Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Haunting Nights: 9 Hours of Fear

Episode Date: January 20, 2026

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #nosleep #paranormal #creepy#hauntingnights #9hoursoffear #chillingtales #spinechillers This 9-hour marathon of horror immerses the listener or reader in a series of terrifying stories. From haunted houses and spectral apparitions to psychological horror and dark mysteries, each tale is carefully curated to maximize fear and tension. As the night progresses, the boundaries between reality and nightmare blur, leaving audiences haunted long after the final story ends horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, paranormalhorror, nosleeptales, hauntedstories, chillingencounters, psychologicalterror, darknarratives, suspensehorror, eerieadventures, frighteningstories, terrifyingtales, horrorcompilation, unsettlingstories, marathonoffear, hauntednightsThis episode includes AI-generated content.

My grandma used to tell me scary stories when I was little. There's one I'll never forget. I was ten years old when Grandma came to live with us. It was about six months after Granddad passed away, and I guess, looking back, she must have been lonely in that big house of theirs. Rattling around with only the grief and memories for company. So despite a few protests from Mom, my parents took her in. There were no protests from me. None at all.

Grandma was loud and fun, and I loved her. She had an almost limitless supply of boiled sweets, and she'd always slip me a couple whenever she saw me. She was always the first to stick up for me when I got in trouble, too. But it was her stories I loved best. Grandma had all kinds of stories. Stories about growing up during World War II, and stories about the things she'd get up to with her friends on the South Coast, after her family had been evacuated. Sad stories, funny stories, adventure stories.

But it was her scary stories that were my favorite. Grandma had lots of scary stories. She told me she dabbled in the occult when she was a teenager, trying out Ouija boards with her friends. Tarot cards, fortune-telling. All that stuff. Most of the stories I'd laugh off, or forget about not long after she was done telling them, but there were a couple that really did spook me a bit.

I was only ten at the time, you have to understand. And Grandma certainly knew how to bring the stories to life. She'd shut off the lights in my room so only the glow of the night sky shone through the curtains, and she'd shuffle in real close. Close enough so I could see the wrinkles on her face, and smell the boiled sweets on her breath. Close enough so her deep blue eyes could stare straight into mine. She must have given me nightmares with a few of those tales, but now, years later, there's only one that I can still remember.

Only one that stuck with me. The story about the shower and Mr. Longfingers. told me about Mr. Longfingers one night after I asked about her baths. Grandma used to love her baths. She'd spend ages in them, light candles and incense, and lie in the tub humming to herself until the water turned cold. It drove my mum crazy. But when I asked her why she loved them so much, she said it was the only place she could relax.

It was the only place that was safe for her to relax. You know people like me, who are, well, more sensitive to certain things, we have to have baths, she told me seriously one night, shuffling closer on the bed. I couldn't possibly spend that long in the shower. It'd be far too risky. Grandma stared at me with those blue eyes of hers, unsmiling, and I knew it was time for one of her stories. One of the scary ones.

I shivered with pleasure and pulled the covers up to my chin. Why is it risky, Grandma? She half turned to look out the window, watching me from the corner of her eye. pausing for effect. I waited, feeling my heart rate pickup ever so slightly in my chest. Well, she said after a moment. It's only risky if you close your eyes, of course. If you close your eyes for longer than ten seconds.

What do you mean? Why? Well, do you ever play that game in the playground with your friends? The one where someone turns their back, and the others sneak up on them when they're not looking. I nodded, and Grandma nodded back. Exactly. So that's what it's like in the shower when you have your eyes closed. That's what it's like with Mr. Longfingers.

A cold itch tickled back. Who's Mr. Longfingers, Grandma? She let out a deep breath, as if she wished she hadn't said anything. Turned her head back to face mine. When she next spoke, she'd lowered her voice. No one knows, exactly, Grandma whispered. Some think it's a creature that's attracted to the heat and smell we give off in there. Others think it's a demon that finds a way into our realm through the dense steam clouds.

No one can say for sure, because the only ones who have actually seen Mr. Longfingers aren't ever going to be able to tell you. I pulled in a breath. Why not? Grandma shuffled closer along the bed and leaned towards me, leaving my question hanging in the air. Don't you worry about it, sweetheart. Don't worry your pretty head. As long as you remember the rules, you'll be fine.

What rules? Well, when you're in the shower, you try not to close your eyes for too long. Five seconds is fine, and ten is just about okay, too. But any longer than that? Yeah. Then what? Well, any longer than that and you may just start to feel something in the room with you. Something watching.

And if you ever go longer than 15 seconds, that's when you might start to hear a noise, too. Hear what? The soft tap, tap, tap of fingers on glass. fingers drumming against the glass door of the shower. If you do ever hear that noise, God forbid, will you make me a promise? What, Grandma? Promise me you'll never open your eyes. I barely slept that night.

Hardly at all. I'd close my eyes and try to relax, but every time I did I'd imagine a face pressed against my bedroom window, staring in at me. And when I did finally get to sleep, I had nightmares. Bad ones. I had them all week, in fact. Dreams about disembodied eyes watching me in the dark, and long fingers reaching out to touch my exposed skin.

It wasn't any better when I was awake, either. Not really. The shower was the worst. That's when Grandma's story really got to me. I'd never thought about it before, but suddenly I had trouble shutting my eyes in there. I'd be standing beneath the beating water, shampoo running down my face, and as soon as I squinted my eyelids closed I'd hear Grandma's words running through my head. five seconds is fine and ten is just about okay too but any longer than that i'd rub my hair fast feeling the shampoo dripping off my chin and as soon as i'd counted past five seconds i'd feel it a sort of pressure not a feeling of being watched exactly but something close to that

i'd run my fingers faster and faster through my hair frantically trying to get the suds out and the ready blackness behind my closed eyes coupled with the rush of water in my ears would feel like a held breath like the silence before a scream. The seconds would race through my mind and I'd be so desperate to open my eyes again that I'd sometimes do it before my hair was rinsed fully clean, and my eyes would sting with shampoo. But before I shut them again, I'd always be sure to peer out through the steamed glass door of the shower cubicle. Just to make sure I was still alone. It wasn't long before Mum realized something was up.

She heard me crying out in my sleep one night, and came in to comfort me. Ask me what the matter was, and it all came out. I told her about Grandma's stories, and about Mr. Longfingers. She got this look on her face when I was telling her like she used to get with me when I'd made her really mad. This wide-eyed, angry look. Only this time she wasn't angry with me. She was angry with Grandma. My parents' room was next to mine, and sometimes, if I pressed my ear against the wall, I could hear them talking in there.

Soft whispers. That night, though, after Mum was satisfied I wasn't scared anymore and she'd gone back to her room. room, the whispers weren't soft at all. Oh no. I heard Mum hissing to Dad about Grandma. About the story she told me. Mum's voice floated through the wall, sharp and crisp. You know what your fucking mother said to him now, don't you, Simon? Dad's response was an unintelligible mutter. She's told him there's a monster that'll get him if he shuts his eyes in the shower. A monster. The poor kid's been having nightmares about it all week. Seriously, Simon, you'd better say something to her tomorrow morning, first thing.

Or I will. Grandma came to visit me in my room the following night. That time, as she perched on the end of my bed, there were no stories. Nothing like that. Grandma just sat there and stared down at me, her blue eyes wide and sad. The light from the moon outside my window lit up her wrinkled face. You know I'd never let anything bad happen to you, don't you? She said after a moment.

I nodded my head. I know, Grandma. You know I wouldn't let you come to any harm? I nodded again. Okay, good. That's good. She looked away from me for a moment, out the window. You know, the things I tell you in the evening are meant to help you, sweetheart.

They're meant to toughen you up a bit. Protect you. She paused and shook her head. But maybe your mom's right. Maybe I went too far this time. She looked down at me and smiled. But even then, even though I was only ten years old, I could tell it didn't quite reach her eyes. I'll tell you what, Grandma said.

You know what I told you about Mr. Longfingers, and the shower? Well, I'm going to make sure you're safe. I'll scare the bastard off, how about that? It won't come back in a hurry if it has to face me. I stared up at Grandma, watching her face glow in the moonlight. Watching her smile down at me. I nodded my head, once. I was the one who found her.

I don't know when exactly it happened, but I guess it was about a week after we had that talk in my room. A week after she told me she wouldn't let me come to any harm. I woke early that morning, from a bad dream, to a heavy thumping sound. I sat bolt upright in bed. My room was quiet around me, and I couldn't hear anything from the wall that joined my parents' room either. But the house wasn't entirely silent. Floating down the hall, muffled by my closed door, I could hear the sound of rushing water. The noise of the shower.

I leapt out of bed and ran down the upstairs hallway, heart already pounding in my chest. As soon as I reached the closed bathroom door, I started banging on it. A deep terror was welling up inside me like cold water from a well, something I couldn't place, and I kept banging and shouting, Grandma. Over and over again, even though she didn't respond. Off to my right I was dimly aware of voices from my parents' room, the sleepy shuffle of footsteps, steps, but before they had a chance to make it out onto the landing I'd lifted my hand to test out the door handle, more out of instinct than because I thought it might actually open.

But the door wasn't locked. I kept banging with my free hand and it swung suddenly inwards, bringing me face to face with a wall of steam. Heat struck my skin. I squinted my eyes against the damp fog and peered into the bathroom. And before Dad pushed me to one side, before everything around me descended into shouting, and tears, and chaos, I saw her. I saw Grandma. She was lying naked on the floor in the shower cubicle, the water beating down around her. Blue eyes bulging from her face. One hand was curled

against her chest, like a dead bird, while the other trailed against the glass of the shower cubicle, the flailing finger marks she'd carved through the steam still clear and fresh. It was a heart attack that killed her. That's what my dad told me. He said Grandma was old, and the thing had struck her quickly and suddenly. She would have died fast and without pain, Dad said. She wouldn't have suffered. I knew better, though. Even as a 10-year-old kid, I knew better.

And years later, writing this as an adult, I still know better. I also know my wife and kids resent me for refusing to have a shower in the house. For insisting everyone take baths. They pretend it's okay, and they humor me, but I can tell they don't really understand it. Not at all. My wife thinks she does, she thinks I still carry the trauma of seeing my grandmother dying in front of me when I was little. I guess she's right, in a way. But she doesn't know the full truth.

Nobody does. And no one would believe me even if I told them. No one would believe me if I said the reason I don't take showers, the reason I haven't had one since I was ten years old, isn't because I'm scarred from the sight of a dead body. It's because all those years ago, when I crept back into the still-hot bathroom after the paramedics had taken grandma's body down. I made sure to check the marks her fingers had carved through the steamed glass of the shower cubicle. And those marks, weren't just on the inside. My grandma used to tell me scary stories when I was little. There's one I'll never forget. I was ten years old when grandma came to live with us. It was about six months after Granddad passed away, and I guess, looking back, she must

have been lonely in that big house of theirs. Rattling around with only the grief and memories for company. So despite a few protests from Mom, my parents took her in. There were no protests from me. None at all. Grandma was loud and fun, and I loved her. She had an almost limitless supply of boiled sweets, and she'd always slip me a couple whenever she saw me. She was always the first to stick up for me when I got in trouble, too.

But it was her stories I loved best. Grandma had all kinds of stories. Stories about growing up during World War II, and stories about the things she'd get up to with her friends on the South Coast, after her family had been evacuated. Sad stories, funny stories, adventure stories. But it was her scary stories that were my favorite. Grandma had lots of scary stories.

She told me she dabbled in the occult when she was a teenager, trying out Ouija boards with her friends. Tarot cards, fortune-telling. All that stuff. Most of the stories I'd laugh off, or forget about not long after she was done telling them, but there were a couple that really did spook me a bit. I was only ten at the time, you have to understand.

And Grandma certainly knew how to bring the stories to life. She'd shut off the lights in my room so only the glow of the night sky shone through the curtains, and she'd shuffle in real close. Close enough so I could see the wrinkles on her face, and smell the boiled sweets on her breath. Close enough so her deep blue eyes could stare straight into mine. She must have given me nightmares with a few of those tales, but now, years later, there's only one that I can still remember. Only one that stuck with me.

The story about the shower and Mr. Longfingers. Grandma told me about Mr. Longfingers one night after I asked about her baths. Grandma used to love her baths. She'd spend ages in them, light candles and incense, and lie in the tub humming to herself until the water turned cold. It drove my mum crazy. But when I asked her why she loved them so much, she said it was the only place she could relax.

It was the only place that was safe for her to relax. You know people like me, who are, well, more sensitive to certain things, we have to have baths, she told me seriously one night, shuffling closer on the bed. I couldn't possibly spend that long in the shower. It'd be far too risky. Grandma stared at me with those blue eyes of hers, unsmiling, and I knew it was time for one of her stories. One of the scary ones.

I shivered with pleasure and pulled the covers up to my chin. Why is it risky, Grandma? She half turned to look out the window, watching me from the corner of her eye. Pausing for effect. I waited, feeling my heart rate pickup ever so slightly in my chest. Well, she said after a moment. It's only risky if you close your eyes, of course. If you close your eyes for longer than ten seconds.

What do you mean? Why? Well, do you ever play that game in the playground with your friends? The one where someone turns their back. and the others sneak up on them when they're not looking. I nodded, and Grandma nodded back. Exactly. So that's what it's like in the shower, when you have your eyes closed.

That's what it's like with Mr. Longfingers. A cold itch tickled back. Who's Mr. Long Fingers, Grandma? She let out a deep breath, as if she wished she hadn't said anything. Turned her head back to face mine. When she next spoke, she'd lowered her voice. No one knows, exactly, Grandma whispered. Some think it's a creature that's attracted to the heat and smell we give off in there.

Others think it's a demon that finds a way into our realm through the dense steam clouds. No one can say for sure, because the only ones who have actually seen Mr. Longfingers aren't ever going to be able to tell you. I pulled in a breath. Why not? Grandma shuffled closer along the bed and leaned towards me, leaving my question hanging in the air. Don't you worry about it, sweetheart. Don't worry your pretty head.

As long as you remember the rules, you'll be fine. What rules? Well, when you're in the shower, you try not to close your eyes for too long. Five seconds is fine, and ten is just about okay, too. But any longer than that? Yeah. Then what? Well, any longer than that and you may just start to feel something in the room with you.

Something watching. And if you ever go longer than 15 seconds, that's when you might start to hear a noise, too. Hear what? The soft tap, tap, tap of fingers on glass. Fingers drumming against the glass door of the shower. If you do ever hear that noise, God forbid, will you make me a promise? What, Grandma? Promise me you'll never open your eyes.

I barely slept that night. Hardly at all. I'd close my eyes and try to relax, but every time I did I'd imagine a face pressed against my bedroom window, staring in at me. And when I did finally get to sleep, I had nightmare. bad ones. I had them all weak, in fact. Dreams about disembodied eyes watching me in the dark, and long fingers reaching out to touch my exposed skin. It wasn't any better when I was awake, either. Not really. The shower was the worst. That's when Grandma's story really got to me.

I'd never thought about it before, but suddenly I had trouble shutting my eyes in there. I'd be standing beneath the beating water, shampoo running down my face, and as soon as I squinted my eyelids closed I'd hear grandma's words running through my head. Five seconds is fine, and ten is just about okay, too. But any longer than that. I'd rub my hair fast, feeling the shampoo dripping off my chin, and as soon as I'd count it past five seconds I'd feel it. A sort of pressure. Not a feeling of being watched, exactly, but something close to that. I'd run my fingers faster and faster through my hair, frantically trying to get the suds out, and the ready blackness behind my closed eyes coupled with the rush of water in my ears would feel like a held breath.

Like the silence before a scream. The seconds would race through my mind and I'd be so desperate to open my eyes again that I'd sometimes do it before my hair was rinsed fully clean, and my eyes would sting with shampoo. But before I shut them again, I'd always be sure to peer out through the steamed glass door of the shower cubicle. Just to make sure I was still alone. It wasn't long before Mum realized something was up. She heard me crying out in my sleep one night, and came in to comfort me. Asked me what the matter was, and it all came out. I told her about Grandma's stories, and about Mr. Longfingers.

She got this look on her face when I was telling her like she used to get with me when I'd made her really mad. This wide-eyed, angry look. Only this time she wasn't angry with me. She was angry with Grandma. My parents' room was next to mine, and sometimes, if I pressed my ear against the wall, I could hear them talking in there. Soft whispers.

That night, though, after Mum was satisfied I wasn't scared anymore and she'd gone back to her room, the whispers weren't soft at all. Oh no. I heard Mum hissing to Dad about Grandma. About the story she told me. Mum's voice floated through the wall, sharp and crisp. You know what your fucking mother said to him now, don't you, Simon? Dad's response was an unintelligible mutter. She's told him there's a monster that'll get him if he shuts his eyes in the shower.

A monster. The poor kid's been having nightmares about it all week. Seriously, Simon, you'd better say something to her tomorrow morning, first thing. Or I will. Grandma came to visit me in my room the following night. That time, as she perched on the end of my bed, there were no stories. Nothing like that. Grandma just sat there and stared down at me, her blue eyes wide and sad.

The light from the moon outside my window lit up her wrinkled face. You know I'd never let anything bad happen to you. You, don't you?" She said after a moment. I nodded my head. I know, Grandma. You know I wouldn't let you come to any harm. I nodded again.

Okay, good. That's good. She looked away from me for a moment, out the window. You know, the things I tell you in the evening are meant to help you, sweetheart. They're meant to toughen you up a bit. Protect you. She paused and shook her head. But maybe your mom's right.

I went too far this time. She looked down at me and smiled. But even then, even though I was only ten years old, I could tell it didn't quite reach her eyes. I'll tell you what, Grandma said. You know what I told you about Mr. Longfingers, and the shower? Well, I'm going to make sure you're safe. I'll scare the bastard off, how about that? It won't come back in a hurry if it has to face me. I stared up at Grandma, watching her face glow in the moonlight. watching her smile down at me. I nodded my head, once. I was the one who found her.

I don't know when exactly it happened, but I guess it was about a week after we had that talk in my room. A week after she told me she wouldn't let me come to any harm. I woke early that morning, from a bad dream, to a heavy thumping sound. I sat bolt upright in bed. My room was quiet around me, and I couldn't hear anything from the wall that joined my parents' room either. But the house wasn't entirely silent. Floating down the hall, muffled by my closed door, I could hear the sound of rushing water. The noise of the shower.

I leapt out of bed and ran down the upstairs hallway, heart already pounding in my chest. As soon as I reached the closed bathroom door, I started banging on it. A deep terror was welling up inside me like cold water from a well, something I couldn't place, and I kept banging and shouting, Grandma. Over and over again, even though she didn't respond. Off to my right I was dimly aware of voices from my parents' room, the sleepy shuffle of footsteps, but before they had a chance to make it out onto the landing I'd lifted my hand to test out the door handle, more out of instinct than because I thought it might actually open.

But the door wasn't locked. I kept banging with my free hand and it swung suddenly inwards, bringing me face to face with a wall of steam. Heat struck my skin. I squinted my eyes against the damp fog and peered into the bathroom. And before Dad pushed me to one side, before. everything around me descended into shouting and tears and chaos, I saw her. I saw Grandma. She was lying naked on the floor in the shower cubicle, the water beating down around her.

