Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - From Betrayal to Power How Family Secrets, Lies, and Shadows Shaped My Fight for Control PART1 #25

Episode Date: July 23, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales#familysecrets #darklegacy #powerstruggle #betrayalandlies #psychologicalhorror  In Part 1 of this chilling psychological horror saga, the narrator begins to unravel the twisted foundations of their family. Lies whispered behind closed doors, manipulated memories, and a legacy soaked in betrayal lay the groundwork for a fight to reclaim identity and power. As strange dreams and shadowy events begin to surface, it becomes clear that something far darker than lies is at play. This opening chapter marks the beginning of a personal war shaped by generational trauma, deceit, and the creeping dread of losing your mind—or finding out it was never yours to begin with.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales,familysecrets, betrayalhorror, powerstruggle, legacyoflies, generationaltrauma,darkpastuncovered, emotionalterror, personalhorror, psychologicalwar, hauntedbytruth,shadowsofhome, familybetrayal, reclaimingpower, twistedbloodline, hiddenmemories,manipulatedreality, cursedfamily, unravelingmadness, beginningofdarkness

I'm what you might call the affair baby. Yeah, that's me, the living, breathing, awkward consequence of a whole scandal. My face. A permanent reminder of a one-night stand turned lifelong drama. My mom. Oh, she's the woman everyone loves to hate. The infamous side chick, the homewrecker, the woman who should have known better. See, my life didn't exactly start with lullabies and stuffed animals.

It started with gossip, tension, and a whole lot of regret. People like to pretend kids don't know what's going on, but I always did. I had to. Because my existence was basically tied to a story that never stopped playing out around me. Let's rewind. My mom had a rough start in life. Her dad walked out on her and my grandmother for another woman. Left a lot of emotional debris behind.

My grandma didn't take it well, she spiraled into alcoholism and bitterness, and she took it all out on my mom. If there was any love left in that house, it had drowned under bottles and broken promises. Then along came my dad. Tall, polished, rich. CEO type. Mr. Charming My mom was a teenager, pretty, vulnerable, and desperate for someone to finally care. My dad, on the other hand, was just bored with his marriage.

He wasn't looking for love, he was looking for a thrill. And he found it in my mom. They say she was just a fling to him, a distraction. But for her, he was everything. She thought she could be the one to make him stay. And maybe, just maybe, she thought a baby would seal the deal. My dad didn't tell her he was married at first. smooth, right?

They had their little secret bubble of romance, cheap motels, late-night texts, half-hearted promises. But eventually, the truth slipped out. By then, my mom was pregnant. And my dad? Well, he was already pulling away. But she wouldn't let him. She clung to him like her life depended on it. Begging, pleading, threatening.

She didn't just want child. support, she wanted him. All of him. And when he made it clear that wasn't going to happen, she broke. When she found out his actual wife gave birth, she panicked. She marched into the hospital and demanded a C-section, even though I was nowhere near ready to come out. She was determined to beat the wife to the punch, or at least get my dad's attention. And it worked. For a moment, she called him as soon as the drugs wore off. Come meet your daughter, she demanded. He turned off his phone. Look, I don't hate the guy. I get it. Who wouldn't run the other way from a situation like that? My mom was relentless. She wasn't above ultimatums, threats, or full-on meltdowns. She even told him that if he tried to

walk away, she'd take me and jump off his office building. Yeah. That kind of drama. So he did the bare minimum. Got us an apartment. Sent money. Didn't show up for birthdays or holidays, but hey, he paid the bills. And that was enough for my mom to keep surviving, and dragging me along for the ride. My earliest memory of my dad isn't some sweet, fuzzy moment. It's my mom o'eing on sleeping pills while screaming his name into the phone.

It's me sitting on the floor next to her, not even scared, just used to it. it. Eventually, he showed up. Tossed a stack of cash on the floor like he was throwing scraps to a dog. Isn't this what you want? He snapped. Call my secretary next time. Don't contact me again. My mom didn't take that well. She exploded into one of her classic tantrums. Christian, how can you be so heartless? After everything, he rolled his eyes. It's Bella's birthday today. I have to go. Bella. That name again. His real daughter. The Golden Girl. Born the same day, same year as me. But she got the big house, the family dinners, the daddy daughter dances. I got a cheap apartment and a screaming match. My mom wasn't letting him go without a guilt trip.

