeks later, she started going over there a lot. Then, one day, it happened, Jessica came over to our house. She walked in yelling, as usual. Jessica, Mom, I'm here. Oh, I brought a friend over, by the way. Her name is Jessica, super sweet girl. Mom, hello, honey. Hello, Jessica. I've heard so much about you. Lily won't stop talking about you. She says you're wonderful. I think this is the first time I've ever seen her come in with a girl, Jessica, hello, ma'am. It's a pleasure to finally

meet you. That's so sweet. Lily talks about you guys all the time, saying how cool, amazing, and kind you are. Honestly, I was nervous to come over at first. I'm usually shy, but Lily made it so easy. I was sitting in the living room while the three of them continued to make small talk. Then Lily walked over to me, stopping in front of the TV with the dumbest grin on her face. Lily, hey, Richard, I just wanted to introduce Jessica to you, I looked at her, mesmerized. I thought to myself, she's one of the prettiest girls I've ever seen. Of course, me being the awkward idiot I was back then, I nervously said, me, oh, hey, you must be my sister's friend. She won't shut up about you.

Super nice to meet you. I hope we can get along. Jessica looked at me for a moment, smiled, and said, you're pretty handsome. It's a pleasure to meet you, too, I wasn't bad-looking, not to brag or anything. My family was fairly attractive and pretty well off financially, not millionaires, but considered rich. From that moment on, we became a trio, Jessica, Lily, and me. We hung out a lot, and as the weeks passed, I started to develop serious feelings for Jessica.

She knew I liked her, but never really said anything about it and would brush it off. The day I decided to confess my feelings, my older brother Jack, came back. home. Jessica had seen Jack before but had never really spoken to him. Jack was tall, with green eyes, dark hair, and a toned, athletic build. I always felt that Jessica liked my brother more than me, even though Jack wasn't interested in her. He saw her as just another little sister. That day was the first time they spoke to each other. When Jessica heard Jack's voice, it seemed like she melted. Jack, hello, Lily. Hello, Richard. Hello, Jessica. It's been a while.

How have you guys been? Is school treating you well? Lily and Jessica went on and on about their school experiences, while I sat to the side, watching Jessica gaze at Jack with hard eyes. Jack excused himself and left. When Jessica and I were finally alone, I confessed my feelings for her. She smiled and said, I like you too, Richard. How about we start dating?

I was confused. I didn't know if she was joking, especially since it was obvious she had a thing for Jack. But, being the idiot I was, I agreed. Jessica and I dated for three years. It always felt like she never put effort into our relationship. She'd pick fights over the smallest things. But around Jack, she completely transformed, kind, sweet, and glowing. The vibe she gave Jack were so different from the vibes I got when we were alone. I landed a good job and started making a lot of money. I wasn't bad looking, so women occasionally hit on me, but I never reciprocic. Jessica, however, always used this as an excuse to accuse me of being unfaithful.

I wasn't allowed to go to parties with friends or hang out with coworkers because she was terrified I'd cheat on her. Yet, every family reunion broke my heart a little more. Jessica always made sure to sit next to Jack. It was like this every time, Jack, Jessica, me, Lily, my cousin Stephanie, her husband, and my parents. Nobody else could sit next to Jack because Jessica always insisted on sitting there. Please let me sit here, she'd say. Jack is one of my favorite guys. Since the four of us grew up together, no one said anything.

But I could tell Jack was uncomfortable with her behavior. He didn't speak up because he didn't want to make her feel bad. One day, Jack brought a girl to a family reunion, a stunning, kind woman. When Jessica saw her, her mood completely changed. She didn't dare sit next to Jack, talk to him, or even touch his hand. Instead, she focused on me, laughing at my jokes and paying attention to me for once. That night, when we got home, I got a call from a female co-worker asking if I could cover her shift the next day because she had an urgent doctor's appointment.

I agreed, smiling because she'd helped me out a lot when I first started at the company. Jessica, who was in the bathroom showering, came out and saw the smile on my face. Jessica, who was on the phone? Why are you smiling like that? Is that your mistress, her tone was dark and furious. I explained that it was my coworker asking me to cover for her because of an appointment. I wasn't lying, but Jessica acted like I just betrayed her. She started yelling, throwing things, and accusing me of not loving her.

Every time Jack brought home a girl, Jessica would find a reason to start a fight with me. That night was no different. After a while, I started to think that Jessica might have deeper issues. I didn't dare bring it up with her because I knew she'd freak out. When we got married, things felt different, off, even. On our honeymoon, we didn't have sex. Whenever I tried to touch her, she'd push me away, saying she wasn't in the mood. I didn't want to make her uncomfortable, so I backed off.