Blue eyes bulging from her face. One hand was curled against her chest, like a dead bird, while the other trailed against the glass of the shower cubicle, the flailing finger marks she'd carved through the steam still clear and fresh. It was a heart attack that killed her. That's what my dad told me. He said Grandma was old, and the The thing had struck her quickly and suddenly. She would have died fast and without pain, Dad said. She wouldn't have suffered. I knew better, though.

Even as a ten-year-old kid, I knew better. And years later, writing this as an adult, I still know better. I also know my wife and kids resent me for refusing to have a shower in the house, for insisting everyone take baths. They pretend it's okay, and they humor me, but I can tell they don't really understand it. at all. My wife thinks she does, she thinks I still carry the trauma of seeing my grandmother dying in front of me when I was little.

I guess she's right, in a way. But she doesn't know the full truth. Nobody does. And no one would believe me even if I told them. No one would believe me if I said the reason I don't take showers, the reason I haven't had one since I was ten years old, isn't because I'm scarred from the sight of a dead body. It's because all those years ago, when I crept back into the still-hot bathroom after the paramedics had taken grandma's body downstairs, I made sure to check the marks her fingers

had carved through the steamed glass of the shower cubicle. And those marks, weren't just on the inside, my grandma lives alone in an old council house. She's been there for about 40 years now, although only 20 without my granddad. She's not really all there anymore, age is catching up to her. I visit pretty much every week, mostly as a favor to my dad, but I love my grand so I want to make sure she's okay. Most of my visits are spent just trying to chat to her, get a read on how she's feeling. My dad wants to put her in a home, but she loves her independence, and stubbornness is a family trait. To be honest with you, she's not all that bad. She still cooks herself meals, does the dishes, you know, normal stuff. She's just set a really high bar for herself,

it was only a year or so ago she was up a ladder cleaning windows. Anyway, it's pretty easy work, I go over, chat to her for a bit, she watches TV, I go on my phone and then I report into Dad at the end of it. He can only make it once a month, so it's peace of mind for him really. I don't want to tell him, but lately she's been getting worse. On my last visit, she seemed fine at first. We talked a bit about some memories she had from just after the war, before my dad was born. My granddad was her pen pal, and he'd been back for less than a month before he proposed to her. It was sweet, but sad. I could tell she missed him. I'd been there a couple of hours, and by her routine she started watching TV, the same soap opera

every time. As usual, I went on my phone and just chilled out until it was time to go. I'd been staring down for a while at my phone, but I caught something in the corner of my eye. A little black dot in the corner of the room, on the ceiling. I didn't think anything of it at first, but it kept nagging at my eye, slowly prying my attention away from my phone, and it was growing. I turned my head and saw it, thousands of tiny little black insects, gestating an orb of black in the corner of the ceiling. Riving over each other, scuttling and jolting as each one traced another's body with its mandibles. I'm sorry, why are you here? She'd startled me back to earth. I turned back to her wide-eyed stare, she didn't know me.

Granny, it's me, are you okay? Her lower jaw bobbed up and down, as if quizzing me to answer her question. I'm your grandson, I'm here every week, I muttered, or thereabouts. She didn't seem convinced, but I wanted to deal with this infestation, so I turned back to look at the corner of the ceiling. They were gone. Did you see them? I asked my grandma. See who? She turned back to her show, though somehow she seemed smaller, sunk into her armchair. It's one of those fancy recliner ones, but she never uses it that way. Usually she just sits there, upright, her knees at 90 degrees. Anyway, I'm not ashamed to say I took that as my cue to leave.

I checked the ceiling one more time for any signs of cracks, somewhere that many insects could have crawled in and out of so quickly, but there was nothing. Honestly, I brushed it off as a trick of the light. I covered Granny in a blanket and said goodbye. She was so distracted by her show that she didn't even see me off. Look, I've seen my fair share of vermin and infestations before, forgetful old ladies aren't usually the best at keeping

their houses clean and their food tucked away in the pantry, but I couldn't stop thinking about those bugs, if it wasn't just my imagination. So I went back two days later. She wasn't expecting me. My usual weekly cadence was off balance, and at first she didn't even come to answer the door. This had happened before, occasionally if she forgot I was coming, she'd lock up and not let me in. To avoid confusing her I just told her that's what was happening, that I'd scheduled to come

and she'd forgotten. I know it had only been two days, but I was half-executive. expecting to find the entire house infested. Living walls of insects, scraping their way across each other, but nothing that dramatic had happened. In fact, as she led me through the hallway, it occurred to me that the house seemed cleaner than usual. My dad's monthly visit wasn't scheduled for another week or so, so I wondered if one of my uncles had visited unannounced. Has someone helped you clean, Granny? Hmm. She mumbled, oh, no, it was my grandson. I smiled, I think I'd have remembered if I'd clean this old dump.

She paused for a moment and turned to look at me, the same wide-eyed disbelief that I'd seen a couple of days ago. But then her eyes wandered to my lips and she returned the same smile before turning and leading me into the living room. She wasn't very talkative that day, so I mostly just did my usual checks. Mostly just making sure her bills are paid, that she has enough food, and that none of her valuables are missing. You'd be shocked at the amount of scams that go on against old ladies.

Everyone knows the telephone scams, but sometimes people will just come to your door and talk you into handing over jewelry and the like, it's despicable. I sat with her for some time that day, waiting for the insects to come, staring at the corner of the ceiling, but nothing ever came. The week after I was back. The house smelled musty again, and Grandma was ready at the door, expecting me. She wanted to chat, a nice story about when my dad got his head stuck between two metal fence poles at school. They had to call the fire brigade and cut my dad out with a saw. Her eyes light up when she tells stories like this, I can tell they mean a lot to her. When she was done, I did my checks, and got comfy on the sofa.

And that was when I saw it again, the little black dot in the corner of my eye. Growing, every few seconds. I turned, quick enough this time to see them pouring from a small crack in the ceiling. Hundreds of thousands of tiny black bodies, doubling every few seconds until they had spread to cover the adjoining wall. The black mast stretched like elastic, growing ever wider and taller. My eyes were locked in. I couldn't look away. Who are you?

Why are you here? She said. She'd startled me, again. I turned to look at her. She had her wide-eyed stare, disbelief, distrust, as if I was an intruder. Granny, I groaned, not again. I turned back, expecting to return to a black hole of chittiness creatures, but once again they were gone. I should have been relieved, but I wasn't. At this point curiosity had gotten to me.

And I cared about this old woman living in this house. I didn't think I could fix this kind of infestation on my own. I checked my phone. Michael, it was late. I'd been here longer than I'd thought. It was time to leave. Michael, not my name, but anyway. What do you want now? I'll admit, I was angry. Blankly she stared, with no measure of fond. fondness in her eyes. I might as well have been a stranger. Maybe I was. It's me, your grandson. I'm here every bloody week. I went back the next day. Early. There was no helping it. I figured a quick visit to make sure everything was okay. I hadn't felt comfortable leaving her in that house alone, but I wasn't exactly going to stay all night. She welcomed me in like an old friend,

beaming at me with watery eyes and grabbing my hand with her frail, cold, fingers. She led me into the living room and sat me down, going on again about Dad getting his head stuck in the bars. You were just a little boy, such a handful. I ignored her and scanned the ceiling for a crack. I pulled a stepladder from Granny's kitchen. I climbed up, feeling every inch of the stipple ceiling, running my fingers over every bump, but no signs of any cracks or crevices. I slid down the ladder and slammed the wall with my fist, hard.

It hurt. I turned to face Granny, she had that same wide-eyed stare, disbelief, her mouth gagging. Why are you here? She shouted hoarsely, sending her wrinkled voice as far as it could carry. Who are you? You're not my son, I recoil as black insects start to pour from her mouth. You're not my son, with each word they fall in unison, carpeting the floor with their itchy mandibles. You're not my son, she screams violently, spitting insects in my face, they cover me, biting at my skin and drawing blood. I scream and smash my face with my own hands in desperation trying to clear them off.

I struggle over the mirror above her jewelry stand. I am a writhing black mass. I am not her grandson. I am not her son. All right, let me tell you the wildest family story I know. It's one of those tales that sounds too ridiculous to be true, and every single time I share it, I end up laughing just because of how unbelievably absurd it is.

So, when I say my great-grandfather was a war criminal during World War II, people usually jump to conclusions and assume he was some evil Nazi doing terrible things during the war. But nope, not even close. My great-granddad, who I'll just call T for privacy reasons, actually fought against the Nazis. He was a British soldier. A real tough guy who served on the front lines in France, and also spent time defending southern England. He wasn't a villain. Far from it.

But by the end of the war, the British military considered him a war criminal. Wild, right? T's story really kicks off in the early 1940s when the war was just brutal. In 1942 or 1943, while out on patrol with his unit, the Nazis ambushed them. T. got shot. Like, multiple times. I'm talking about six to eight bullets in his body, mostly in the chest. The guy just collapsed right there. Another soul from his unit grabbed him and dragged him out of the chaos, probably saving his life. He spent months in a hospital bed recovering. And when the doctors finally said he was good to go, the first person to visit was his

commanding officer. The guy basically walked in and said, get dressed. We're sending you back out. And so, like the loyal soldier he was, T suited up again. Despite being literally riddled with bullets just months before, he got shipped back. to France. Talk about commitment. Not long after, T found himself in the middle of another Nazi attack. This time, he was shot three more times. The injuries were mostly in his legs, which really messed him up. Back to the hospital he went, pissed off but still chill about it all.

He didn't want to stay in bed, but his officers told him to stay put, so he did. More months passed, and just like before, the doctors cleared him, and the same officer came back, barking, on your feet, soldier. You're going back out. At this point, T was definitely nervous. I mean, twice now he'd nearly died. But again, he put his uniform on and returned to the battlefield. It was like some sick loop, fight, get shot, recover, return. He was extra cautious this time around, doing his best not to become a bullet magnet again. But in war, being careful only gets you so far. Six months into his third stint, his unit got hit again,

and this time, the bullet went right through his left eye. Yes, his eye. But this man... He still didn't die. Nope. He got rushed back to the hospital for the third time, and doctors ended up removing what was left of his eye. They gave him this creepy crescent-shaped glass eye to wear once everything healed up.

Now here's where things take a turn. During that hospital stay, T decided he was done. Absolutely, completely done. No more fighting. No more bullets. No more front lines. He didn't even unpack his uniform this time. He just waited patiently for that same officer to come back and finally say,

all right T, you're free to go home. You've done enough. But that's not what happened. Around the end of 1944, who shows up again but the same damn officer, barking the same damn order, get dressed, T, we're sending you back. T. was stunned. The man had one eye, walked with a limp, had scars all over his body, and this guy still wanted to throw him back into battle.

No, he said. I beg your pardon. No. I'm not going back to the front. The officer got all cold and commanding. You will do what you're told, soldier. And that's when T absolutely snapped. He yelled, I lost my eye this time and it's a miracle I didn't die. If I go back out there again, I'm going to die. I'm not getting dressed. He ripped off the sheets from his hospital bed and exposed all the scars criss-crossing his body. It was a living map of pain and survival. But the officer wasn't moved. He charged forward, got all up in T's face, and screamed, you will go back to the front

or you'll be court-martialed. And T. He leaned back his head and head-butt the officer square in the face. Broke his nose clean. Blood everywhere. The officer looked stunned, holding his face in shock. So, of course, T was arrested. Since he was still technically a soldier, they tossed him in a military prison. He spent the last six months of the war behind bars. And once Japan surrendered and the war officially ended, the British Army declared him a war criminal and dishonorably discharged him. Now, let's pause for a moment here.

My family, especially the men, have always been a bit defiant. They have this stubborn streak where, if they think something's wrong or stupid, they'll break the rules no matter the consequences. T was no different. He didn't care what punishment he'd face. He thought being sent to the front again was insane, and he made his point by wrecking his officer's nose. Honestly, legend behavior. What's hilarious is that after all that drama, T. ended up turning into the most chill, joke-loving granddad. He treated his war wounds like punchlines. My dad told me that when he and his little brother were kids,

Tee would come into their room at night to tell bedtime stories. Sometimes sweet, sometimes scary. But the best prank. If the kids stayed up past bedtime, Tee would leave his creepy glass eye on the nightstand between their beds and say, You two better go to sleep. I've got my eye on you. Ultimate Grandpa Humor. Sadly, I never got to meet T.

He passed away before I was born. But I really wish I had. Hearing this story passed down from my dad just made me admire the guy. Despite everything he went through, the bullets, the hospital stays, the prison sentence, the dishonorable discharge, he still came out the other side as a fun-loving father and grandfather. That takes strength. Now here's a twist that adds another layer of bizarre to this whole thing. On my mom's side of the family, my other great-grandfather was a Nazi. Not because he wanted to be, mind you, but because he got drafted. So yeah, 80 years ago, my two great-grandfathers were literally trying to kill each other.

Fast forward two generations, and their descendants end up falling in love, getting married, and popping out me and my brother. Talk about irony. We were basically the first generation in both families to merge the UK and Germany through love instead of war. and my parents didn't even realize that hilarious detail until years into their relationship. When they did the math and figured it out, the whole family just burst out laughing. It didn't make them love each other any less. If anything, it was just one more weird twist that made their story better.

Honestly, my family's got a bunch of weird stories, but Tease is by far my favorite. It's not just funny, it's inspiring in a weird, chaotic kind of way. Here's this guy who got blown full of holes, lost an eye, got imprisoned by his own army, and still turned into a lovable grandpa who used his creepy glass eye as a babysitting tool. I think about tea sometimes when life gets tough. Like, if he could go through all of that and still crack jokes, then I can handle my little modern day problems. Maybe that's the real legacy he left behind, not just surviving war, but surviving with a sense

of humor intact. So yeah, my great-grandfather was technically labeled a war criminal by his own country. But to me, he was a badass with a heart of gold, a wicked sense of humor, and a refusal to let anyone boss him around. I just wish I could have heard him tell this story himself. I bet it would have sounded even better coming from the man who lived at all, glass-eye and all. The end. At the time I am writing this. It has been about 11 hours since my illegal dad was a woman. arrested. Let me start from the beginning. My parents only got together because my mom had gotten

pregnant. There wasn't much love in the relationship. My dad would hit my mom, cheat on her, and sometimes leave for days. Leaving my mom to take care of my brother. Then, I was born, which added more responsibility, and I think my dad understood and got a job and stayed home more. Then, when I was about three to five years old, I witnessed my dad get into an argument with my mom for the first time. I hid behind the couch, as I heard them argue and yell at each other. After it was over my mom told my brother to take me to my room. I was so confused, but when I looked at my mom, she had a black eye.

After all this happened, my uncle told my dad that if he ever hit my mom again, he would call the cops on him. We lived a weird life. They argued, but no hitting. We were okay. Then, it led up to this point. I am currently 12 years old. Apparently, my dad thought my mom was cheating on him.

So he got really mad and decided to hit my mom, giving her a black eye. She talked with my uncles, aunts, and my grandma. They decided to call the cops on him. I was sitting in the living room, eating cereal while watching a video on my phone at night. When a tall officer entered and spoke with my dad. I was so confused just like that. one day. I texted my mom, asking her what happened. She said everything would be okay. They stepped outside and had the rest of their conversation outside. Then after about five minutes,

the officer came back into the house and told me my dad wanted to talk to me. I went outside where I saw all my uncles, aunts, and my grandma. He told me what had happened. I was hysterical. I thought it was a cruel joke, but it wasn't. I saw my dad in the police car. He told that he loved me, and always did. He told me to tell my brother that he always loved him. I hugged him. He told me tell my brother, his friend, and his nephew to help him because he didn't want to be alone.

The officer then said it was time for them to take them away. I yelled that I loved him. I embraced my mom who was crying, telling me she couldn't take any more after 20 years of that. Now, I am currently in my bed, thinking about the things he said to me, the memories we made together, how I took my father for granted. We have court on Monday, and I hope that he won't be deported back to Mexico. More updates soon.

It's been six months since I lost my wife, Della, and some days it feels like I'm drowning in memories. Today was one of those days until Karma decided to show up fashionably late to the party. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me rewind a bit to last week. It was supposed to be a happy day, the 45th wedding anniversary of Della and her sister Lena's parents. Instead, it turned into a nightmare that had me wishing I, I had stayed home nursing my grief with a bottle of whiskey. I stood in the corner of the living room, nursing a drink and trying to blend into the

wallpaper. The chatter of family and friends washed over me, a dull roar that did nothing to drown out the ache in my chest. Every laugh, every clink of glasses was a reminder that Della should have been here, lighting up the room with her smile. That's when it happened. The moment that made my blood run cold and then boil in the span of a heartbeat. Lena appeared at the top of the stairs, and my world tilted on its axis.

She was wearing Della's engagement dress. The one I'd given her on the night I proposed, the one she treasured for years. It was a soft, flowing thing in a shade of blue that matched Della's eyes perfectly. Seeing it on Lena felt like a violation. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. My fingers tightened around my glass as Lina descended the stairs, a smug smile playing on her lips.

She knew exactly what she was doing. Jack, she called out, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. Don't you think this dress is just perfect for the occasion? I opened my mouth, but no words came out. What could I say that wouldn't cause a scene, that wouldn't play right into her hands? Lena sauntered over, her eyes gleaming with malicious delight. What's wrong, Jack? Cat got your tongue.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. That's Della's dress, I managed to growl. She laughed, a sound like nails on a chalkboard. Oh, come on. It's not like she needs it anymore. And now, she leaned in close, her breath hot on my ear, she can't say no to me. Something snapped inside me. I was about to unleash years of pent-up fury when Lena gasped dramatically.

Oh no, she cried out. I'm so clumsy. Time seemed to slow as I watched a wave of red wine spread across the front of Della's dress. Lena's eyes met mine, filled with mock innocence and very real triumph. Oops, she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. I guess I ruined it. Such a shame. I don't remember much of what happened next.

Somehow, I made it through the rest of the party without committing murder. But as I drove home that evening, my knuckles white on the steering wheel, I knew something had changed. Back an hour, my empty house, I paced the floor like a caged animal. memories of Della flooded my mind, sharp and painful. Her laughter, her strength, the way she always stood up to Lena's bullshit. God, I miss you, Del, I whispered to the empty room. You always knew how to handle her. I could almost hear Della's voice in my head, calm and steady.

Don't let her get to you, Jack. She's not worth it. But it wasn't just about me anymore. It was about honoring Della's memory, about not letting Lina trample all over the life we'd built together. As I collapsed onto the couch, exhausted and heart-sick, a strange calm settled over me. I wouldn't seek revenge, that's not what Della would have wanted. But I wouldn't stand in Karma's way either. Something told me the universe had taken notice of Lena's behavior, and it was only a matter

of time before the scales balanced out. Little did I know how right I was. A few days later, I was mindlessly scrolling through social media, trying to distract myself from the gnawing emptiness in my chest, when a post caught my eye. It was from Lena, and it was, dramatic, to say the least. My dear friends, it read, accompanied by a selfie of Lena with tears streaking her mascara, I was robbed yesterday. They took all my cocktail outfits and branded clothes.

I'm devastated. I blinked and read it again. A laugh bubbled up in my throat, unexpected and a little rusty from disuse. Before I could fully process what I was reading, my phone rang. Lena's name flashed on the screen. I answered, curiosity getting the better of me, hello. You colossal jerk, Lena's shrill voice assaulted my ear. I know it was you.