She grabbed my arm, shoved me forward like I was proof of her pain. What? What I was? about her. She's your daughter too, he didn't answer. Just turned toward the door. She clung to him like a vine, sobbing, shaking, dragging him back with all the emotional force she had. I just stood there. I'd seen this play before. I walked over to the stack of bills. It was thick, enough to pay rent and then some. I looked up at him. Are you really rich? I asked. He hesitated, then nodded, a little confused. I picked up the money with both hands, it was heavy for me, and held it out to him. I don't eat a lot.

You can keep it, I said. Can you stay a little longer instead? That got him. I saw something shift in his face. He sat down, stiff as a board. I grabbed this beat-up little booklet from the coffee table. Some freebie comic book from the grocery store. I climbed up next to him and handed it over.

Will you read to me? I asked, just like any kid would. But I wasn't just any kid. I knew this might be my only shot. And he did. Awkwardly, like he'd never read aloud in his life. But I didn't care. I leaned against him like he was the warmest place on earth.

When he got up to leave, I stopped him. reached under the table and pulled out a tiny, messy birthday cake. My mom had scraped it together from a discount bakery. It's my birthday too, I said softly. He blinked, caught off guard. I didn't bring you anything, he said, fidgeting. I held up the comic. I already got my present.

He left without another word. But the next day, a giant doll arrived. taller than I was. Wrapped in glittery paper. I was five. Most kids that age are learning to count or ride a bike. I was learning how to read people's faces, how to control a conversation, how to turn pain into leverage. It wasn't manipulation, it was survival.

Because life didn't give me any soft landings. My mom was all sharp edges. One day, she'd be cuddling me, sobbing about her. how much she loved me. The next, she'd slap me across the face for looking at her the wrong way. Her love was a seesaw that never balanced. School was a mess. I was the weird kid. The one who didn't know who'd be picking her up. The one who couldn't go on field trips because mom forgot to sign the forms. The one with bruises she couldn't explain. But I kept going. Kept reading. Kept learning. Books were the one thing that made sense.

They had beginnings, middles, and ends. Unlike my life, sometimes my dad would appear. Not often. Maybe once a year. Sometimes he'd bring a gift. Sometimes just a check. Never stayed long. He'd pat my head like I was a cat he didn't know what to do with.

But every time he came, I tried to make it count. I'd dress up, comb my hair, smile big, I didn't want to guilt him or beg, I just wanted him to see me, and slowly, something shifted. He started remembering things, my favorite color, my birthday, that I liked stories about space. One time, when I was around 10, he took me to the park, Just us. We sat on a bench and shared an ice cream. You're quiet, he said. I shrugged.

You don't come around much. I don't want to waste the time talking. That made him laugh, for real. Not a forced laugh, but an actual chuckle. And I felt something warm bloom in my chest. Of course, he still left. But not without saying goodbye. That was a first. Meanwhile, my mom got worse. She couldn't keep a job, couldn't stay sober,

couldn't love me the way I needed. I became the parent. Cooking dinner. Hiding the booze. Calling 911 when she passed out. When I was 14, I packed a bag and went to my dad's office. Walked in like I belonged there. His secretary tried to stop me, but he saw me and waved me. me in. I can't live like that anymore, I told him. You don't have to love me. But I need help. He looked at me for a long time. Then he nodded. And that was the start of something new. Not perfect. Not easy. But better. I got therapy. I went to a real school. I had structure, food, silence. He didn't hug me much, didn't know how to talk about feelings, but he showed up. That mattered. I still see my mom sometimes. She's not much better. But I try not to hate her. She was broken

way before I came along. And me? I'm just trying to live a life that isn't a sequel to theirs. I'm not the affair baby. Not anymore. I'm just me. And that's a little. And that's a little. I'm not the affair baby. Not anymore. I'm just me. And that's enough, to E continued.