But it hurt. It wasn't what I expected, and it left me questioning whether she truly wanted to be with me. One day, I was home, working on some papers, when she walked into the room wearing a tight, stunning dress. She looked gorgeous, her long blonde hair, her piercing dark blue eyes, and her slim, elegant figure mesmerized me all over again. She walked over, sat on my lap, and kissed me. I was confused because Jessica was never this affectionate, especially not without a reason. Then she asked me if I could go to a party with her and her friends. I agreed. Jessica wasn't usually the type to go out much. She was a shy girl who preferred to stay home, so her request surprised me.

Of course, I said yes. I wasn't the kind of husband to control her life. I had a lot of trust in her. Looking back, I now realized that trust was one of the biggest mistakes I ever made. Jessica came home drunk, completely wasted. She wasn't the type to drink much, so I was immediately concerned. I could smell the alcohol from a mile away. As soon as she stepped through the door, she launched herself at me.

She started kissing me, running her hands over me in ways she'd never done before. I backed off and gently asked if she wanted to rest. I suggested we could save this for another day because I didn't want to be intimate with someone who was clearly out of it. But Jessica insisted. She pulled me closer, and for the first time in our marriage, we made love. For a moment, I felt like we'd finally reached a place of closeness, like all the distance and awkwardness between us was melting away.

In the middle of it all, she started whispering my brother's name in a soft, caressing voice. But instead of stopping, I just kept going. I figured she was just out of it, and I convinced myself it didn't matter. I was enjoying myself, and for once, Jessica was kissing me, hugging me, and telling me how much she loved me. For a fleeting moment, I felt happy. But deep down, I was breaking. I knew the truth, my wife didn't see me as a person.

She looked at me and saw my brother. She touched me and imagined she was touching him. Why hadn't I realized this sooner? Maybe I was just blinded by love. Maybe I didn't want to let her go because I was too afraid to face the truth. The truth was that Jessica had loved my brother from the moment she first laid eyes on him. I had always known it, but I refused to admit it to myself. I didn't understand her, and maybe I never would.

The next morning, Jessica woke up unusually happy. She hugged me and kissed me like nothing had happened. I didn't dare bring up the fact that she'd moaned my brother's name while we were having sex. For the next few months, she was the happiest I had ever seen her. It was as if something inside her had changed completely. Then one day, she surprised me with news that left me stunned, she was expecting. I was going to be a father. I didn't know how to feel.

Was I supposed to be happy? Relieved? Excited? All I felt was a strange emptiness. But one thing I did know was that I would do everything in my power to be a good father. Regardless of everything, I was determined to love and care for my child as if nothing was wrong. I would protect and support both my child and my wife. But deep down, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong with Jessica.

Her obsession with my brother was eating away at me, bit by bit. It was like a shadow hanging over our lives, one I couldn't escape. As the days went by, I watched my wife's belly grow little by little, and I saw how affectionate she had become. Jessica was glowing with happiness. She seemed genuinely excited about the baby and about our growing family. But things felt different during family reunions. She was overjoyed whenever my brother was around.

She would hug him tightly, stroke his arm, and practically light up when he placed his hand on her growing belly. Her excitement when interacting with him made me feel like my love for her didn't even register. Then, finally, the baby arrived, a healthy, beautiful boy who resembled me in so many ways. For the first time in a long while, I felt truly happy. It was as though I had finally found my place in the world. I worked tirelessly to provide for my wife and child. I gave my son everything he could ever want.

I fed him, cleaned up after him, and showered him with love and care. Anything he touched I would buy, anything he needed, I would do. He became the center of my world. But when my child turned three, my entire world shattered. It was as if everything I had built, everything I thought I knew, was torn apart in an instant. The joy, the love, the life I thought I had created felt like nothing more than a crumpled piece of paper, a discarded masterpiece that no one cared about anymore. I felt like I was drowning, unable to catch my breath.

My life, my purpose, my very identity, gone in an instant. For some reason, I had been under extreme stress, probably because I was working nonstop and taking care of my child all on my own. Jessica was always off doing God knows what, and when she was around, she barely acted like a mother. It seemed like she only remembered she had a child when my brother was there. That realization alone was enough to send me spiraling. I was both the dad and the mom in our home, and as time went on, I grew more and more resentful.