How dare you? I held the phone away from my ear, her tirade continuing unabated. When she paused for breath, I jumped in. Lena, what the hell are you talking about? Don't play dumb with me, Jack. My clothes, all my designer outfits, they're gone. And I know you're behind it. I couldn't help it.

I laughed. It was a real laugh, the kind I haven't experienced since Della died. Lena, I hate to burst your bubble, but I had nothing to do with your clothes going missing. Liar. Who else would do this? It's payback for the dress, isn't it? I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. Lena, I've been home wallowing in my grief.

I haven't left the house in days. How exactly do you think I managed to orchestrate a theft of your wardrobe? She sputtered, clearly not expecting logic to enter the conversation. But, but... Look, I said, a hint of amusement creeping into my voice, I'm sorry you were robbed. That sucks. But it wasn't me. Then explain this, she shrieked.

My phone pinged with an incoming message. I pulled it away from my ear to look, and what I saw nearly made me drop it. There, in living color, were photos of Lena's missing clothes. But they weren't in some thief's layer. or a pawn shop. No, they were being worn by homeless women on the street. I saw a Gucci blazer draped over the shoulders of an elderly woman pushing a shopping cart. A prodigress adorned a young mother cradling a baby.

I couldn't contain myself. Laughter erupted from me, deep and genuine. It felt foreign, almost painful, but God, it felt good. What's so funny, Lena demanded. This isn't a joke, Jack. Oh, Lena, I managed between chuckles, trust me, karma works in mysterious ways. What's that supposed to mean? I swear, Jack, if I find out you had anything to do with this, you'll what, I cut her off,

suddenly tired of her threats. Look, Lena, I didn't take your clothes. Maybe the universe decided it was time for you to learn a lesson about taking things that don't belong to you. She gasped, indignant. How dare you? I'm calling the police. Go ahead, I said,

surprising myself with how calm I felt. I'm sure they'll be very interested in your theory about your grieving brother-in-law masterminding a charitable redistribution of your wardrobe. I hung up before she could respond, feeling lighter than I had in months. As I set my phone down, a memory surfaced, Della, rolling her eyes after yet another confrontation with her sister. One of these days, she'd said, Lena's going to push too far, and it's going to bite her in the rear.

I smiled, raising an imaginary glass to the ceiling. You called it, babe, I murmured. You always did. I thought that was the end of it. A bit of karmic justice, a much-needed laugh, and maybe a lesson learned for Lena. But the universe, it seemed, wasn't quite done. The next morning, I opened my front door to grab the newspaper and nearly tripped over a plain white envelope on the welcome mat. No address, no stamp.

Just my name scrawled across the front in unfamiliar handwriting. Curious, I tore it open. Inside was a single sheet of paper with three words, don't thank me. I stared at the note, my mind racing. Someone in the family, someone I didn't know, or at least didn't suspect, had taken matters into their own hands. They'd done what I'd only dreamed of doing, exacting a revenge that was as poetic as it was just.

Another new year, and yet, I know deep down inside, this year won't be any better than the last. I'm 38, and I have yet to have a good year, or even a good month, in my entire life. Matter of fact, 2025 is starting off to show me that this year, things may turn worse than ever. I try to find the strength and the will every day to carry on, to mask my pain so that I can be strong for those around me, but it's becoming harder by the day for me to even do that. We can start from the beginning, a bridged version, of course, because to write everything would take me forever, and honestly, I don't think anyone would have the patience to read it. My childhood was stolen from me.

My father's first attempt on my life that I remember, because of the traumatic acts that happened, was when I was three. He locked my mother and I in a trailer and lit it on fire. We got out, my mom got me in her car, front passenger seat and we started to back out as a steel-tool chest snagged the window over my face from my father throwing it. That was the first real memory of my father. After my mom went back to him a few months later, things didn't get any better. For the next 13 years, my father locked me in my room, I was not allowed to. to cross the bedroom threshold. I was given a ketchup bottle full of water every day, and that was to last me until bedtime. If I needed to go to the bathroom, I had to wait for my

father to pass by my room and get his permission. I wasn't allowed toys, or to talk to my mother, talk to myself, make sound effects. I was allowed books, paper and pencils. My father, who claimed disability by the time I was six, spent his days trying to catch me breaking one of these rules. He would sneak down the hall, stand there and wait for extended periods. If he couldn't catch me doing something, he would come up with a reason to punish me. My punishments were typically severe beatings with foreign objects that would leave bruising, blood blisters, and in some cases, lacerations. I would be kept from school until I healed. When I wasn't in my room, my father would have me on our property in the middle of nowhere

cutting fields on my hands and knees with scissors, pulling star thistle bare-handed. He would make piles of rocks taller than me with his tractor, then give me two five-gallon buckets and then I would fill them to the top, because if I didn't, I was beaten. Them I would carry both buckets at the same time about an acre, make a new pile. I would move then from one side of the property to the other, all day, every day, weather did not matter, from dawn till dark. Other times, my punishment was to stand in the corner from about 8 a.m. to 6 p.m., break was given at lunch and dinner. Or writing, literally, one million times a phrase that he felt I needed. I got in a fight at school when I was about eight. It was right after Christmas. I begged the teacher not to

send a letter home. I didn't want my dad to take my presents away and hit me. Needless to say, they still sent the letter. Not long after that, at nine years old, I decided to run away from home. I lived in the middle of nowhere and figured I'd live like the Indians did. I made it a few miles, chasing a few deer and squirrels along the way thinking I could get them to eat, and then the police found me. They took me back to my parents. I was beaten senseless and stood in the corner for ten hours a day. About this time a worker from child protective services showed up unannounced. My father rushed me to my room, kicked my footprints out of the push carpet, and an investigation was launched.

My mother and father denied all wrong songs, saying I was a liar and a troubled child. I was put on three years of probation, made to pick up cans along the roadways to pay a fine, I was put in scared straight where they locked me in the county jail and allowed inmates to yell and scream at me, etc. Mealtime, I was fed separate from my family, I sat at a bar with my back to the dinner table. My dad would feed his cat at food next to me. The cat's fall would be in my plate, in my face, but I couldn't tell her no, I couldn't move her, or her overwhelming smelling at food, and I could ask anyone to move her for me.

Bed time was at 5.30 p.m. I wasn't allowed to see my extended family such as aunts, grandparents, etc. If they came over, which was really rare, I stayed in my room with strict instructions to not speak. If someone was to speak to me, I was to answer, but carefully, and not engage in extended conversation. If I displeased him with my interaction, he would give me a look and I knew when they left, what was in store for me. My mother left my father many times during my childhood, but each time went back just a few weeks or months later. One of the times when she left him, I picked up kickboxing unbeknownst to my father. When I was 13, she left him again. This time she stayed gone for over a year. During this time, I wanted to find a

job in the small town I lived in. I wanted to save up for a car when I was 16. I was now just barely 14. I got on my bike and ride around town, hanging flyers and asking around. As I wrote I rode along the side of Highway 99, a red pickup hit me in my chest, then drove halfway up my legs, threw it in reverse and backed over me. I stayed conscious the whole time, unsure of if I was going to survive. Everything was broken in my left side except a few ribs, my back or my neck. My left foot had all the flesh and muscle torn off, 368 stitches, inside and out and the possibility of a skin graft to put it together.

My right arm was snapped in half, multiple broken bones on the right side, but not as bad as my left. I was Bedridden for nearly six months, in a wheelchair for a year. I was told I would never play a sport again, run again, or even walk without a sever limp. But I proved them all wrong. Shortly after I was walking again, I got caught by my mother with a Playboy magazine in my room. She wasn't happy. She called my father who lived a few miles away. The next morning while I slept, my mother had my father come over. He'd burst in my room, drug me out of bed, the me down, which really hurt from the injuries I was still recovering from. He then proceeded to throw me out of my mother's house telling me to never be seen again.

I was just over 15. I or some clothes in my backpack, hugged my cat goodbye, and started walking down the dirt road. I didn't know where to go or what to do. I went to the elementary school, they were closed for some sort of break, and I sat on the tables outside, wondering. Then I saw a big red plastic turtle-shaped sandbox, its shell was the lid. It was getting late, dark would be here shortly, so I went to the sandbox, opened the lid, curled up in the sand, pulled the lid over me and fell asleep for the night. The next morning, I heard voices outside my sandbox.

They sounded familiar, like one of my friends and his sister. They were playing. I came out to go play with them. They were surprised, needless to say, to see me come out of nowhere. They asked, and I told them I was staying there, I had no home. They played for a while and then they left. Not long after that I saw them coming back, but they had an adult with them who I assumed was their mom.

I ran to my box, closed the lid and hid. She came over and tried to convince me to come out. But I was afraid I was going to be in trouble, so I stayed quite and didn't come out, she didn't open the lid, but instead left. A few more minutes later I heard a vehicle, some footsteps, and then a man's voice telling me to get out of the title and come with him. I complied it off fear that my father had insulted in me. It was my friend's dad.

His mom had went and got him. They took me to their home which was two doors down from my mother's. I was terrified my father would see me nearby and punish me. But the man that took me and held a black belt and assured me I was safe, and that they would take care of me. About a year past, I was 16 now, my mother had moved and went back to my father in the time I was gone. She also left him again. She got an apartment one town down. It wasn't long until she called me multiple times begging me to come home.

I finally did, on the condition that she don't go back to him. I continued my training in kickboxing, wrestled on the high school wrestling team, I played football my sophomore and junior year, I got into weightlifting. Things were going great. Then she went back, again. This time, as I was isolated in my room eating my meal on my floor, my dad came in, yelling at me, he swung his fork near my face, I bobbed my head out of the way. He said, oh, you think you're a tough guy now because you know Kung Fuha. I said, no, I don't think I am.

I know I am. His eyes turned to stone and I knew what was coming. I stood up, now over an inch taller than my father. He tried to hit me, I blocked it, gave him a quick jab and a hard background to the leg. The fight was done. He went to his room, grabbed his pistol and came back. He came back. He told me I had an hour to get out of his house. I called my friend, who I had met at my dojo. He was around 25 at the time. He was part of the 101st Airborne and part of the initial invasion force into Iraq. He was an amateur MMA fighter, who shortly, would go pro under Ken Shamrock. He showed up to get me 10 minutes later, which was impressive, since he lived 25 minutes away, minimum. His radio was loud, which I knew would anger my dad. I got in his car and he

he proceeded to spin donuts in my dad's yard, which was one of his pride and joys. I told my friend, dude, my dad's gonna be pissed. My friend laughed and said, so what? What's he gonna do about it? And we were off. I stayed the night with my friend. He didn't have any food, a small apartment in a rough neighborhood. He struggled to make ends meet.

We had raw potatoes with saracha for most meals when I was around. It wasn't long and I felt like I was a burden. I made up a story and left. I found a bridge along the river. It had some spots I could stay dry and protected from the wind, so that's where I stayed at night. I dropped out of high school. I barely went to the dojo. I was dating my Sense's daughter, and she noticed my absence in school and class.

She brought it up to my sense, who investigated and eventually discovered I was a homeless kid. He took me in, gave me care, treated me well, and that's where I stayed until I turned 18. At 18 I got my first apartment. I met an older woman who was 30. We started hanging out together and became an item. Prior to my departure to the Army, I found out she was pregnant. I was so happy to be a father, I saw it as a chance to break the cycle of bad fathers.

I wanted to be a good one. I headed off to boot camp, and about halfway through, I got a letter from the woman who was carrying my child. She said she had a miscarriage. The baby was so sick, its skin was transparent. It has blue eyes and blonde hair. I grieved the loss of my child through boot camp, A-I-T in Airborne School. I got letters from my mother telling me that lady had taken my vehicle and went to Arizona.

She was still married. That she had been taking all my money. I flew home for leave, and called her, gave her 48 hours to return my vehicle or I report it stolen. A few days later it was left in the parking lot. My vehicle was brand new when I left. But no, it looked like a bullet hole in the front bumper, a dented fender, looked like something blew up on the interior of my car's roof.

A few days later I went to Burger King, as I went to open the door, the woman walks past me, carrying a new baby girl swaddled in a blanket. My world froze and she kept walking. I sat down inside, not even hungry anymore. I tried to reach out to the district attorneys for help. No one would help me. I lost the child again. Fast forward a year, Holon leave I met a girl in my hometown.

We became an item, and eventually when I head back, I hear she's pregnant. So I start planning on moving her to base. She did not want to. And she did not like me being in the military. She told me, you either come back now, or in taking your child and you will never see him again. This destroyed me. So I made the worst decision I ever made and went AWOL to be back home with her and to see my child into the world. When the day came for my son to be born, I sat in the hospital

room with her waiting. There was a knock, we expected a doctor, but instead two police officers and a social worker came in. They took me into the hall, handcuffed me AMD, took me to the county jail while my son was being born. I sat in there for three weeks. One morning I got word that I was to be released with orders to fly back to my unit the next morning. They let me go, and I saw my son for the first time. The next morning came, and I was to be released and I couldn't leave my child. I stayed. I became a fugitive, constantly being hunted.

My mother would tell others about my situation, AMD, it wasn't long before people were leveraging it for their own gains. I would be bullied by other residents, and if I defended myself, they would report me. My grandmother found out I got a $250 bonus from my job for Christmas. She called me and said I had one hour to give her the $250 or else she would turn me in. So I gave her my money. For seven years I hid, working under the table jobs, being blackmailed.

I starved, I went from 190 pounds to 130 pounds. I missed the birth of both my children, got arrested three times for being AWOL and still always came back to take care of my family, since my now wife did not work ever. My mother at one point allowed my wife and kids to stay with her, but I was not allowed to because she had told her apartment manager about what I was going through, so yet again, I was homeless in a tent. Finally after seven years, I found out someone was tracking me again. I knew I had about 24 hours.

But I was done. I sat there and waited. When they came, I offered no resistance, I just went. I allowed myself to be transported from the west coast to Fort Riley, despite many chances to escape again. They put me in Fort Leavenworth for two months and let me go with an other than honorable discharge. While sitting in headquarters I learned that the way they located me was my grandmother had called and turned me in asking for a reward. But now I was free. I came home,

and was immediately back in the abuse. See, since the beginning of our relationship, my wife had been mentally and physically abusive to me, what are you going to do about it? You're AWOL. I'll just have you arrested." Was her favorite line. She would tell me daily how ugly I was, how worthless I was, how I could do no better than her and that she settled for me. I wasn't allowed to shave, brush my teeth or shower without her permission or else I was a cheater. Several times she would come down the hall screaming at me out of the blue and dig her fingernails into my flesh and tear it. But I couldn't do anything about it. I couldn't get help from the police, for seven years they would have just taken me, even if they didn't take me when I was clear,

where I came from, they would laugh me off and not do anything. This continued for 11 years, her constant abuse, me being the sole provider. And then one day she decided she wanted a job. She got a job at home for special needs people. Two weeks in, she came home one night wearing a sweater I'd never seen and smelling like a man's cologne. I asked and she said it was her lesbian friends. I got suspicious and dug around and found out she had some guy that used to be our neighbor who was married and had a handicapped child come from one state over and fuck her. But that wasn't all. She had had three other affairs in that time, one with her own cousin.

We fought for days, me telling her to leave my home, but she wouldn't. One evening she grabbed my point four-five and walks up to me and asks, is it loaded? I said yes. She points it at me and says, all I have to do is pull the trigger. When they come, I'll just tell them you were hitting me and I did this in self-defense. Eventually she put my gun down. After a few more hours I dripped to my knees crying, I wrap my arms around her waist and beg her to stop. She pushed me off and walked out the front door in the dark.

I walked on my back porch, collapsed crying and passed out drunk. I don't know how much time passed, but soon, my phone rings, but I don't even look at it. Over and over my phone rings for quite a while, finally I looked through my tears and the dizziness from a 24 pack of beer. The number seemed familiar, but couldn't place it. At that moment my kids who were really young come running out, Dad, there's a bunch of cops with spotlights out front telling you to come out. I stagger to my door and am hit with so many lights and an officer on a megaphone, turn around, put your hands in the air and walk backward to the sound of my voice. I have no idea what's going on, and as I comply it's really hard to walk forward so drunk,

I was afraid I was going to fall off my steps and someone would get jumpy and I would get all these cops unloading their guns into me and possibly hitting a child. When I hit my circular drive I'm told to drop to my knees and place my hands on top of my head. I was cuffed and put into a squad car. I ask what I'm being arrested for, but all they would say is, what do you think? My response was, because I'm drunk. They said, now is that a crime to drink in your home? to which I replied, no, so what am I being arrested for?

I was told to shut up and I'll find out when his partner gets back. Shortly later another squad car shows up, my wife gets out with a cop and they walk into my house. I told the cop that was standing over me she was not to be in there, she is kicked out for what he did, he told me that's not my choice. As the officers come out, I noticed they have one of my revolvers and two rifles. I had many more, my wife had given those to them because they were my favorites but didn't give them any others because she hoped to keep them. As I'm being transported to the hospital to

be cleared for jail, I'm finally told what I'm being arrested for. Assault and kidnapping. My heart stopped, I said no, I didn't do any of that. I'm then informed that it carry a mandatory 25-year sentence if convicted. As we sit in the hospital, I'm a wreck, my heart was just ripped out, my family destroyed and now I'm facing serious charges in a 25-year sentence for something I didn't even remotely do. I asked the officer if I could prove that. I could prove I'm telling the truth, if he would drop the charges. He says yes. I pause knowing I've got one shot, if I can't prove it in my first attempt, that's it, I'm done. I say, you have my phone, right? He says yes. I say, go through it, you will find everything there, she is lying,

she cheated, she did all these things. I just hugged her on my knees and asked her to stop. The cop gets my phone from his squad car leaving hospital security to watch me. He comes back in and confirms that I'm giving permission for him to go through my phone, I confirm and he starts. Pretty soon, did you call her this? How about this? To which I say, yes, I absolutely did. His response was, I can't blame you. He then says, okay, I'm going to go make some calls and look into some facts. A while later he returns. He tells me my story matched 100% to my wife's sister's story and everything he could find. He told me all charges were being dropped, but, because of the volatile situation and the fact I was so drunk, he didn't feel it was smart

to let me go home that night, that I was going to be booked for the night in the jail and he would release me first thing in the morning. I went back home and for nearly a month I was forced to live with her, she would not leave. Her family who lived nearby wouldn't get her. So finally I asked my mother to give her a place to stay. Just three months, a chance to get a job, some money and a place of her own, if she don't, then kick her out at that point. For nearly eight months she stayed with my mother who lived 20 minutes away. During that time, my mother dropped by one time to check on me, called two times. I sat with my pistol in my mouth trying to find the courage to pull the trigger, but couldn't.

During this time I had two of my three kids with me Dunham Y youngest was about two at the time, and my ex-wife had taken him. One night around 3 a.m., I got a call for my mother, they were bringing my youngest to me, my ex was having sex next to him, drinking constantly in stealing prescriptions. It wasn't too long before I got the truth, my disabled mother had been selling her pills, my mother was allowing these men into her home, and even serving them dinner. My mother had even, prior to this separation, had been taking her to male strip clubs. So now I had three kids, no help, no money for daycare.

The older two went to school, but the youngest didn't. So now I had to take him to a construction site with me daily. And it's hard being a dad changing diapers and keeping a child safe while building houses. Jumping ahead about a year or so, yet a great woman. I loved her to death. Deeper than I've loved anyone to this day. But this girl was friends with all sorts, she herself was bisexual, had been in straight relationships, lesbian relationships, and was even the third in another.

For some reason, she was always afraid that her child's father and I would talk and he would tell me something about her. I turned a blind eye, but four years later, after being engaged to her for a year and our wedding three months away, I found out she had been having sex with some woman she worked with. I broke it off. But, she lingered, I found out what it was she was concerned I would find out, she had HPV and had not disclosed this. I wound up getting warts that I had to have removed and still battle with occasionally to this day. Well, about this time, the pandemic hit, I was laid off within the first month.

I owned the house my parents had started buying in the mid-90s. Mortage was 700 for my two acres with a creek, three bedrooms, and two baths. The new note holder asked her his money was and when I told him I'm laid off due to the lockdown, he told me that was unacceptable. I told him there were protections against this during the pandemic. Two weeks later, I had court papers hung on my property letting me know we were going into foreclosure. During this period I met another woman. She and I started dating and she found out about my situation.

She lived about 50 miles away and offered me and my children to live with her and rebuild our life together. Now this one gave me lots of red flags, real quick with pet names, talking about marriage within the first month or so of our relationship, but due to my circumstances, I was limited on where to go to keep my kids together and safe. So we began the move. It was December, I was a hounds man with a pack of four hounds, I had two goats, three ducks, and 20 chickens. While moving this distance, I would show back up to my property early in the morning and in the evening to tend my animals. One day I show back up, and my kennels are open, my dogs are gone, my goats are gone, and there's a note from the sheriff that they had seized my animals for abandonment. I contacted them and set up a meeting with the undersheriff. He and the animal control officer sat in the room, and the sheriff told me before starting the recording that him and this guy wore the same uniform and that he will side with him no matter what.

The animal control officer got a noise complaint about my guns, when they showed up and couldn't get in contact with me, they looked through my windows and saw that the house was nearly empty, so he seized my animals, despite each dog having tags with three phone numbers to contact me. I proved they my security cameras that I did not abandon, that I was there two times per day to care for them. The sheriff says he will give my dogs back, but it's $100 per animal I need to pay the shelter. That was $600 to get my four dogs and two goats back, even though I was in a sense.

just weeks before Christmas. I could only afford my dogs, so they kept my goats and sold them to butcher. So now we are in the new home with this woman, and I notice she has books about how to keep a man, how to make a man love you, she would talk manipulation tactics with my daughter. One day I came home early, and caught her screaming in the room at my daughter about me. I stood there and waited. She came down the hall and her expression changed, oh hey baby. We argued a bit and that was it.

It wasn't long after that I found out my 13-year-old daughter had been talking to adult men online, getting inappropriate pictures, ditching school, smoking, drinking, and lying about her whereabouts. I took her computer away, grounded her and made her do push-ups for lying to me for about five minutes. I thought I handled it right. About the time Omicran variant came out, I caught COVID. I was laying in bed on a Sunday, feeling dead when there's a knock and there's sheriffs at the door. I put on my mask and go to speak to them. They start asking about my 13-year-old daughter and if they can speak to her.

That they had gotten a concerning report. So I get my daughter and I go back in. About five minutes later they tell me they are taking her to the hospital for evaluation because she made specific suicidal threats. They told me I should hear from the hospital soon. Over two hours passed and no call, so I began calling. I would get hung up on, put on hold for an hour and just generally stonewalled for nearly two weeks. Now I have sole custody, legal and physical of all three kids.

I told the hospital this and asked why they were withholding my daughter and information from me, why I couldn't see my daughter. They told me she was in protective custody and getting sent to an institution and hung up on me. Pretty soon social workers show up. They tell me that grounding my child for two weeks to the house and property, taking away her computer and internet access and making her do push-ups is child abuse. I call my mother, because I found a letter in my daughter's things from her. where she had made plans to come get her one night while I was in Jiu-Jitsu and help her run away

200 miles to her new home. I asked my mother why she would do this to me, AMD, my family. And in a cold, unrecognizable tone, she said, because I'm angry with you for not letting me be around them. I won the court case, but now my daughter was back. She continued stealing, I was forced by social services to allow her to what she wanted when she wanted, like go to the teen center whenever she wanted for however long she wanted and I could not supervise, if I did not, it was.

would be abuse and neglect because she said she's suicidal. She would go there and 18-year-old boys would have sex with her in cars, I found this out years later from her brother. She kept telling my boys, Dad better get in line or I'll have him put in line, if I don't get to go stay with my mom, I will make it my mission to destroy dad's life. Social services showed up three more times to investigate new allegations that she and my mother would make. In this time I also found out my current girlfriend at the time I had been enabling this, putting her in touch with grandma and her mother, encouraging her to do these things. I figured it was so I would be hurt and she could come in AMD play superhero and win me over. I later found out I was correct.

She had described a manipulation technique that she read about called The White Knight to my daughter and son, and she attempted to employ it on me. So when I found this out, she wanted me out of the house immediately, I agreed to move ASAP, but she said no, not good enough, if I have to get an emergency order to get you out tomorrow, I will. So the next night, when I come home from work, she starts screaming at me. She starts yelling about me having HPV, I told her this before we did anything so she would be aware, make her decision, A.M.D. We could work to be safe, in front of my children, which was wrong and gross. I asked her to stop, she didn't. My kids were now standing there watching her yell this and I attempted to cover her mouth, but before I even

reached out she screamed bloody murder and tore the skin from my face nearly putting out my eye. I just walked off, went to bed and said, forget it. The next day she was gone. She didn't come back. But the cops did. I told them what happened. They said they came with every intention of arresting me, but after hearing my story and confirming it with the kids,

they decided not to. They told me I had 24 hours to leave, if I did not, they would arrest me under some form of a felony. So I packed what I could in the SUV, loaded up my kids, and we slept in a parking lot for nearly a week. I left my hounds, but kept coming back in the night to feed and care for them. I stayed with my boss at the time, he was an old guy. But he let me and the kids stay there.

I was there about a month, but wasn't having luck getting into any form of housing. Where I came from, to even get a crappy apartment, you needed a 650 credit score. I had around a 515 from robbing Peter to pay Paul most my life trying to make ends meet. I couldn't continue imposing on this guy, and it was tough being in a tiny room with all my kids. kids. So I started looking for a roommate situation where we could have normality and more space. Some older woman was renting out a few rooms on her 20-acre property. I reached out AMD met her, she agreed to allow us to live there and my hounds were welcome. So we went there. Not even two weeks in, I noticed my tools start disappearing, items in my room would be moved

or gone. She was legitimate crazy. She would talk about waiting for me to come home and hitting me in the back of the head with a baseball bat to my kids. One day while I was at work, her and her daughter call me, they tell me to come bury my dog, they shot her because she wouldn't shut up. But then in the same breath, they threatened to shoot me as well when I come out. Of course the police weren't interested in helping me. So I collected what I could of my belongings, grabbed my kids and left, I couldn't get an apartment with my animals, and by taking them, I chose them over my kids and was dooming them to be in this situation forever. I lost the rest of what I loved that day.

I found an old woman that managed some apartments, she liked me, and decided that even though my credit wasn't what she wanted, she would give me a home. We moved into our first home in a little over a year after becoming homeless. Things went well, I started dating someone I had known for a year, I had a great job at a mill. But I needed hand surgery for an injury that I had had for nearly four years. When I was undergoing the operation, my oldest son decided without telling me, that he wanted to see a his mom had changed. He was 15. He reached out to her, told her where we lived and met up with her, after she had abandoned them all. I allowed him to as he pleased with her, so long

as he didn't leave town AMD she didn't have my exact address. Their relationship went for nearly eight months when I was served papers. Now she wanted in the baby's life, who was now seven and didn't even know her. About this time though I had started the process of buying a home across the country. I wanted a new start and new life. I had worked hard to get my credit score to $690 and was ready. So off I went. I thought it was going to be great, I mean gas where I came from was $6 a gallon, now I'm paying $2.38. I took a big pay cut, I went from $40 an hour to $20 here doing construction. But I was all right. Then I thought it was going to get better. My new boss wanted to retire, he offered me his 20-year-old company, I just needed

30k down. I started being taught to do estimates for him. I did 12, but was understood by illegal immigrants on every one of them. In the meantime, work the company did have, he subcontracted out, when on vacation AMD laid me off for a month just doing estimates. Mortage fell behind, bills fell behind. I asked my girlfriend to help me for a few months, she wasn't too happy. She paid one month, and didn't after that. Now I sit here dealing with the depression, the suicidal thoughts. My relationship is falling apart. This is the abridged version of my life.

I left out tons of stories, information AMD, other things. I've never talked about this stuff to anyone, I carry it silently always hopeful. But I'm scared now. I've battled depression a long time, bad depression, but never this bad. In a few days it's been two months of feeling this. I have no family or friends, and I don't want a therapist. I guess this was my attempt to talk, and make myself feel a little more okay. If you've read this far, thank you for hearing me.

But please, if you feel compelled to comment or message me, don't attack me. I'm not proud of what I did leaving the army. I'm not proud to have an STI. It's all dishonorable and disgusting, I know. But it's part of my story, AMD for once, I wanted to tell even those parts. Hello everyone, I want to share a true and intriguing story about supernatural events that occurred on a small island in the Maldives. Story, my little sister's story, this is the story of my little sister. I am the oldest of two girls from a small family.

We are from a small island in the north of the Maldives. My sister and I lived with our parents in our little home. Our home is an island-style house built in the mid-1900s. Since our house is very old, a part of it has been renovated while the Jifali open air. toilet, with the well and an old kitchen remain unchanged. We mostly use the Gifali to do our laundry as it is quite large and has the original water well built for the house during the old days. There is no actual roof to the toilet, which is very common for old island homes. Since there is no roof in the Gifali, our parents forbid us from showering there to protect us from any unwanted

incidents, especially after 5 p.m. In the renovated part of the house where we live, there is a shared toilet and two rooms, one for us girls and one for our parents. Nobody uses the Jifali to shower as we already have a modern bathroom in our living area. My sister was accustomed to showering after 5 p.m., especially between Maghrib and Isha prayers. My mom consistently advised her not to do this, however, she always found a way to shower at this time. One day around 5.45 p.m., I was in the toilet. My sister came and asked me to hurry up as she wanted to shower and go out. I asked her to wait until I finished. I quickly came out, but she was not outside. I went to look for her, and to my horror, I heard someone taking water out from the well using the Donny, well ladle.

I was sure she was showering in the jiffelai. I felt a sudden fear in my heart. I quickly ran to the jiffelite and scolded her to come out. The sun had already set, and it was not completely dark. She came out, threw her towel at me, and laughed. She had not an ounce of fear. She tell mom and dad. She quickly got ready and went out. My mom had enough trouble disciplining my sister, so I decided not to worry her further and kept it a secret. My sister came home quite early that night.

She was behaving strangely and quickly went to bed. I asked her what had happened, and she said she wanted to sleep, so she went to bed before 9 p.m. I also slept right after. That night, I suddenly woke up with a start. I rubbed my eyes and saw my sister standing with her back to me. I checked the time, it was 2 a.m. She started walking towards the door.

I asked her where she was going, but she didn't answer and kept walking. As I realized she was headed towards the jiffelai, fear crept into my heart. I grabbed her arm and hurriedly took her back to the room. Then I woke my mom and told her what was going on. The whole time, my sister sat in her bed with a strange, dazed look. After far prayers, she slept as if nothing. had happened. The next two nights, the same thing happened. During the daytime, she was very withdrawn and not herself. She would burst into tears all of a sudden. Despite my constant

nagging, she wouldn't tell me anything. She appeared to be scared of going anywhere near the Gifalai and the old house, but during the night, she would try to go to the Gifalai like the other nights. I decided to talk to the friend she went out with that night. As it turns out, her friend and my sister went to the beach with two other boys. While they were sitting on the beach, she had seen a dark figure in the forest behind them. My sister then started crying and said the dark shadow started walking towards her and wanted to take her away. She begged to go home as quickly as possible. When the friend relayed her story, the pieces of the puzzle came together.

I realized my sister's strange behavior that night and what had happened. It all started making sense to me. After meeting her friend, when I reached home, it was a little. around 7 p.m. When I entered my room, there were some neighbors inside along with my parents. To my horror, my sister was tied to the bed, and my mom was crying. I was about to ask what had happened, but suddenly my sister started screaming. She told us the dark entity was trying to take her away. Things had started to take a turn for the worse, but I could only stand and watch in horror. Her voice changed, and she started screaming in different shrill and deep voices.

He tried to untie herself. Everybody was frozen in shock. We tried to help her calm down, but she untied one hand. Her eyes rolled back, her iris disappeared, and her eye was completely white. Her body went rigid. She grabbed her breast and started screaming in a hoarse, deep voice I had never heard before. A cold shiver ran down my spine. I remained frozen to my spot, terrified of the scene before me.

The neighbors and my dad tried to hold her down. they tied her hand back again, in the same deep voice, she screamed obscenities at the top of her lungs, targeting each person in the room. She screamed out personal things about the neighbors that no one would know, in such foul language. One by one, the neighbors left. After Isha prayers, the Imam from the island mosque came to our house. He was also a raki who did Rukya for the people on our island. The imam performed Rukya and tried to communicate with the Jin who possessed her. He asked the Jin why it possessed my sister and what it wanted. The Jin told the Imam that it saw her while she was showering in the Jifalai and loved her beautiful figure. As she had gone to the beach,

when the Jin saw her behavior, it fell more in love with her. It then asked her to come with it, but as she refused, it had to possess her. The Jin also said that it would like to always keep using her body for sex. The imam asked it to leave her body, but it refused and said that it would only leave once it got to have sex with her and got bored of her body. It then said, started to scream obscenities at the Amman. The Amman said the Jin was very lewd and licentious, and it would not leave her easily. He said that he was not experienced enough to deal with such a supernatural force. He would help us get a more experienced regi from a nearby island as soon as possible. My parents hung their heads in despair. The next evening, my sister had stopped eating.

Every time we tried to feed her, the gin would scare us all away. After many attempts, I was sitting near her alone. I saw her tired and defeated face. I wanted nothing more than to help her. She started crying and begged to untie her. I felt so bad that I untied one of her hands so that she could eat a little bit before the new Raki came to see her, but she quickly untied her hands and feet and ran out of the door before I could stop her. My parents informed the Cathib, island chief. He organized a search party. Everyone on the island came out to help us look for her. The new Raki recited Rukya throughout the deep forest looking for her. It was almost midnight, but we kept looking for her.

The new Racki, Mom, Dad, and I were walking around. Suddenly, we felt something hit our feet. We used the torch to check what it was. What I saw next would never leave my memory until the day I die. It was my sister, with nothing on her body and unconscious, lying in the dark forest. She was covered in blood from the waist down. We covered her body as best as we could and took her to the island health center. The doctor informed us that she was already gone even before we brought her to the health center.

If I had not untied her, maybe this story would have ended differently. My mom divorced my dad, took half a million dollars from him and stole $40,000 plus dollars from me. I don't know how or when it all started. A few years ago my family was a happy All-American household. I at the time, 17M, had three sisters and my two parents. My parents had been sleeping separately for some time and claimed it was due to my father's snoring habits. After a year and a half of that all of a sudden during dinner one night my mother stood up and announced she had something to say.

She went on to tell all of us that she felt she wasn't part of our family. My siblings and I were always out of the house for various reasons and the intimacy between my father and her had turned into a passionless contract marriage. My mother since marrying my father was a stay-at-home mom. She then went one to announce that my parents were going to divorce in the next few months and that we needed to decide which parent we wanted to live with. After a month went by my oldest sister, 19, moved out and in with her fiancé, at the same time my two younger sisters, 14, 12, decided they were taking my mother's side and staying with her. Originally I said I wanted to stay in my childhood home and finish out my senior year of high school in my hometown. All of a sudden my father took me aside one night and told me my mother had stated she did not want me in the house.

and cannot take care of me and my siblings at the same time. This struck me hard as I had never even noticed my mother wanted nothing to do with me. He asked me where I wanted to move and assured me he will make the effort to support my decision. I chose to move a few towns over, approximately 45 minutes away to a new town. After the move a few months went by without me ever talking to my mother and school was about to start. This was in 2014 when Bitcoin started rocketing in value. When I was a sophomore in high school, a friend of mine discovered we could purchase various items online using Bitcoin, you can use your imagination as to what they were, and he had passed

suddenly and unexpectedly leaving a few thousand dollars of cheap, useless Bitcoin in a joint wallet. Once I saw all the Bitcoin news, I figured out how to access the wallet and realized there was roughly $300,000 dollars worth in the wallet. I quickly figured out how to liquidate it. All my life I only ever had one bank account that I would cash my measly part-time bagger slash cashier checks into and pay my phone bill through. So I decided to put $50,000 into the account for safe keep and hid the other amount in a shoe box in my room. Bitcoin was still sketchy and I was

worried the cash would be seized, but since I never changed my address when I moved at my bank they kept sending my statements to my old house where my mother and sisters lived. Almost half a year passed and I'm about to begin my second semester of 12th grade when reality set in I was going to need to pay for college and a place to live upon graduation as my father had informed me the month after I graduate I need to move out. Before you attack him I wasn't the best child, but while living with him he rarely came around the house and I would only see him once or twice a month as his lifestyle had changed to drinking every night and staying with his girlfriends.

I don't blame him. So with reality barring down on me I decided to consolidate my assets and set up a plan. I still had roughly 200K from the cash I stashed away and wanted to invest that money while living off the 50K plus another 20K I had managed to save up in my account. This was when I made a call to the bank to have my address changed so I can start tracking my account. Upon calling them I was given information that felt like a cold bucket of water being dumped on my head. The balance, by my calculation, should have been close to $75,000, enough to buy a new vehicle and lease an apartment by my school of choice as well as pay for my tuition.

The man that took my call informed me my account was at a balance of $12,000 dollars with monthly withdrawals ranging between $5,000 to $1,000, with one month being close to $115k. I was speechless, I immediately told him to freeze the account and send me statements so I can file for fraud. A week goes by and I received the statements in the mail and called the fraud department, after having a short conversation with them they informed me all withdrawals were made by an authorized persons on the account. How could I have never known, the account was a youth account that required a legal adult to be on there? The legal adult was no other than my mother. I had never told my parents about the money I got from cryptocurrency and had planned to

basically disappear, graduate college, and move far away. I didn't know what to do. If I went to my father I was afraid he was going to get mad at me and report the cash to the police, he was deathly afraid of any illegal activities, or kicked me out on the spot as I had turned 18 recently. So I decided to show up to my mother's house unannounced. Upon arriving at my mother's house the door was locked, but her and her boyfriend's vehicles were there.