One day, after a particularly exhausting week, I finally snapped. Jessica. I yelled, my voice shaking with anger. What the hell is your problem? Why is it that every single time we go to my parents' house, you're fawning all over my brother? You're always looking at him as if I don't even exist. Who are you married to, me or Jack? For God's sake, Jessica, wake up.

Jack is not your husband, I am. He doesn't take care of you or your child, I do. I felt my fury boiling over, and before I could stop myself, I was crying, tears of pure frustration and heartbreak. I looked at Jessica, hoping for some kind of explanation, some sign of regret, or at least an acknowledgement of the damage she had caused. But she just stood there, staring at me with a smug expression. And then, she chuckled. You're finally realizing what's going on, huh?

She said with a cruel smile. Richard, I've never thought of you as my husband. That night we had sex, remember what I said. The times I spent at your brother's house, remember what I was doing. From the moment I first saw you, I knew you loved me, and I knew I could string you along. I never loved you, Richard. I liked you because you were a shadow of your brother, a pale imitation of the man I really wanted. Her words hit me like a freight train.

My heart started pounding, my hands began to shake, and I felt like I was going to throw up. Jessica kept going, her voice cold and matter of fact. Every time I saw Jack, I felt something I never felt with you. He turned me on, Richard. He made me melt just by speaking. You. You were convenient, I couldn't breathe. My whole world was crumbling around me, but Jessica wasn't finished.

Oh, and one more thing, she said, her tone almost casual. There's something you deserve to know. I do appreciate everything you've done, working yourself to the bone, waking up in the middle of the night to take care of my child while I pretended to be too tired. But Aaron? He's not your son, my heart stopped. That night at the party, She continued, I knew Jack would be there.

I also knew his habits, how he drinks too much when he's in a good mood. I took advantage of that. We both got drunk, and I slept with him. Of course, I doubt Jack even remembers it was me he slept with. She smirked, as if she was reliving the memory. When I came home that night, I knew I had to sleep with you, too, just to cover my tracks. But even then, all I could think about was Jack, my knees buckled, and I collapsed into a chair. Jessica's voice was a distant hum as I replayed her words in my mind.

She had used me, lied to me, and shattered my entire life. Why do you think I didn't want to have sex with you on our honeymoon? She asked, almost mockingly. Why do you think I agreed to date you in the first place? It was never about you, Richard. It was always about him. Here's a revised version of this emotional moment. At that moment, Aaron walked into the room, stumbling as he tried to balance himself.

The child I had raised for three years, tirelessly, lovingly, stood there, looking at me with innocent eyes. I stared at him, and my emotions surged like a tidal wave. But I didn't feel hatred. How could I? He was innocent in all of this. He was my family. Jessica's mocking laughter echoed in the background as she yelled something unintelligible.

I ignored her completely. Instead, I got up, wiped my tears, and knelt down to Aaron's level. Daddy's here, I said softly, my voice trembling. I'll protect you. I promise, I wrapped my arms around him, holding him as tightly as I could without hurting him. He didn't understand what was happening, but he hugged me back, his small arms clutching my neck. In that moment, I made a silent vow. No matter what Jessica had done, no matter whose blood ran through Aaron's veins, he was my son.

I had raised him, loved him, and I wasn't going to abandon him. The next morning, Jessica was gone. I didn't know where she went, and I didn't care. I packed our things and took Aaron to my parents' house. When I told them everything, my mother burst into tears. She hugged me tightly, then scooped Aaron into her arms, comforting both of us like only a mother could. I'm so sorry, Richard, she said, her voice shaking.

You didn't deserve this. And neither did Aaron. I called my brother, Jack, and asked him to come over. He didn't hesitate. In the hour, he arrived, his face filled with confusion and concern. When Jack arrived, I could see the worry on his face. He must have had so many questions, but he didn't ask any of them right away. He just stood there, looking between me and Aaron, trying to make sense of what was going

on. What happened, Richard, he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. I could see that he wanted to help, but he didn't know how. And honestly, neither did I. How do you even begin to explain what had happened? The betrayal, the lies, the pain. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. It's over, Jack, I said.

Jessica, she never loved me. It was always you. She used me, and then she did something that, I paused, my throat tightening. I didn't know how to say it without breaking down again. She's been lying to me about everything. The child. Aaron, he's not mine. Jack's eyes widened, and for the first time, I saw a real sure.

on his face. He had no idea. Wait, what? His voice cracked. But I didn't, Richard, I swear I didn't know. I didn't think, I know, Jack. I know. But she, she knew exactly what she was doing. She manipulated both of us. I looked over at Aaron, who was playing quietly in the corner, blissfully unaware of the storm raging around him. The pain I felt in my chest intensified as I thought of how his life had been shaped by lies. He deserved better than this. Jack stepped forward and put a hand on my shoulder. I'm sorry, Richard, he said, his voice full of remorse.