I beat on the door until she yelled back she doesn't want me there and that if I didn't leave she would call the police, I immediately realized she knew exactly what she had done and I went into a fit of rage. As I stood there beating down the door in a teary fit she was actively screaming at me to leave and that she never wanted anything to do with me. I finally snapped and yelled back that I would get her back for what she did. I then got back in my car and left. On my way home I was called by the local police department from my hometown and asked to go

there immediately for questioning. I complied in hopes I could bring the theft of my money into light and have it returned to me. When I arrived there was a police officer outside taking pictures of one of my mother's wheels and I knew she had done something to make the police get involved. An officer, also a family friend, came out and escorted me inside to a room where my mother was sitting on the other side of a glass wall. He told me my mother was requesting a restraining order against me for herself and my two younger sisters. He then stated that according to my mother before I got to my childhood home her vehicle was all in order and after I left some of the lug nuts on her driver's side will have been loosened, what the F asterisk C.K. And I told him I had

nothing to do with it, he then showed photos of small dents on my mother's front door for me beating on it in anger to which I admitted was myself, and that she had stolen thousands of dollars out of my account. My mother, in an angry panic, immediately interjected and said that she had put that money in there and she had been using that to pay the mortgage intent for my siblings as she was searching for a job at the time. She claimed she was the account holder and that it was money from the divorce settlement. The police took a look at the statements I had in the car and disagreed that the money was in fact deposited by me, but because it was a youth account and she was an account holder that she legally had the right to use it

as she pleased. I was so defeated I didn't know what else to say so I sat silently. I was given documents to sign and told I had a court date in two weeks for the restraining orders to be finalized. Until then I had a no-contact order between my mother and younger sisters. After leaving I withdrew the remaining balance of $1.989.30, she had dawned and unfroze the account as well as made another $5,000 dollar withdrawal. Defeated, I simply waited for my court date. Two weeks goes by and I arrive to court, after the opening information is presented, the judge begins to go over the why for the order. He says my mother claims, I had threatened her life and her assets as well as threatened my younger sisters be

a text and phone calls, all not true, but thankfully after reading this he asked for her evidence which she could not provide and dismissed that information. Upon dismissing this information he stated that he can issue a restraining order for my mother but cannot issue one for my younger sisters unless they request it. So my younger sisters are called upon to stand up while my mother is whispering things into their ears, likely attempting to manipulate them. My whole life I was very close with my middle sibling, 15 now, and she burst out crying in pain that my mother was a liar and that she was stealing from me and that she missed me dearly.

She said she doesn't want a restraining order and wished things would just go back to normal. My baby sister followed suit and cried out that this was terrible and that she didn't want to be a part of the family anymore. After the judge was able to silent them he asked them to step outside. He told my mother he doesn't know what this is all about, and that he hates the idea of forcing a family to split by court order but he is required to approve her restraining order for a minimum of one year. He also stated that the restraining order requested for my siblings was denied. As we're leaving the courtroom the last thing my mother said to me for the next three years

was, this is all your fault, I needed that money to care for your sisters and keep the house, when you grow up one day you'll understand I did what was best for all of you. I simply told her back, you did what was best for you, not what's best for me. You're not my mother and from this day on you'll never see me again. I'll post the last. last half of this in the next post. Edit, all parts of my story are now posted and available on my page or the vent page. I, 26M, was actively playing a game called RuneScape back in the glory days of 2007 at that time I was only nine years old. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's an old online multiplayer role-playing game and was incredibly popular at the time.

This was really my first introduction to the internet so as you could imagine I had no idea of what possible dangers lurked around and my mom kind of had a alcohol problem so the more I was preoccupied and not bugging the hell out of her, the better. Least to say I was absolutely hooked on this game. After school I'd rush home just to hop on a computer to play this game and during summer I'd be playing for damn near 24 hours on end, meeting slash communicating with other players was a large portion of the game and very quickly I began to notice people befriending on another and even, dating, in the game and a young impressionable man.

I essentially followed Sweet and began making friends and whatnot. I eventually came across this girl. She was from Canada, M from the USBTW, and before you knew it we were logging in day slash night solely to hang out with each other in game and this went on for quite a while leading to talk every day on Facebook or MySpace and even sent IRL letters in a mail back and forth to each other. As the years passed we grew closer and called each other boyfriend and girlfriend and I guess made it official. Despite the distance at hand. Now, I guess this is where things get interesting. At this point it's 2012 and her and I are around 14 to 15 years. old and up to this point I had never actually seen a real photo of her or had even heard her voice.

It was all just text. But obviously I was so head over heels for this person and being 14 there wasn't a single red flag in my mind, L.O.L. I proposed the idea of flying up to see her and somehow we decided that over winter break of that year I'd try to fly and visit her. I ended up not telling my mom any of this. Nor did she even know that I had a girlfriend, at the time. I had a passport luckily but didn't have cash so I did neighborhood work over the entire summer mowing lawns, helping with renovations, washing cars, you name it, and I saved enough for an airplane ticket. Eventually. Winter break came around and one night I came into my mom's room as she

was well, drunk and broke the news of my grand idea to go fly 2,500 miles alone to visit this girl I met when I was nine years old on a video game. To my 14-year-old surprise she said no, even while she was drunk too I thought my plan was foolproof. You may be wondering why why she didn't offer to go with me and to be honest, I think I strongly opposed that idea. I was either all in either alone or nothing. However, I absolutely pleaded with her, I begged for weeks on end and she eventually said, If your girlfriend's parents call me and say you can stay. You can go visit, and it worked, my runescape GF's parents actually talked to my MOM and said I can go visit Woohoo, right? So there I was 14 years old, had to get some doc signed to travel alone and I was

shipped off from Caifornia to British Columbia, Canada to meet this girl. I had gotten to the airport. Failed to realize the lack of service from not having international data and finagled my way through the Vancouver Airport and found our predetermined meeting place within the airport and then the moment came. I was met with a six feet three inches man who said, are you Cameron? First off, I almost S.H asterisk t my pants. My body went cold and I was baffled to the thought of my video game love story reality collapsing right before my eyes. I shakingly said, said, yes, followed by a nervous gulp and to his reply he said. Nice to meet you. I'm her dad she's over here, and there she was.

She walked through the airport doors, her hair was blowing in the wind, the airport crowds had parted like the Red Sea and it was like a movie, you know. At least from memory, ha-ha. Anyways, after that we spent every summer of our high school years in Canada together. We went to our proms, graduation all of that stuff and eventually broke up after four-ish, five-ish years of dating. Her family was awesome and it was one of the best experiences of my life. Edit asterisk in getting the vibe that some folks probably think this is fake. This was nine years condensed 2007 to 2016 in total. It'd be way too long to fill in every detail. However, ask away if you have any questions. My mom is 47F and I'm 13 non-binary,

I can't really imagine my mom ever dating again due to my dad, let's call him Thomas. Thomas mentally abused my mom for years, but my mom tried to suck it up and hide it for me when I was young because I didn't know what mental abuse was for years. Anyways a few years ago my mom started noticing it and she didn't think much of it because it was a small thing at the time, him snapping at me and getting mad over a few small things. To be fair, he did work from the early morning till late night, but this was no excuse for what he was doing to both of us as time went on.

As time went on it got worse and worse and it got to a point when lockdown had almost ended we decided it was time for him to leave, I then found out that he had brain damage and my mom never told me, I was terrified but tried to hide it, so fast forward to around two years ago and my mom started going out to dinner with a rock star. Let's call him Damien. Damian went to dinner with her often, but one time was different. He kissed my mom and I found out about a week later. After that he started ghosting her and then we found out that he had another girlfriend that looked exactly like my mom so she cut ties with him. So my mom said a few months ago in 2024

that she might start dating again and yesterday I found out that she was on Tinder for a month or two and she never told me, help I don't want an abusive stepfather, what do I do? I'm glad to greet all readers of this post. To give a better understanding of the entire situation, I want to share my relationship with my mother and the story of our conflict. I'm 25 now, and 12 years ago, my mother abandoned me. We were a happy family, I grew up surrounded by love and care, but when I was around 10 years old, the atmosphere at home began to feel oppressive and

unfriendly. At some point, mom and dad started arguing often, although before that, they had lived in perfect harmony. I started noticing that my father grew cold toward me, while my mother often scolded me over small things. It turned out I wasn't my father's biological child, and once he found out, the marriage quickly fell apart. It was a real shock for me. Overnight I went from being his beloved son to a stranger, an outsider, as if all the love between us had never. It was a real shock. It was a real shock for me, existed. After the divorce, I stayed with my mother, but she was never as emotionally close to me as my father had been. To her, I was like a ghost, or rather, a goldfish in an aquarium, whom she fed occasionally. Of course, she didn't care about the emotional pain I felt after the divorce.

She'd say things like, if you keep crying over that traitor, I'll stop loving you too, or, be a man, pull yourself together, or you'll end up just as worthless as your father. She often went to parties with friends, visited bars and clubs, while I stayed home alone, crying endlessly in my room. Soon, she started dating other men, came home less and less often, and when she did appear, it was usually with some boyfriend. I became withdrawn and avoided talking to them, locking myself in my room, hiding from the world while she carried on enjoying herself, completely forgetting that she even had a son. One day, she told me she couldn't support me anymore and said I should go live with my aunt

until she could find a better job. But that was a lie. Not knowing any better, I left thinking it would only be temporary, but soon afterward, my mother remarried a year later and never visited me once during all that time. I don't know whether she was embarrassed to show him that she already had a son, or maybe he simply didn't want to raise someone else's child. Hearing this news triggered another breakdown, I had now truly lost my second parent, whom I had once loved so deeply. Years passed. I grew older and decided to move as far away from my hometown as possible. There were many reasons, but above all, I wanted to leave the past behind and start a life free from all that pain.

I wanted to become a new person, free from reminders of my painful past. About four years ago, I left my hometown. A few months after I moved away, or broke out there. I did everything I could to help my aunt escape the area, but at the time, I hadn't heard anything about my mother's fate. I preferred not to ask what had happened to her after she abandoned me. However, recently my relatively calm life was shaken by a phone call from my mother. I didn't know it was her calling, and I certainly didn't expect her to have my number.

When I answered the phone, I didn't recognize her voice at first. First. Hi, it's your mom, sweetheart. How are you? I froze after hearing those words. All kinds of emotions rushed over me. In a way, I was happy to hear my mother's voice again, yet at the same time, I was consumed by deep resentment.

After exchanging formal greetings and small talk, she told me she was living near the war zone. She was completely alone with her little daughter and begged me to help them relocate. They needed money and a place to stay. Of course, I decided to help her move. I couldn't leave an innocent child and my own mother in danger. Fortunately, everything worked out. I'll skip the boring part about the problems with documents and logistics, the important thing is that we succeeded.

The first month, my mother and Mila, my now young sister, lived with me, and then I started paying for their separate apartment. It was my mother's wish to move out, and this detail still bothers me to this day. Throughout that entire month of living together, my mother remained very quiet. Most of the time, she was busy taking care of Mila. Occasionally, she asked about what had happened to me during all the years we were apart. I couldn't stop telling her everything, I almost wanted her to relive every moment of my growing up and becoming the adult man I am today through my stories. However, she didn't seem genuinely interested.

No follow-up questions or clarifications. Sometimes I felt like I was just background noise to her. My mother mostly gave vague answers to my questions, without going into details. All I understood was that Milla's father had left and doesn't pay child support. I also tried to understand why she had treated me so cruelly 12 years ago. Why hadn't she tried all these years to fix our relationship? She either stayed silent or apologized, saying she had too many problems. Again, no details.

Can we start fresh? We're still family, I said to her. She smiled gently and replied, yes, son. I hadn't felt that happy since childhood. And then her desire to move out shattered my heart all over again. This apartment is too small for three people, and Mila needs more space, she said. It sounded reasonable, so of course I agreed to help her. Money, finding an apartment, I wanted to show her that I could take care of her, just as a son should. I didn't yet know

that this help would create a new gap between us. Once she moved out, even the minimal communication disappeared. Sorry, son, I'm busy, I've got a lot going on today, let's talk another time, Mila is sick, don't come over, and countless other excuses followed. Five or maybe already six months have passed, and I still can't have a normal conversation or spend time with her. This whole situation is eating me up inside. I feel anger, an anger that has never eased even slightly since childhood, and at the same time, unbearable pain because my mother is once again absent from my life. What should I do? What can I even do in this situation? In a situation where happiness and family are so close, just a few streets away, and yet feel as if they're separated from me by a stone wall topped with barbed wire.

Update, thank you to everyone who offered kind and supportive words. I really needed to get this off my chest, and a fresh perspective from others was exactly what I needed. Today I called my mom to talk about stopping my financial support for her rent. She said, got it, I can handle it myself. Don't worry, and that was pretty much all she said. Chances are, I won't get to see her or Mila anymore. She's still avoiding me very strongly. The end, I recently found out my mother had been lying to me my whole life about my father's

death. Apparently, they got divorced when I was really young and she didn't want me to have a relationship with him. I'm now in my mid-30s and just discovered the truth. I remember when I was a kid, she would tell me stories about my father and how he died, but never really gave me any specific details. I always felt like there was something missing, but I never pushed the issue because I didn't want to upset her.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago when I received a message on social media from a woman claiming to be my father's sister. She told me my father was alive and living in another state. At first, I was skeptical and thought it was some kind of scam, but something about her story seemed true. I decided to do some research and eventually found my father's contact information. We talked on the phone for hours and I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He told me about how my mother had cut him out of my life and made him promise not to contact me.

I'm still trying to process all of this information and I'm not sure how to feel about my mother's deception. A part of me feels angry and betrayed, but another part of me feels sorry for her and the pain she must have been carrying around all these years. I've been talking to my father regularly now and it's like a whole new world has opened up for me. I'm getting to know him and learning about his side of the family. It's a lot to take in, but I'm grateful for the opportunity to finally know the truth about my family. The shock of discovering such a life-altering truth in my mid-30s was overwhelming, to say the least.

Growing up, I always had this image of my father as a man who had tragically passed away. My mother never gave me a specific story, just that he was gone and that was that. As a child, you believe what your parents tell you. You don't question it because, well, why would you? But looking back, I realize now that there were cracks in the story. Times when she avoided talking about him, moments where she seemed uncomfortable when I asked certain questions. At the time, I chalked it up to grief.

Now, I know better. I remember certain occasions, like Father's Day at school, where we had to make crafts for our dads. I would always sit there quietly, wondering what my dad was like. Sometimes I imagined him as a war hero, other times I thought maybe he had died in an accident. My mom always reassured me that he loved me very much, even though he wasn't around. That was the only thing she ever said with certainty. He loved me.

And I held on to that. So when I got that message from a woman claiming to be my aunt, my first instinct was disbelief. The internet is full of scams, and the idea that some stranger could come in and claim to be part of my long-lost family was absurd. But something in her message struck a chord. She didn't ask for anything. She wasn't trying to get money or manipulate me. She simply said, I think you deserve to know the truth.

I didn't reply right away. Instead, I sat there staring at the message, my heart pounding. My whole life, I had accepted the version of the story I had been given. The idea that it might not be true was terrifying. What if this woman was right? What if my father was alive? I took my time before responding. I asked her for proof.

I needed something, anything, to verify what she was saying. She sent me pictures, old ones from before I was born, of my father and my mother together. Then she sent a more recent one, a man, a little older, standing in front of a house, smiling. That's your father, she wrote. I don't know how long I stared at that picture. There was a part of me that wanted to reject it, to convince myself it was a mistake. But deep down, I knew. He had my eyes.

I finally responded, asking for more information. My so-called aunt explained everything. My parents had gotten divorced when I was very young, so young that I don't even remember it happening. According to her, my father had wanted to stay in my life, but my mother made it impossible. Legal battles, threats, moving from one place to another, she had done everything she could to erase him from my world. Eventually, she made him promise to stay away.

And because he loved me, because he didn't want to cause me pain or confusion, he did as she asked. I felt like my entire world had just been flipped upside down. That night, I didn't sleep. My mind was racing with a million thoughts. I felt betrayed. How could my mother do this to me? How could she lie about something so huge? At the same time, I felt guilty. What if she had her reasons? What if she truly believed she was protecting me? But protecting me from what? My own father? The next day, I decided to dig deeper. I looked up my father's name online, and sure enough, I found records proving he was alive. It wasn't a scam.

It was real. I finally gathered the courage to call him. My hands were shaking as I dialed the number my aunt had given me. When he picked up, I didn't know what to say at first. I just sat there, silent. And then, in the softest voice, he said, is it really you? I don't even remember what I said next, only that the conversation lasted hours. He told me everything, how he had tried, how he had fought to be in my life, how my mother had

one in the end. He had respected her wishes because he thought it was the best thing for me. But he had never stopped thinking about me. Never stopped loving me. I wish I could say that hearing his voice made everything better, but it didn't. Instead, it made everything more complicated. Now, I had to deal with the emotions that came with knowing my mother had deceived me for over three decades.

And I had to figure out what kind of relationship I wanted with my mother. father, now that I finally knew the truth. In the weeks since that first phone call, I've spoken to my father more times than I can count. We're getting to know each other, piece by piece. It's strange, building a relationship with someone who should have been there all along. But at the same time, it feels right. Like something that was missing has finally been put back in place. I haven't confronted my mother yet. I don't know how to. Every time I try to bring it up, the words get stuck in my throat. A part of me wants to yell at her, demand to know why she did what she did. Another part of me wonders if I even

want to hear her explanation. Will it change anything? Will it make the betrayal hurt less? For now, I'm focusing on the future. On getting to know the man I was never supposed to know. On rebuilding a part of my life that was stolen from me. It's not easy, but it's necessary. And despite all the pain, despite all the confusion, I can't help but feel grateful. Because after all these years, I finally know the truth. And no matter what happens next, that's something no one can take away from me. During the existence of Unit 731, the Japanese doctors performed experiments on thousands of people and may have ultimately killed up to 300,000 or 400,000 in the surrounding areas and in their labs.

They dissected many alive, including infants and pregnant women, and also injected them with biological weapons agents or other pathogens. My mother had been one of the rare survivors, a witness to the horrors of those events. She had lived in a town about 50 miles from Manchuquo, the base for Unit 731. She remembered the date when the soldiers and doctors entered her life and took away everything she knew and loved, September 1st, 1942. This was the account of those hellish events she told me before she died. The ceramic bomb fell slowly from the sky, spinning in lazy circles before riding itself

and coming straight down towards our town. A single white plane with the symbol of the rising sun wind past the center of town, flying away like a criminal running away from the scene of a crime. A couple merchants came out of their shops, looking up into the sky with suspicion and fear. I saw the bomb hit the yard behind my neighbor's home. It shattered into millions of pieces, a sound like smashing glass shattering the silence. I was very small at the time, only five or six years old. I ran inside to tell my mother.

I saw her standing behind the fireplace, cooking a small batch of tea, waiting for my father to come home. Mother, a Japanese plane just flew over the town, and it dropped a bomb. But it looked like it was ceramic, and it didn't even blow up. Why do you think they did this? My mother's face paled visibly. Stay inside, she ordered me, turning to look out the window, her eyes filled with fear and anxiety as she continuously looked for my father's silhouette on the trail leading up to

the front door. is your father. I wish he was here with us. She poured herself a cup of plain green tea, sipping the steaming hot beverage and refusing to meet my gaze. She just continued to watch the road, and it was then the first pang started, a sense of wrongness and foreboding, filling my mind. My mother and I stayed inside the rest of the day, waiting for my father. She grew increasingly worried as the hours passed, but she wouldn't allow me to go outside to look for him. I ended up sitting next to my mother and pouring myself a cup of tea. She grabbed my head. hands suddenly, squeezing it tight and looking me in the face for the first time.

Something bad is going to happen, I think, she said. Or maybe it's happening already. No matter what, I want you to know I love you. I love you as only a mother can love her only child. These words only increased my sense of dread, and I didn't know what to say. My eyes watered, and I felt like I might start crying. My mother had never been so explicitly and openly emotional like this before. I love you too, you know that, I said, trying to force a smile.

My mother didn't return it. She just went back to staring outside at the dying day. Finally, around dark, my father came running up to the house, his face covered in sweat. He flung the door open, running right past me without even looking at me. We need to leave the town immediately, he said to my mother, tears streaming down his face. I think it's too late, but we need to try. What's wrong? My mother asked.

Did you see what the Japanese left us? My father shook his head, closing his eyes. The neighbors and I went to look at the so-called bomb that dropped from the sky, he said, his voice quickening and rising as he spoke. What we found, why would you go out there, my mother asked. My father continued to keep his eyes closed, refusing to meet her gaze. We found dead fleas inside a massive shattered ceramic shell, he said. Thousands of them, some smashed flat from the impact.

And all around the area, tens of thousands of live ones, very active. They were jumping around like crazy. I got bit quite a few times. He paused for a long moment, his face still troubled and pale. I stood up and started laughing. Fleeze. Father, why would you be scared of fleas? I asked.

That's much better than them dropping a real bomb. We've had flea bites before. That's not such a horrible thing, is it? My mother and him looked scared, but I couldn't figure out why. We fled that night, packing our bags within minutes. We went to the next town over and stayed with my mother's parents. But after a few days passed, our family discovered we hadn't gone nearly far enough. My grandmother came in on the third day after what I jokingly called the flea bomb attack,

holding a basket of goods from the local market. She complained that her head was pounding and her stomach hurt. My mother felt her forehead, exclaiming that my grandmother had a high fever. Oh, I'm sure it's nothing, my grandmother responded, flipping a hand as if she were shooing away a fly. Probably just something I ate. I've survived much worse than a little stomach ache, I can tell you that. She winked at me, showing off her toothless gums as she smiled. Within hours of her falling ill, countless others began showing symptoms.

Like falling dominoes, the sickness spread through the entire village, swarming the countryside with its black. It started with headaches, stomach pains, fever, diarrhea, chills and sweating. At first, it looked like the flu, or sometimes just a bad cold. The moment we saw the swollen, black sore on my grandmother's neck, we knew it was something far worse. She collapsed in the kitchen later that night while trying to sip water, and my mother night carried her unconscious body over to her bed. She was covered in sweat, coughing up blood, her skin turning black as the swollen sores

spread throughout her flesh. It seemed like the buboes on her neck, armpits and groin swelled before my eyes, massive amounts of pus slowly leaking out of tiny holes all over the wounds. The tip of her nose had started to turn black with dark, sickly purplish splotches all around it. We all knew she would not survive for much longer. I went to my grandmother with a cool cloth. She looked up at me with glistening, tear-streaked eyes, confused and rambling. Oh, is it time for the harvest already, she said. I thought it already came. Grandma, it's me, Jing, I said.

Jing, she said, squinting her eyes. I saw a trickle of blood running down from one nostril. Taking the cloth, I started to wipe it up, but then she started coughing, bending over double. After a few hacking coughs, she spewed out a trickle of dark, thick blood, spitting it onto the covers. I'm sorry, mother, I forgot to tell father about the lamp oil. She looked above me, staring at something only she could see. She began to cry. As she turned her neck to the side, the swollen, pus-filled bubo burst, the black skin rupturing

as dark, stinking fluid spewed forth. Mother. Please, it's me. Take me home, she said, continuing to ramble, staring around the room at people only she could see. I turned and ran, unable to take any more of it. My grandfather had complained of headaches and chills earlier in the day. A few hours after my grandmother, he also collapsed.

We found him laying on the threshold of the open door, groaning and moving his arms, reaching out as if for someone to pick him back up. Huge swollen postules shone from under his armpits and from the sides of his neck. We put him in another bed. He also quickly became delirious, talking to people who weren't there. As the sun set, I knew they would not survive long. Things had gone from bad to worse when I looked out the window into the night beyond and saw the first Japanese soldiers coming,

dressed in white biohazard suits and gas masks that covered every inch of their I heard knocking on the neighbor's door, hard and insistent. I moved the curtain away from the window, peering out, my small heart beating fast. Everyone in the house besides myself was, by that time, showing symptoms of what we then knew without a doubt to be the Black Death. We had heard countless horror stories of the Black Death. With up to 70% of people dying in some areas, it was one of the most feared and horrifying diseases imaginable.

Most of the townspeople would have fled that night if they hadn't been vomiting blood as their her skin turned black. My mother ran over to me, her face pale and sweaty. She wavered on her feet, looking like she might collapse. Then she took a deep breath, closing her eyes and bracing herself. When she looked stable again, she knelt close to me. The enemy is outside, she whispered. We must hide you. I nodded silently. I heard shouting coming from next door. the curtain, I caught glimpses of dozens of men in clean, white biohazard suits and gas masks walking calmly and confidently onto our road. After another few seconds, a hard knock sounded at our

front door. Quick, my mother said, pushing me across the kitchen and towards the oven in the corner. We had a large, metal oven back then in addition to the fireplace. Due to my father's position, we were better off than most of the people in our town. Some still lived in cold, unheeded shacks and ate rice and water for every meal. The oven had a flat top grill and, of course, used firewood, seeing as this was back in 1941. We didn't have electricity in my parents' home, and neither did my grandparents. As far as I know, in fact, no house in the area had electricity. She opened the door. The cold interior of the oven had ashes and small pieces of twigs forming a uniform carpet. I sneezed as the cloud of debris swirled around us.

No time for that, my mother hissed as I coughed and choked. Get inside, child. Now. Without thinking, I began to crawl through the tiny door. I could barely fit inside the oven. She closed the door all the way, locking me in the cramped darkness. Curled into a ball, I felt like a fetus imprisoned in an iron womb. A final, bone rattling pounding on the door started.

I heard my mother's footsteps as she rushed away from me. A moment later, I heard the door creak open. Come, come, Japanese soldiers said in broken Chinese. You come now, as a child, I was extremely bright. Even as a young girl, my vocabulary was well beyond anyone else in my grade. I had also picked up some Japanese, since we were near the puppet state of Manchuria, a vassal of the imperial Japanese empire during World War II. So when the Japanese had finished clearing out the house and stood talking to each other,

I understood bits and pieces. What do we do with these logs? One asked. I felt confused. What logs? These ones, maybe, I didn't understand everything he said after that, but he kept saying the word, fire. Later on, I would find out that the Japanese always referred to human experimentation victims

as logs, to help dehumanize them, to make it easier to burn or dissect them alive, or to inject them with horrifying biological and chemical weapons agents. As the last of Japanese left the home, I felt sick to my stomach. Curled inside in the oven in the fetal position, I began to cry, giving up all hope that things would turn out okay. Things quickly went from bad to worse when I tried to leave the oven and found the door had latched closed. I was in total darkness inside the oven and barely had room to move.

A sense of suffocation began to come over me, a feeling of being buried alive. At first, I whimpered as I kicked against the door with whatever force I could muster. It didn't even seem to shake in its frame. I increasingly became panicked, kicking and punching at it. Then I started to scream for help. Hello. I yelled. I'm stuck.

Is anyone out there? Please let me out. I don't know how long this went on for, but it seemed eternal. Suddenly, in the midst of my yelling and kicking, the door flew open and light flooded my eyes. I fell out, gasping as tears streamed down my face. I looked up, expecting to see my mother, or maybe a Japanese soldier, but it was neither. Three gaunt Chinese faces looked down at me, men with guns and torn, dirty clothes. I gaped at them, wondering if they were here to kidnap or murder me.

It's okay, little girl, one said to me, kneeling down and brushing my ash street tear out of my face. We're partisans. We were on our way to attack the Imperial Japanese and put a stop to their monstrous actions. Where's your family? Another one asked. I looked up at him, seeing he only had one working eye. From it gleamed compassion and understanding.

The other was blinded, covered in a cataract, as white and dead as a corpse. They took them. I said, crying harder. They made us sick and then they took them away. What's your name? The one-eyed soldier asked. It's Jing, I said. Well, Jing, my name is Chen. This is my group.

We are meeting up with other partisans in the area, armed men who will protect you. "'You're safe now. No, no, we're not.' I said, "'Just listen, and as Chen and I stood in the dark kitchen of an empty town, I told him everything that had happened since I first saw the ceramic bomb falling from the sky. The soldiers did not look happy when I told them about the fleas and what happened. The two behind Chen had panic in their eyes as I finished the story. Chen, this means we may all be exposed to this disease now, one said,

sweating heavily, his greasy hair sticking up all over his head. Chen did not seem distressed. He looked like the calm eye of the hurricane in the midst of panic. Whether we were exposed or not, Chen said, this changes nothing. We will continue with our mission. In fact, this only makes it more pressing. We know where the Japanese took the townspeople. We must put a stop to it. I agreed with Chen, mostly because I hoped they would save my family, especially my mother. I figured it was probably too late for my grandmother and grandfather. A sharp pang of sadness pierced me as I thought about them dying from the plague in some freezing cell, alone and delirious.

With my head down, deep in thought, I followed them out into the night. I saw strange fluids littering the roads under the moonlight, dark patches of what looked like blood intermittently marring the dirt road. They were still wet, contrasting with the bone-dry conditions outside. We left the town, and I followed them down another dirt road. after about an hour of hiking, we came upon it. From the distance, I saw a massive building. It looked rather nice from the outside, and even had a balcony hanging over the front door.

Every window had bright light coming out. It looks like someone might be home, I whispered to Chen. I had walked next to him the entire way. We hadn't talked, as he was afraid of making too much noise. Regardless, we're going in, he said quietly, looking around for something. A few twigs cracked and more partisans came walking out of the woods, saluting Chen. Now the entire group of partisans was up to seven. Okay, let's do it, he said with fury on his face, the desire for bloodshed stamped into every word.

According to our plan, as much as possible. Don't let a single Japanese doctor or soldier survive. The rest of them nodded, and without another word, they began sprinting towards the building, some moving towards the front while others veered off around the back of the building. Chen turned to me. I have to go in two, he said sadly, kneeling down before me. Will you be all right out here by yourself? I felt shocked.

I want to go help rescue my ma. I responded. They took everyone from me. I should be involved too. You're just a little kid who can't use a gun, Chen said reassuringly. Just stay out here. And if I don't come back within 30 minutes, get out of here. Go find some family you can contact anyone at all,

a cousin or an uncle. Get away from here. This place is poisoned. He rose, turning. With a last glance around the open field leading to the Unit 731 building, he broke out of the cover of the trees and began running. Gunfire erupted from inside the building, shattering the calming nighttime ambience. I saw flashes of light erupting out of the windows. It wasn't contained in one spot, but rather seemed spread throughout the building. First there would be a long, sustained fire from the front of the first floor, then seconds later, another burst from the side of the third floor. And then everything went deathly silent. A man ran out of the front of the building, one of the Chinese partisans. He had lost his gun somewhere and stood, covered in blood,

his left arm ripped off at the shoulder, spurting great, arterial streams out of his body. He tripped over his own foot, tangling his legs together, and landed hard on the wound. Crying and choking, he called for help. No one came. Seconds later, he stopped moving, dying on the ground in front of my eyes. I decided I should go in. I remembered what Chin told me, but I decided he was wrong. This was my family, after all, not his. As quietly as possible, I sprinted past the dead partisan and into the open front door.

Bright lights shone all down the hallway, illuminating the gore and splattered blood along the white walls and polished floors. A dismembered arm with its finger still around the trigger lay at the side, discarded like trash. Without another thought, I shook the limb loose and lifted the gun up. Now I would do it, I thought to myself. Now I was just like them. I had a gun, and I was here to save my mother. Nothing would stop me. I spun around, deciding to go deeper into the building, when something stopped me. Chin stood there around the next corner, leaning against the wall and bleeding heavily. His scalp looked ripped open, his face a mask of gore.

I looked down at his chest, realizing I could see the organs inside. His intestines looked like deep red worms trying to slip out of the ground. He had one hand on the area, trying to keep his organs inside. You, he said, breathing hard, need to run. He stumbled, falling to his knees, putting his hand out towards me. Get out of here, now. They're all dead. I found no one, he fell face first on the ground, a spreading pool of blood forming around his body.

I walked past him, not believing. I found a stairwell, deciding I should start with the basement. I looked in the first room, seeing stainless tables side by side. On each lay a body. Some were pregnant women, their faces twisted in agony, their stomachs cut open. Fetuses and babies lay next to their mothers, also dissected. Against the back wall, I saw entire babies preserved in glass jars filled with liquids. Next to them, I saw human heads, hearts, liver.

and intestines. In disgust, I left, going to the next room. In this one, I saw dozens of burn victims, their bodies blackened into a crisp, some of them also dissected. As I walked past, one of them began breathing, moaning something incomprehensible. I saw fire-blackened fingers twitch as the person tried to raise their hand towards me. Chen had been wrong. Someone was alive. Then I heard the deep, guttural breathing from the hallway behind me. With my heart racing, I turned, raising the gun. An abomination stood there, something from the depths of hell. Sown together from many body parts, it had five legs, the stitches black and ugly against its naked skin. It towered over me, its head scraping the ceiling. I saw the

ten arms sewn onto its long, snake-like chest flexing and clenching. From many of the stitch wounds connecting the limbs to the body, a dark, sickly-smelling fluid dripped down. It had three heads heads on the top, all mutilated, their cheeks sliced open, showing the grinning teeth below. I saw animal and reptilian eyes staring out from the heads, implanted next to human eyes. After a moment of shock, I pulled the trigger. The recoil from the gun was far stronger than I expected, but since the creature was so tall, I still ended up hitting it in the shoulder. It shrieked as black blood began to run down its pale skin, its voices rising together in outrage

and pain, its many legs starting to move and scuttle forwards. I turned and immediately fell over the body of a Japanese soldier, still dressed in a white biohazard suit. I felt the creature's fingers closing around my ankle when someone yelled from behind me. Hey, you, a woman cried loudly. A burst of gunfire rang out. Turning in surprise, I saw my mother, standing there with a stolen gun from a Japanese soldier. She had sores from the black death all over her skin, and her nose had turned dark from

the necrosis. She stumbled forwards, firing as she went until the gun ran out of the gun. bullets. I saw blossoms of gore sprouting all over the abomination's body as bullet after bullet ran through it. When the gun finally clicked empty, she threw it aside. Then she jumped on the abomination, biting and clawing at its skin like a rabid animal. I turned and ran, never looking back. After the Japanese infected our towns with the black death, the Chinese government came in and walled off the areas. They are still off limits, the area poisoned and dangerous. I had a DNA test done later in life, out of curiosity. They told me many interesting things, but one of the

most interesting was that I have a genetic mutation that causes me to be resistant to the black death. It is, I think, the main reason I survived. The horrors I would see after that bomb fell scarred me for the rest of my life. I still remember the sick, sweating people with black pustules the size of eggs, like a baby pushing against its mother's body to get out. I remember the eyes of the women dissected alive, their fetuses ripped out of their bodies, their faces still open in expressions of eternal horror. None of that will ever leave me. What unit 731 brought us was hell on earth? I saw a post on Facebook that asked what made you stop drinking. Well, this is my story, I, 27M, once was in the U.S. Army and got engaged to a woman, 25F, after six months of knowing

her then got married six months later. We got married fairly young, she was 19 and I was 20 at the because she lived four hours away from where I was stationed in the army and the only way to bring her closer was to marry her. So we got a house together and a year later my son was born. After the military we moved back to her hometown with her parents. We were married for almost seven years. After almost seven years of being married, she cheated on me and told me to leave in December of 2022 with no job, no money, nothing, and even kept my son for me until the divorce finalized. I left when he was about to turn five and he'll be six now in a few days. Anywho, having no place to go in the state we lived and together, I had to move 14 to 15 hours

away to my brother's house and after losing basically my whole life and feeling completely lost, I turned into a severe alcoholic. I went into a deep depression and started drinking any chance I got. I would drink three to four beers before work, I used to keep a bottle of any cheap liquor in my car used only for drinking on my lunch breaks. After work without fail, I'd pick up a 12 pack of beer. beer and drink like half at home and then drink the other four to six while driving my way to the bar to spend another $80 to $90 a night. It got so bad that I was fired from the job I had for

a drug and alcohol scream. I was lucky enough to never get a DUI from as many times I was drunk driving home from bars and even falling asleep in fast food drive-thrus. It wasn't until three months later in May of 2023 that my now girlfriend, 30F, and I had met. Two months into the relationship I decided I wasn't going to be this nasty-smelling drunk slob all the time. We instantly clicked upon meeting each other and we had the most amazing chemistry that I've ever felt. She let me move in with her after only a week of knowing each other and I decided to quit drinking completely and be the best version of myself that I could possibly be for her. Our bond grew tighter day by day and we've been together going on eight months now.

Honestly, everything has been just about perfect from the beginning. She not only helped lift me from my deep, dark depression and suicidal mindset by being the sweet, the greatest person I've ever met, but I also decided for her I'd quit drinking completely as well. It's almost like a switch flipped in my brain one night. I went from drinking profusely every day and night, not giving a damn about myself or anyone or anything else around me to being completely sober for the past almost six months. My girlfriend the best thing that's ever happened to me and I haven't loved anyone as much

as I love her. She's appreciated and cherished much more than she'll ever know. I'll continue being the best version of myself that I can be for her until either the end of us or the end of time, whichever comes first. I've heard that, you can love or have more feelings for someone in months than you did for someone you've known for years, and I believe that. Even after only eight months I truly believe my girlfriend is my soulmate and everything that's happened in my life was meant to happen in order for me to meet her. It feels as if we've known each other our whole lives. I just wanted to share how my year of 2023 went and hoped

for this year to continue being as amazing as last year after meeting my girlfriend. I hope everyone's does them great. T. L. D.R. My, 27 M. X. Wife, 25 F, of seven years cheated on me and told me to leave. With nowhere to go I lost my job, place to live, son, life to move 14 to 15 hours away to move in with my brother. I turned into a bad alcoholic. Met my now girlfriend, 30F, and moved in with her after a week of knowing each other. She turned my life around. Been together for eight months now. I've been sober for six months. Update we got engaged in June of this year after a year of being slash living together and we're aiming to get married next fall. She's the only person I've ever been with that I've genuinely and unconditionally given my entire self and love to.