I knew she liked me, but I didn't know how to confront her about it. I didn't want to make things worse for you, or for her. I just didn't know what to do. I could see the genuine discomfort in Jack's eyes, and it made me realize something, I'd been so caught up in my own hurt and betrayal that I hadn't even considered how Jack must have been feeling. She was just as trapped in this mess as I was. Don't apologize, Jack, I said, shaking my head.

You didn't do anything wrong. This is on her. She's the one who let it go this far. Jack nodded solemnly. I wish I had said something sooner. I knew something wasn't right with the way she acted around me, but I didn't know how to bring it up. I didn't want to hurt anyone.

It wasn't your fault, I said, looking him in the eye. She was the one pushing things. You weren't the one trying to make anyone under me. He let out a long breath, clearly relieved by my words. I'm here for you, Richard. Whatever you need. I've got your back. I could see the sincerity in his eyes, and for the first time in what felt like forever,

I felt like maybe I wasn't alone in all this. After a long pause, my mother finally spoke, her voice trembling. What are you going to do now, Richard? I looked around the room at my family, then at Aaron, who was happily playing with his toys. I knew what I had to do. I'm taking care of Aaron, I said firmly. I'm going to raise him. He's my son, and I'm going to be the father he deserves.

As for Jessica, she's out of our lives. For good, Jack nodded, understanding. You've got this, Richard. We all do. It felt like a weight had lifted off my shoulders just by saying it aloud. I didn't know what the future held, but I knew I wasn't going to let Jessica's betrayal destroy me, or my son. I was going to rebuild, and I was going to do it with the people who

mattered most. Months passed, and life slowly began to settle into a new rhythm. Jessica's actions eventually caught up with her, and she was charged with several crimes related to her deceit and manipulation. The law took its course, and Jessica was convicted, now serving time in jail for her actions. The truth had finally come to light, and justice was served, though it did little to heal the wound she had left behind. As for Aaron, he remained with me, and I raised him as my own. I never told him the truth about his biological father. To him, I was his dad, and that was all that mattered. The bond we shared grew stronger each day, and I knew that I had made the right choice in taking him in and loving him as my own.

Eventually, I found happiness again when I married a wonderful woman named Sarah. She was kind, loving, and incredibly supportive. Sarah had two beautiful twin daughters, and they instantly bonded with Aaron, treating him like their big brother. Together, we created a home full of love and laughter, and I felt at peace for the first time in years. Aaron fit right in, and our family was stronger than ever. I never told Aaron about Jessica's betrayal or that Jack was his biological father. He didn't need to know that.

He was my son, and that was all that mattered. Life had finally moved on, and I was determined to make the most of it. With Sarah and our children, I knew I had found the happiness and love I had always been searching for. Part 1. Can't Believe It's Almost Christmas Again. I, 26M, had a pretty terrific first year in Chicago. I'm dating a wonderful woman, changed my last name and outside of one moment, have completely gotten my family out of my life. In January one of my sister's friends Jenny, 23F, messaged me wanting to know she was in the city and if I would help her move in and show her around. Now a smarter guy would probably have been able to figure out what was up, but she is very

attractive and so I thought with something other than my brain. It was the weekend after the new year and when I got to her place I could see my brother and father moving her stuff out of the U-Haul. I stopped but my mom had been looking out and called out to me. Everyone stopped and stared. I rolled my eyes and walked away. They chased after me and tried to get me to talk to them. My brother and X were crying saying they felt terrible. My dad finally grabbed me by the shoulder and turned me around telling me to stop being an ass. Before I eat, even knew what I was doing, I punched him in the face and kept walking away. Other people in the street stopped and stared and my family told me I went too far.

None of it mattered. I kept walking. Once I was on the L, I messaged Jenny and told her what she did was cruel and to find someone else to show her around. Didn't expect to hear anything else from her. But to my surprise, I woke up two days later to a long message from her apologizing and saying she had done it as a favor for my sister. She knew what my brother had done and felt I deserved to live my life how I chose, but that

my sister had been insistent and she felt like maybe she had missed something. She told me that after the punch, they walked back to her apartment, and finished moving her in. She said she understands how I feel and thought I might like to hear the aftermath. Apparently my father and sister really haven't forgiven my brother and think my mom let him back in too soon. My brother and dad got on a nasty fight and Jenny asked them to leave because they were causing a scene.