I honestly wouldn't know where I'd be or how life would be if I had never met this beautiful heaven-sent angel and I damn sure hope I never have to find out how it'd be with other. The weather was perfect as we drove toward our new house. The air was crisp, the sun warm against the car windows. My parents exchanged excited glances, their smiles almost too wide. They called it their dream house, a place they'd been planning for years. My twin sister and I hadn't seen it before, they wanted it to be a surprise. As identical twins, we'd always been inseparable. We shared everything, clothes, secrets, even dreams. But as we neared the house, my mom casually mentioned that this time, we'd have separate rooms. Her tone was light, almost forced, but something about

it felt, wrong. My chest tightened. Why now? I asked. She laughed, brushing it off. You're growing up, sweetheart. It's time for independence. I glanced at my sister. She didn't react, her face blank as she stared out the window. The house loomed ahead, its silhouette sharp against the golden sky. White walls, sprawling gardens, and a backyard shaded by ancient oaks, it was picturesque, almost unreal. But the moment I stepped inside, a chill crawled over my skin. The air smelled faintly of damp wood and something metallic. The creek of the floorboards beneath my feet sounded like an old memory, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd been here before. Days turned into weeks, and the house's charm faded. My parents decided to homeschool us, which was strange. They'd always

valued socializing. The isolation settled over us like a fog. No neighbors. No vexed. visitors. Just the four of us and the suffocating quiet. Though my insistence had kept my sister and me in the same room, something was changing. She became distant, her vibrant personality dimming. She started whispering to herself when she thought I wasn't listening. Her notebooks filled with jagged sketches and strange symbols, spirals, eyes, and shapes that seemed to twist as I stared at them. Then came the man. One evening, I saw her at the edge of the backyard, speaking to someone. He stood unnaturally still, his face obscured by the brim of a white hat. His coat swayed despite the stillness of the air. Who is that? I called out,

panic-lacing my voice. She didn't turn, didn't even flinch. Instead, she walked into the trees, disappearing with him into the shadows. When she returned an hour later, she acted like nothing had happened. Who was he? I demanded, shaking her by the shoulders. She smiled, a cold, hollow smiled that didn't reach her eyes, and said nothing. That was the beginning. Her behavior grew more erratic. Whispers in the dead of night turned into humming, soft, eerie melodies that made my skin crawl. She'd stare at me for minutes, unblinking, her expression unreadable.

Then there were the incidents. One morning, my mom found shards of glass mixed into our breakfast. It's just an accident, my dad said, his voice wavering. his eyes wouldn't meet mine. Days later, our cat, a sweet, gentle creature, vanished. I found her in the backyard, her lifeless body beneath the oaks. My sister stood over her, a knife in her hand, her face splattered with crimson. Why? I whispered, tears streaming down my face. She tilted her head, her voice soft. She was in the way, I ran to my parents, begging them to believe me. They clean me up, their hands trembling, but when they confronted her, she

denied everything. My mom forced a smile. It's just your imagination, she said, her words brittle. But I knew the truth. Soon, my parents began to change, too. They spoke in hushed tones, casting me worried glances when they thought I wasn't looking. At night, I'd hear footsteps outside my room, stopping just short of the door. One night, I woke to find all three of them standing over my bed, their faces pale and shadowed in the moonlight.

My sister held a knife. I blinked, and they were gone. The breaking point came on a stormy night. Thunder rattled the windows as my sister walked in, her clothes soaked, a butcher knife glinting in her hand. Her eyes locked onto mine, cold and unrecognizable. Stop! I screamed, running after her as she headed toward my parents' room.

She shoved me aside, her strength unnatural. I heard the screams before everything went black. When I woke, the world was blindingly bright. A man in a white coat leaned over me. Do you still see her? he asked. I blinked, my wrists bound to the bed. My parents stood behind the glass, their faces streaked with tears. She isn't real, the man said gently.

You've been alone your whole life. The things you thought she did, you did them. I stared at him, the word sliding off me like water. None of it made sense. After weeks in the hospital, they said I was stable. My parents drove me home, smiling too brightly. The house loomed ahead, its white walls stark against the fading sun. As we pulled into the driveway, I felt a chill beside me.

I turned my head. My sister sat there, her smile razor sharp. You can't get rid of me, she whispered. I smiled back. About a decade ago now, I was in an abusive weird relationship with someone. It started out her greeting me at a fast food place. I agreed to be friends, as needy for connection as I apparently was. I'd been a foster kid with abandonment issues, L.O.L.

Went through the classic manipulation stages, isolate, then showed self-harm scars to feel bad for her, talked about another friend of hers that's suddenly out of the picture, saying they were narcissistic, sociopathic, etc. Now I'd like to preface, while I didn't know it yet I'm arrow slash ace I had no intention, nor compression of relationships in the romantic or sexual sense. Anyways I'll just blurb the threats of self-harm, attempts at self-harm, actual self-harm, threats to me, actual harm to me, using knives and fists if I said no to sexual and intimate interactions. She also got physical if she thought I looked at someone else, never understood why she thought I did. She'd always sent bloody wrist texts to me, some fake some real,

while I was in class in my first job, and when I was studying. This lasted from my senior high school year to my second semester at my first community college. This would send me into so many panic attacks. This lasted till my best friend from high school helped me cut her off, an ambulance for her, which sent her to a PSYC ward, and block all contact. Many years later I learned that she harassed my best friend hard LOL. My friend was always a better friend than me T-B-H. Anyways, sometime in the middle of this, there was an off period. Where she said she wanted nothing to do with me, so I in panic of freedom blocked all contact.

I'd already graduated high school, I was doing horribly Eath College, while first semester was a large success I was failing second. Anyways I had learned my childhood friend was graduating, I hadn't seen her or her mom in a decade almost by that time. So, I got a greyhound slash train and went. TBH I was running on depression panic fumes. The journey was interesting and fun, different. I got there to their state and received a large unfamiliar hug, I wish I could have said I

adjusted and reconnected. But I didn't. I was very robotic, murky, confused. My brain wasn't there I was disconnected. It was like I didn't exist, and yet apparently did. I tried to connect, but I always felt like I said something stupid. I was also terrified, she'd would contact or harass my childhood friend. I didn't even think to confide or open up.

They weren't the best, but they were all right. I still wish I could have connected. But it was like I wasn't conscious. It lasted a few months of me being up there. But then, she'd managed to contact me again. At first I ignored it, but then threats and promises came in. I won't do any of that if you dash, blah, blah. Eventually, I agrees.

I didn't explain, I just suddenly said I was returning. Honestly, I felt a bit sick the entire time. Now the reason I decided to wrote this story, L.O.L. So, she already had a history of contacting people I knew with my account without me knowing. She'd even tried to ask for money from my aunt. Awkward, something too embarrassing for me to ever say happened. Anyways, when I got back she started saying the most ridiculous things, why didn't you take me with you? We could have both gone.

The reason I wrote this is because I still cannot word how shocked, disgusted that very idea made me. The embarrassment and horror if I had done so. How do you even word such a thing? I'd be like, I don't know a Karen. Know something else, just the very idea of doing such a thing of bringing her along. How do you even describe that l-ol? No really I want to know. That's why I wrote this L-O-L.

anyways this ended a month or two later with me finally confiding in my best friend from high school times. Honestly, she tried stalking me for a long while at the beginning of this year. She even used my last name with a random first name account to try harassing me. But otherwise nothing ever since. About a decade ago now, I was in an abusive weird relationship with someone. It started out her greeting me at a fast food place. I agreed to be friends, as needy for connection as I apparently was. I'd been a foster kid with abandonment issues, L.O.L.

Went through the classic manipulation stages, isolate, then showed self-harm scars to feel bad for her, talked about another friend of hers that's suddenly out of the picture, saying they were narcissistic sociopathic, etc. Now I'd like to preface, while I didn't know it yet I'm arrow slash ace I had no intention, nor compression of relationships in the romantic or sexual sense. Anyways I'll just blur the threats of self-harm, attempts at self-harm, actual self-harm, threats to me, actual harm to me, using knives and fists if I said no to sexual and intimate interactions. She also got physical if she thought I looked at someone else, never understood why she thought I did. She'd always sent bloody wrist texts to me, some faked

some real, while I was in class in my first job, and when I was studying. This lasted for my senior high school year, to my second semester at my first community college. This would send me into so many panic attacks. This lasted till my best friend from high school helped me cut her off, call an ambulance for her, which sent her to a PSYC ward, and block all contact. Many years later I learned that she harassed my best friend hard LOL. My friend was always a better friend than me T-B-H. Anyways, sometime in the middle of this, there was an off period. Where she said she wanted nothing to do with me, so I in panic of freedom blocked all contact. I'd already graduated high school, I was doing horribly Eath College, while first semester

was a large success I was failing second. Anyways I had learned my childhood friend was graduating, I hadn't seen her or her mom in a decade almost by that time. So, I got a greyhound slash train and went. Tbh I was running on depression panic fumes. The journey was interesting and fun, different. I got there to their state and received a large unfamiliar hug, I wish I could have said I adjusted and reconnected. But I didn't. I was very robotic, murky, confused. My brain wasn't

there I was disconnected. It was like I didn't exist, and yet apparently did. I tried to connect, but I always felt like I said something stupid. I was also terrified, she'd would contact or Harris my childhood friend. I didn't even think to confide or open up. They weren't the best, but they were all right. I still wish I could have connected. But it was like I wasn't conscious. It lasted a few months of me being up there. But then, she'd managed to contact me again. At first I ignored it, but then threats and promises came in one. I won't do any of that if you dash, blah, blah.

Eventually, I agrees. I didn't explain, I just suddenly said I was returning. Honestly, I felt a bit sick the entire time. Now the reason I decided to wrote this story, LOL, so, she already had a history of contacting people I knew with my account without me knowing. She'd even tried to ask for money from my aunt. Awkward, something too embarrassing for me to ever say happened. Anyways, when I got back she started saying the most ridiculous things, why didn't you take me with you? We could have both gone. The reason I wrote this is because I still cannot word how shocked, disgusted that very idea made me.

The embarrassment and horror if I had done so. How do you even word such a thing? I'd be like, I don't know a Karen. No something else. Just the very very thing. Just the very thing. You're not. idea of doing such a thing of bringing her along, how do you even describe that LOL? No, really, I want to know. That's why I wrote this LOL. Anyways, this ended a month or two later with me finally confiding in my best friend from high school times. Honestly, she tried stalking me for a long while at the beginning of this year. She even used my last name with a random first name account to try harassing me. But otherwise nothing ever since. Growing up, my parents had one unbreakable rule, never leave the house after 10 p.m. on December 15th.

No matter what. They wouldn't explain why, only that it was, for my safety. As a kid, I didn't question it. But as I got older, curiosity nodded me. Was it some weird family tradition? A superstition? A joke I just didn't get. Last year, I turned 18 and decided enough was enough.

I needed answers. My parents dodged my questions as usual, so I decided to find out for myself. On the night of December 15th, I stayed up late, pretending to be asleep until they went to bed. At 10.05 p.m., I grabbed my coat and snuck out the front door. The street was eerily quiet. No cars, no distant hum of TVs from neighbors' homes. Even the air felt wrong, thicker, heavier. It was colder than I expected, my breath visible in the dim light of the street lamps. I walked a few paces down the sidewalk when I noticed something strange, every single house had their curtains drawn tight. and not a single light was on. The entire neighborhood was in total darkness. It was as if

I'd stepped into a ghost town. I wandered farther, my curiosity outweighing my fear, until I heard it, a low, guttural hum. At first, I thought it was coming from the power lines above me, but as I moved closer to the park at the end of the street, the sound deepened, vibrating in my chest like a live wire. I froze, straining my ears. Then, I saw it. A figure stood in a park, tall and impossibly thin. Its limbs were unnaturally long, its skin a sickly gray that seemed to absorb the dim light around it. Its face, or lack thereof, was the worst part. No eyes, no nose, just a wide, gaping mouth that stretched impossibly far, emitting the low hum I'd been hearing. I ducked behind the tree, heart pounding. My mind raced, what the hell

is that thing? Why is it here? As if it could hear my thoughts, the creature's head snapped in my direction. I stifled a gasp as its body twitched unnaturally, jerking toward me in fits and starts, like a marionette pulled by an unseen hand. I bolted. My lungs burned as I sprinted back toward my house, the hum growing louder behind me. I didn't dare look back. My foot hit the porch, and I fumbled with the door, slamming it shut just as the hum crescendoed into an ear-splitting screech. Silence. I peeked through the peephole, but the street was empty.

No sign of the creature. My parents burst out of their room, their faces pale. You went outside, didn't you? My dad hissed, his voice trembling. I nodded, still gasping for air. It saw me, I whispered. My mom's face crumpled. You've marked us, they wouldn't explain further, only barricaded the doors and windows.

That night, I hardly slept, jumping at every creek and groaned the housemaid. By morning, I thought the nightmare was over, until I found a first sign. A deep scratch mark, running the length of our front door. The days that followed were a blur of paranoia. Every night, the hum returned, circling our house, growing louder with each passing evening. We couldn't leave. The thing wouldn't let us. My parents tried to keep me calm, but I could see the terror in their eyes. On the fifth night, the power went out. In the pitch black, the hum became unbearable, vibrating through the walls, shaking the floorboards. Then came

the whispers. Lo, incoherent murmurs that seemed to seat from the very walls. My parents held me close, their grip tight enough to hurt. Don't move, my dad whispered. No matter what you hear, don't move, and then the knocking started. It wasn't on the doors or windows, it came from inside the house. Slow, deliberate taps, moving closer and closer to the living room where we huddled. My mom began to sob quietly, and I felt tears streaming down my own face.

The whispers grew louder, the knocking more insistent, until, silence. The hum stopped. The whispers vanished. For a moment, I thought it was over, until I saw the thing standing in the hallway. It wasn't alone. Behind it were dozens of identical creatures, their mouth stretching wide in unison. The hum returned, louder than ever, as they surged toward us. I don't remember much after that.

I woke up in a hospital bed, my parents gone. The police told me there had been a break-in, but I knew the truth. They'll never find my parents. They won't find anything. It's December 15th again tonight, and I've barricaded myself in a motel far from home. The hum has already started, faint but growing louder. This time, I don't think I'll survive. Growing up, it was always clear that my sister, Emily, was the golden child.

She could do no wrong in my parents' eyes, while I was the one constantly being reminded of my flaws and shortcomings. It wasn't that I didn't love her, I did. But the constant favoritism drove a wedge between us that only grew with time. It started small. Emily got new toys for no reason, while I was told to make do with my old ones. If she wanted something, my parents would drop everything to get it for her, but if I asked for something similar, I was given lectures about the value of money and the importance of saving.

I tried to brush it off, convincing myself that it didn't really matter. After all, they were just toys, right? But as we grew older, the disparity and treatment became more apparent. When Emily turned 16, my parents bought her a brand new car, a shiny red convertible that turned heads everywhere she went. I had to take the bus or beg for rides from friends. When I finally got my driver's license, my parents handed me the keys to an old, beat-up sedan that had more rust than paint.

I was grateful to have a car at all, but the difference between what Emily got and what I received was glaring. It wasn't just material things either. My parents were always quick to praise Emily for her accomplishments, no matter how small, while my achievements were either ignored or downplayed. When I got into college on a partial scholarship, they barely acknowledged it. But when Emily was accepted into a mediocre school, they threw a party like she'd just been accepted to Harvard.

The final straw came when I started working part-time to save up for a trip I'd been planning for years. I was so excited to finally have enough money to go on this adventure. Then, one day, I came home to find my savings account nearly empty. My parents had taken the money to help pay off Emily's credit card debt. When I confronted them, they didn't even apologize. They told me that family comes first, and that Emily needed the money more than I did. I was furious, heartbroken, and felt completely betrayed.

But Emily? She was oblivious, or at least she pretended to be. She thanked me with a smile, as if I'd voluntarily given up my savings for her. That was the moment I realized that I could never count on my parents to treat me fairly. They had chosen their favorite, and it wasn't me. After that, I started distancing myself from them. I focused on my studies, worked hard, and eventually landed a good job in another city. I moved away, cutting contact with my family except for the occasional phone call or holiday

visit. Emily and I drifted apart, our once close bond now a distant memory. years later, when I had established myself and was living a comfortable life, I received a call from my parents. They were in financial trouble and needed help. Emily had made some bad investments and lost a significant amount of money. They asked if I could lend them some money to help her out. I took a deep breath, remembering all the times I had been overlooked, my hard-earned money

taken without so much as a thank you. I calmly told them that I couldn't help, that I had my own life and responsibilities. The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. For the first time in my life, I put myself first. It wasn't about revenge, it was about finally standing up for myself after years of being treated as less than. I hung up the phone, knowing that I had made the right decision, even if it meant losing the last ties to the family that had never truly valued me.

So there's this girl who I met let's call her Natalie, not her name, so I met Natalie on a app called House Party. It's an app where you meet people near you so me and my friend were in a room and I get introduced to Natalie and mind you I have never met Natalie prior. So we say what's up and I find out she lives in my city and me being me I start abusing her calling her out, you know just straight up violating her, but before we like leave I told her it's all jokes and everything and she's fine with it. So we meet a few more times again on the app eventually and of course she's a straight

ten like looks personality and everything she adds me on house party and asks for my snap and Insta and we start talking she even laughs when I make fun of her skip a week or two I've fallen in love with her she doesn't know because I felt like I was going to get rejected. So I promised myself that I needed to get her to fall in love with me and after five months we become best of friends, I had all of her secret. She had all of mine, and I told her, I said, by the way, I liked you back then she was shocked. She asked me when, and I was like a couple months ago. I didn't want to say I still do, but then she says, well, I also did, like you. And when I tell you my jaw dropped, I knew she still liked me, and the thing is I hated going

out. I liked staying inside my house, so we start FaceTiming and we start playing those sexual games and shit. And one day I was bored ASF and she was doing her makeup while on call and she was wearing almost a bra, but a crop top thing, and I was like, Dan, those titties making me horny, Emma, go bust a nut, she's like, okay, you want me to send you videos, I said that as a joke, but when she said that you know I had to act cool, so I was like for sure, so yeah, I got her nudes and shit, after a while I started watching those motovianal videos and shit, and I decided to delete Snap Instagram, everything even, House Party, but before I did, I told her that I was deleting them, and she was fine with it,

I moved out of the country and stayed in a different country for five months for some emergency stuff I reinstalled Instagram and decided to call her she didn't answer she calls me me an hour later and she was so happy to talk to me and we catch up I had my camera off because I got my haircut and I didn't really like it but by accident I clicked the camera button and it opened and she saw I quickly closed it but she already saw so I was like fuck it I open it up and she said wow you really had a glow up I was feeling myself after that we keep talking and she says once you come back we definitely need to hook up so I was even more happy we keep talking and stuff but eventually we stopped getting sexual with the question and the way we talked we started talking

about her and how her dates and how she didn't like him and how he looks so good, but she didn't want to date him because she's not ready. So every other day it's like that even when I compliment her eye, usually wouldn't get a reply or she would just say thank you, and then we stopped talking she would leave me on delivered for two days or so and I would make myself think that she's busy, but I would see her post on her story and it would usually be with friends partying or just chilling and my friend tells to just unad her and I did, but I couldn't get myself to keep her unadded and some of y'all might think that simping, but you wouldn't understand if you haven't fallen in love with a girl and not that fake love just for the looks type

shit but yeah i dm her on insta saying yo let me get you are snap chat she doesn't answer at all and a few days later i come back to the city and i call her i was like yo let me get you are snap and shit she said wait up let me call you back she doesn't ob and i sent her a message again saying let me get you are snap natalie she says bro i'm at work and i was pissed she can say that but not send me her snap username i call her number she doesn't have my number saved because i never gave her my number, but she sent me hers and I just saved it. But yeah, I called her up. She said, Who is this? I tell her and immediately she says, hold up, let me call you back in at work. She texts me, new number. I didn't answer. I tell her I'm back in the city. She says exact words,

yea, that's sick and that's where the story end. Tell me what I should do. Oh boy, I don't even know where to start with this. The higher-ups told me I needed to write up a report. I just got back, my PTO is soon, and my shift ended three hours ago. My name is Adam and this is my report about my team exploring, redacted. Remires and Amelia were assigned to my squad. As you know, Redacted, experienced their nuclear reactor blow up about 10 to 12 years ago. Never made news because the company that made it was already facing lawsuits for their faulty products. Had news gotten out, the company would have gone under due to all the damages and debt they would be stacked with. Can't have the big cats up there get arrested for making a town vanish and lives end.