He begged me to see her again and said she really felt bad and wanted to buy me dinner. I took her up on it. You'd also be naive if you knew Jenny, I promise. And luckily, I am naive. Jenny and I hit it off and have been inseparable ever since. We are meeting heading back to Minnesota so she can introduce us to her family for Christmas. She actually cut off my sister and has promised I won't have to see them at all. It'll be nice to see my high school friends again, hopefully my family leaves me alone.

Part 2. Well, You All Were Right. I never should have gone back to Minnesota. I'm back in Chicago, single, heartbroken and seething with anger. Jenny's 23F family seemed to welcome me with open arms. I had a good chat with her dad about Big Ten football. His mom wanted to know what I did for work and how her daughter was adjusting to Chicago and if she was protected. No one mentioned my family, which, looking back, was a huge red flag. We had a great Christmas Eve dinner with the holiday-approved Fetuccini Alfredo. Christmas morning I got some good presents and we had a relaxing afternoon. But then Christmas dinner came. Jenny's mom set out five extra chairs and said family friends were coming over.

I didn't think much of it until the doorbell rang. And you guessed it, in Walk my parents, sister, and the asshole couple themselves. Turns out Christmas was an intervention for me to speak with my family. They came in looking smug. My mom started talking, saying that I needed to forgive and that what they did was wrong but my actions were unacceptable. My father then chimed in saying that enough is enough, and that my punishment was complete. That my brother had done enough to earn the family's forgiveness.

I shouldn't have, but I couldn't help myself. What family is that? Your family, I'm not a part of any family. I've changed my last name, I feel nothing for any of you. You chose him over me. That spoke volumes. You changed your last name, I looked over. Stacy had spoken.

Just about everyone was shocked into silence. You loved your last name, you always told me it's you connected to your favorite baseball player. Favorite baseball manager and Billy Martin would have changed his last name too if his family had been the goons you all are. Jenny, find your own way home. I'll get my stuff later. With that I got up. Everyone was yelling after me, but I didn't care. I got in the rental and drove it straight through to my apartment.

Got back at 3 a.m. this morning. No idea how Jenny is going to get home but fuck her and fuck her whole family. On to the next day, I guess. Part 3. Sorry to disappear for so long. Can't believe it's been two years since I posted that. I was in such a dark place. Wish I could go back and tell him how much better life got. Let's catch you all up.

After I got back, Jenny tried to come over and apologize. She came over one night in in late December knocked on my door and tried to tell me I was overreacting until the neighbors told her to shut up. I did open the door long enough to give her the box of her stuff she had left. She never did return the favor. Haven't seen her since she left. Lost my favorite hoodie, but life goes on. Not long after this I was getting groceries when I ran into Molly, then 24 now 26F.

Molly worked with Jenny and we had talked at their Christmas party. Molly had heard about the breakup and let's just say she aggressively wanted to take me to coffee. She knew what she wanted and she wouldn't take no for an answer. It was a bit much not going to lie, but coffee with her was exactly what I needed. Mostly because she is exactly what I wanted, needed, she was everything. I guess I'm one of those guys that never wants to be single. Molly and I have been together for two years now, living together for one and recently we found out she was pregnant. We are overjoyed.

I wouldn't say it was planned, but not like we were doing much to avoid it either. Now to the dilemma. My life is so much better, I haven't heard from my parents and Molly has respected that. She blocked all my relatives when I asked and has had no contact. But of course somehow my mother found out. She sent a box of my old baby stuff along with a letter asking that I let her see the baby. I kept the baby stuff, it was mine after all, but threw the letter away without responding. I thought that would be the end of it, but then my sister showed up at my doorstep.

Molly answered the door and of course had no idea who this crazy lady is, but Molly kind of lost the upper hand when she started crying and let her in. My sister said she missed me and that Stacey and my brother got married last year, and she and her dad didn't go. Apparently my mom and dad are separated but not divorced. My sister is engaged and Stacey found out recently she can't have kids. I told my sister once again that I was no longer a part of the family but she said her and our dad really want to make it up to me. That she is not inviting her mom or her brother to the wedding. She said my dad could come down this weekend to talk. Molly said she understands how hurt I am, and knows that they crossed many boundaries, but maybe it's time to forgive.

She didn't push, though. Stated she supports me either way. I just don't know. What do you all think? I know from the stories that my dad and sister disagreed with my mom. Growing up my mom controlled the house and my brother was my mom's favorite. My sister is my dad's favorite, so if my sister is on board, then my dad probably is too. I'm torn.

Help me out, please. Any advice is appreciated.