Anyway, my team was sent over to, redacted, on, nah slash na slash nah. Our job was simple, take photos of the town in various rooms of the nuclear reactor facility. We were given some more advanced hazmat suits, a diger counter, a flashlight, a service weapon, and cameras. Photos were required, but videos even if they were short clips were also appreciated. We touched down via helicopter and would be picked up in six hours. I was glad I had taken a piss earlier because there was no way, I would be opening my zipper in an area with enough radiation to make my junk turn into a glow stick. I must say, there was something sort of comforting about having a simple pistol on me.

Not like we would have needed it, or I didn't think we would. We made our way into the town and started snapping shots of a few buildings. Get a nice wide shot of blown apart buildings here and close up shots of things like leftover bodies there. I will admit, I felt the need to sneeze a few times or rub a part of my body, but I didn't. I wasn't risking exposing my body to anything. The suit was sort of annoying as our masks were fitted with some thick air filters. We had access to two air tanks on our back should the filters go out. The Geiger counter going off in my ear every few minutes was pissing me off. To make things worse, I had to wipe ash off the eyes of the mask every so often. Should have negotiated sending a lead-covered drone in or

something. We were dumped off there at midnight. Being there from midnight to six in the morning was totally not the worst time frame ever. The town pictures were going fine, burnt and rusted cars, scorched clothing, and much more of the normal things you would expect. I sent Amelia to cover the insides of ruined homes. I then sent Ramirez to snap up cars and stores. I myself went ahead to the outside of the nuclear reactor itself. I have no idea what some of these fences were made of, but chunks were still standing with radioactive warning signs lying around. We were never given the full details of the explosion, but somehow the gold-old American construction held up leaving most of the facility intact.

The actual reactor was a blown apart concrete mess. I kept my distance from the metal sheets and anything else of that nature. I always imagined nuclear reactors being near a town for some reason. Nobody said it was actually next to a large-ass facility taking 20 damn minutes to cross on foot. Why was I on foot, you ask? Because the vehicle they gave us barely had gas in it. it and would probably burn out after a few miles. I took a lot of shots capturing the looks of the ruins.

Ramirez and Emilia would soon follow after me with enough time. We walked into the facility itself and started recording. I was really getting annoyed aiming my camera and snapping every inch I walked so I decided a chopped-up video tour of the place would do just fine. Hit record, move the camera, and let it do the work. There were a lot of stairs, metal walkways, and an empty environment. We took about two hours to document the place, we only got so far at a time as I wanted to read posters and get my hands on books that weren't incinerated, I even battled against the idea

of stealing a fully sealed work shirt. I convinced myself that a washer and dryer could get an entire decade's worth of radiation out of it. I decided against it in the end. Now let me tell you, it didn't hit me that we didn't see any corpses until we realized something was off too late. I think it was four hours in when we started hearing screeching and running around the place. I thought it might have been wild animals, you never know.

I was merely coping. To investigate we did the stupidest thing, we split up and covered more ground. I was too panicked to stay rational. After 15 minutes of searching and radio calls, we found out what was running around. Well, I meant that it found us. I was in the middle of using my flashlight to scan the area hallway when I heard a scream on my radio. Ramirez was in trouble and close by. I sprinted as fast as I could through those confusing halls.

That's when I saw it, a man in an older hazmat suit glowing with radiation. His suit was clawed open all over the place. He had gray skin, purple and black veins, a greenish glow to him, and the dark sunken eyes of someone who barely sleeps. I think his eyes were white as well, like a blind person. I didn't like those rotting bloody teeth either. I, being the absolute idiot I am, tried talking to him. I only noticed a patch on his suit that signified him as part of an older squad that had come to explore the area while the radiation had been more severe years back. This explains why they never came back.

All of them turned into mutated radioactive freaks. I was frozen in fear not able to take out my gun. Ramirez was fighting off two of them attacking him, most likely craving his skin and organs. The last thing I expected when we got here was irradiated zombies. I would snap out of it soon enough to put a bullet in the two. of them. Ramirez would say something that would only make sense after I had already done it. I quote, You absolute dumbass, guns make noise. That noise will echo through every hall drawing the rest of them toward us. In my defense, I didn't exactly have a melee weapon

or combat training. We had an hour and a half until Evac, and many of those freaks were waking up. This included the previous residents of this area. Seems that they had been mutating and roaming around for years. I believe this whole nuclear facility. was one big nest. Me and Ramirez made our way to a break room and had the plan of barring the door. Looks like Amelia had a similar idea as she was about to seal the door off when we got there. Ten minutes of holding the door closed as we dragged heavy appliances and furniture to block the door off later and we were safe. One hour and 20 minutes until Evac, a hoard of at least 25 of these, things, and a four-story dive out the window as, maybe, our only

possible escape. We spent quite some time discussing and even fighting. against ideas. One of them was taking the couch, getting on it, and dropping out the window with it hoping the cushions would break our fall. Yeah, not how physics works. We debated the dumpster that was near the window, but I had a fear that one of our limbs could hit the edge of the metal dumpster causing a bad break. Plus, the trash is nearly a decade old and has settled tightly. It might have had the density of a brick for all we knew. Don't ask how, but we found a way to make a phone case that allows the phone not to fry at certain radiation levels. That includes our cameras.

I tried sending off a report to H.Q. about our situation. I think we spent 30 minutes awaiting a response. Our genius scientists in the safety and comfort of their office chairs and cubicles a far distance away gave us the best, horrible, advice ever. Stay put where you are, and make a break for it before the copter touches down. So, we did just that. I did the calculations and realized it would take five minutes to break from the facility. about 10 to run from the facility to our car.

And then another five minutes of dodging and weaving debris to get to Evac. That was a total of 20 minutes, give or take with the five-minute grace period the helicopter pilot would wait for us. Our time would come and we would remove the things we used to block the door. I took the cameras and put them in my bag as the other two would be slowed down lugging them, we would still need to stay armed in case those radioactive freaks came back. The instant we opened the brake door we snuck our way around moving as far. fast but silent as possible. A few minutes later we got to the door. I had to push the

rusted metal doors open so that we get out. Those suckers were jammed up, different doors than the ones we came in through. One good kick and that sent a loud echo everywhere, we had those freak sprinting at us from everywhere. Before we could even step all the way out, Ramirez got snatched and taken away. I tried turning back to help him, but too many of them started chasing us. Amelia had already grabbed me anyway. We made our way to the car, or it was more like a doorless and roofless Jeep. Isn't that just convenient? I'm not sure if it was the radiation hitting the battery, or the horrible gas,

but I spent 30 seconds starting the engine over and over before we got the Jeep to start. I would pull out as fast as I could. I ended up rear-ending five of those bastards. That radiation must have given them superhuman aspects. I shit you not. Those freaks were catching up to us at a constant 45 miles per hour, Amelia, and I made our way to the Evac area just in time. We were late as I circled many buildings throwing the mutated freaks off our trail.

The pilot was a minute away from taking off before he saw us. I readjusted the bag holding our cameras on my side and hopped into the helicopter. Amelia stayed on the ground with her pistol out. We were running out of time as more of those freaks were on the way and getting closer. We didn't see that the side of her suit had been torn off, just bare skin with a large gash in her rib and side from not only a claw mark. but also a loose metal pipe sticking out of the wall she ran into when we had made our leave from the facility mere minutes ago.

That bare skin exposure, blood loss, and radiation hitting her made her choose to stay back and hold them off. I tossed her my pistol and would be the only remaining member of us three to make it out that day. I got one more picture before we left as we took off. Amelia wounded in using both guns to put down as many of those freaks as she could to give us a head start on leaving. I'm stopping my report here, you have enough data.

I was able to keep our cameras, just dig out the SD cards and go through our recordings and photos. Fill in the blanks yourself. I'm off to print out a photo of Amelia to post on the office wall to memorialize the hero she was. This is Adam signing off. P.S., I just found a small cut I got back in that radiation zone. I'm getting it checked out later today. Alex was always the prankster in our friend group, always coming up with wild schemes. If anyone could help me out of this mess, it was him.

I quickly texted him back. Actually, can you come over? I have a situation and could use your help. Bring your acting skills. The doorbell rang an hour later, and I raced to answer it before Holly or Nicholas could. When I opened the door, I saw a police officer standing at my doorstep. Oh my God, Alex, I looked at him with wide eyes. You're wearing the perfect costume.

I quickly stepped outside and closed the door behind me. What happened, Phoebes? he asked. I need your help getting rid of my relatives, I told him, still fascinated by his fake police uniform. They've completely taken over my house. I quickly explained the situation, and Alex agreed to help. Then, I opened the door and called out to Holly and Nicholas.

Holly, Nicholas, can you come here, please? There's a police officer who needs to speak with us. They were smiling when they came into the hallway, but their expressions immediately changed when they saw Alex in his uniform. Good evening, Alex said. I'm Officer Johnson. We've received reports of a break-in at this address. Can you tell me what's going on here?

Nicholas looked at me, squinting his eyes. Then, he puffed up his chest and slowly walked toward Alex. There's no break-in here, Officer, Nicholas said in a serious tone. We're family. Everything's fine. Officer, these people entered my home unlawfully, I said. I never gave them permission to be here. Alex nodded and then looked at Holly and Nicholas.

How did you gain entry to this residence, Alex asked. We, uh, we used a key, Holly stammered. Mom gave it to me. It was a, uh, spare key for emergencies. But no one asked my permission, I intervened. So, technically, you broke in. Who knows what might be missing? I see, Alex said, looking around the house.

And when the homeowner asked you to leave, did you comply? Now, hold on a minute, Nicholas said, his voice trembling slightly. We did. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave the premises immediately, Alex cut him off, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. Failure to do so could result in charges of breaking and entering, as well as trespassing. I wanted to laugh so hard watching Nicholas pretending to be a police officer. He was just amazing.

His last sentence was enough to send Holly and Nick. into a panic. We're sorry, Holly began. We'll pack up. They quickly began throwing their things into their bags. If you leave right now, Alex said sternly, I won't file charges. But you'll return the key and never trespass again. They didn't need to be told twice.

Alex and I watched in silence as they grabbed their kids and their bags and bolted out of the house. I finally laughed once their car sped away. You're a lifesaver, Alex, I said, shaking my head in disbelief. shaking my head in disbelief, coffee. Sure, he said as he walked in and closed the door behind him. I quickly made two cups of coffee before we sat in my now-quiet living room. I can't believe they just assumed they could live here, Alex said, shaking his head. I know, I sighed.

Part of me feels guilty, you know. Their family, after all. But I just couldn't let them freeload off me like that. You did the right thing, Phoebe, Alex reassured me. They can't just take advantage of you because their hairbrain scheme failed. I'm so glad you messaged me at the right time, Alex, I said, looking at my phone. I don't know what I'd have done without you. But why did you come dressed up like a police officer?

Oh, that, Alex chuckled, I was just messing around with friends, pulling pranks and all. I had no idea my costume would come in handy over here. What a coincidence, right? Yeah, I nodded. What a coincidence. As we talked, I couldn't help but think of the consequences of my actions. Had I done the right thing? Would this drive an irreparable wedge between me and my sister?

But then I looked around my living room. It was my space, and I had worked so hard for it. I thought about all the long hours and the sacrifices I'd made to buy a house and realized I couldn't let Holly and Nicholas just take over everything. I also realized it was okay to put myself first. It was okay to stand up for myself and not let people. people walk all over me. What would you have done if you were in my shoes? I was always close to my sister while growing up, but things changed after she got married. What happened between

us a few days ago was something I'll never forget. I'm Phoebe, 31, and I own a modest three-bedroom house. It's nothing fancy, but it's mine, and I'm damn proud of it. I've been paying it off for ten years now, working day and night to make those mortgage payments. I won't deny that I sometimes envy my friends living in their fancy apartments downtown, but then I remember that this place is mine. No landlord breathing down my neck, and no roommates leaving dirty dishes in the sink. Just me and my space. Now let me introduce you to my sister, Holly.

She's 38, a mother of two, and married to her high school sweetheart, Nicholas. We used to be close when we were younger, but things changed when she got married. She started focusing more on her new life, and I never blamed her. I believe she did what she thought was best for her. We drifted apart, but we were still on good terms. Or so I thought. Holly and Nicholas have always been the free-spirited types. They're one of those people who are always talking about quitting the rat race and living

life to the fullest. It used to drive me nuts when we'd get together for family dinners. Life's too short to be stuck in a cubicle, Phoebe, Holly would say, sipping her wine. You should travel more, see the world. I'd roll my eyes, some of us like having a steady paycheck and a roof over our heads, Holly. Nicholas would chime in, but think of the experiences. The memories. Yeah, well, memories don't pay the bills, buddy, I'd think.

I tried to tell them to be more careful with their money. They were always jetting off on last-minute trips or buying the latest gadgets, even with two young kids to think about. But did they listen? Nope. A few months ago, they actually did it. They sold their house during the market boom, thinking they'd use the profit to fund a year-long break to travel the world. I remember the conversation like it was yesterday.

We're doing it, Phoebe. Holly squealed over the phone. We sold the house. What? I nearly choked on my coffee. Holly, are you serious? What about the kid's school? Your jobs.

Oh, we'll homeschool them on the road. It'll be an education in itself. and we can always find work later. This is our chance to really live. I tried to talk some sense into her. I was really worried. Holly, have you really thought this through? Travel is expensive, especially with kids.

What happens when the money runs out? Don't be such a worrywart, Phoebe, she said, brushing off the concerns. We've got it all figured out. We'll stay in hostels, maybe do some volunteering for room and board. It'll be fine. It was not fine. Not at all. At first, their social media was full of pictures from nice hotels and fancy restaurants.

Living the dream, they'd caption every post. But within two months, those posts started to dwindle. The last one I saw was a grainy shot of them camping in some field, with a caption about embracing the simple life. Then, radio silence for a few weeks. I thought they were just busy enjoying their travels, unaware of what was really happening behind the scenes. One day, I came home from work, exhausted after a long day of meetings and deadlines.

All I wanted was to kick off my shoes, pour a glass of wine, and binge-watch some trashy reality TV. But as soon as I opened my front door, I knew something was off. There were shoes I didn't recognize in the entryway, kid-sized backpacks on the floor, and familiar voices coming from my living room. I walked in, and there they were. Holly, Nicholas, and their two kids. They were unpacking suitcases and boxes in MI living room. Holly, I blurted out, squinting my eyes as I looked at the mess in my living room.

What, what are you doing here? Oh, hi Phoebe, Holly chirped. Surprise. We're back. Back, I repeated. In my house. Then, Nicholas stepped forward, smiling like this was the most normal thing in the world. Yeah, we decided to cut the trip short, he said.

Turns out, full-time travel with kids is harder than we thought. And Mom gave us your spare key, the one you gave her for emergencies, Holly added. I knew you wouldn't mind us crashing here for a bit while we figure things out. It'll only be for a few months. A few months, I protested. Holly, are you serious? You can't just move into my house without asking me. But, we're family.

I thought you'd be happy to help us out. Happy, I could feel my cheeks burning with anger. Holly, this is my house. My space. You should have talked to me about this. Now, now, Phoebe, Nicholas interrupted. Let's not get too high and mighty here. Family helps family, right?

It's not like you're using all this space anyway. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Where did this entitlement come from? Why were they acting like what they did was fine? You guys need to leave. I said, crossing my arms on my chest. Now. But Holly refused. Meanwhile, Nicholas started subtly threatening me. Come on, Phoebe, he began, looming over me. Don't make this difficult. We don't have anywhere else to go. I was furious. If I called the cops, their young kids might

get dragged into it, and I didn't want that. I needed to come up with a plan, so I headed straight to my bedroom and locked the door behind me. At that point, I honestly felt like crying. I had no idea what to do until my phone buzzed. It was a text from my old college friend, Alex. Hey, feeds. In your area for work. Drinks tonight? In 2015, when I was in sixth grade, I went through a terrible phase. An older boy named Marcos, about 12 or 13 years old, wouldn't leave me alone. He knew everything about my life and had spies in my class just to feed him information. Markos wanted to control me at any cost, despite being in the seventh grade while I was in the sixth. Unfortunately, no adult at school helped. The coordinator even blamed me for the

situation, and I believe this happened because Marcos' family were politicians and well-off. Some teachers even tried to help Marcos get closer to me. I started eating lunch in the bathroom, unable to cope with it all. Marcos was an obsessive stalker, determined to be with me no matter how much I refused. He would touch me all over, harassing me, though he avoided my private parts. He spent the entire year pursuing me. Things got worse when I started receiving death threats from girls who liked Marcos, as he was the most sought after boy by girls my age. Melena, a girl who lived on the street behind mine, threatened me, saying that if I did anything against Marcos, her brother, who was a criminal, would break into my house. And she knew where I lived.

The situation became even more complicated when Marcos found out that Nicholas, a friend I had known since 2008, had a crush on me. Nicholas confessed his feelings to me just before recess, and I was shocked, not knowing what to say. Shortly after, Marcos threatened to kill Nicholas if I continued talking to him. I knew Marcos was truly dangerous and couldn't risk Nicholas's life. And the worst part, I was the only one who knew about this threat. I had to distance myself from Nicholas in a way that would convince Marcos. My life was being monitored, and any attempt to secretly warn Nicholas could be discovered. I made the worst decision of my life, I made Nicholas hate me.

I told everyone that I hated him too. I asked Sarah, the biggest gossip in the class, to pass a message to him. I knew she would spread it to everyone, including Marcos. In the message, I said I thought Nicholas was disgusting, rotten, that he looked like the devil himself, and that I had only made him like me for fun. I said these horrible things so he would believe I never cared and had no reason to come near me again. The plan worked.

Nicholas started hating me, and Marcos left him alone. But it cost me everything. The entire class started hating me, even the teachers. I was left alone and became the villain of the story. Back then, I didn't have a cell phone or social media, and I only saw my friends at school. There was no way to communicate with anyone without Marcos finding out. To top it all off, I was going to move anyway, but Marcos was so obsessive that he followed me until the last day of school and even repeated the year just to try to be in the same class

as me the following year. When I told him on the last day that I was moving, he made a huge scene, cried, threw himself on the ground, and promised he would find me again someday, even saying he would marry me one day. All this happened in Belford Roxo, at a large, green, evangelical private school in the Sao Jose neighborhood, in the state of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. This is very real and NSFW wasn't an option for a tag. It's not a funny or lighthearted story, just one hell of a ride. I, 23F, don't have much of a reason to share, other than to put this story out there. If you're cool with a bit of trauma dumping, I just feel that this period of time was absolutely crazy and

entertaining in the way true crime is. In high school, I have been getting decent grades and was studying for the MCAT. Accepted into university, on the dean's list, I was determined that my life would lead to pediatric oncology. I couldn't have been further off. I didn't have many friends in school. And, as the only girl sandwiched between two brothers, the friends I did have were predominantly male.

In my last month of senior year, an Army National Guard recruiter sat beside me at my lunch table, I had been sitting with my male friends, one of whom had recently enlisted, and started going around giving his speech to each individual sitting at our table. After going around and asking them what their plans were and how the Army would be good for helping them reach their goals, it got to me. But instead of asking me questions, he got up to leave. My ego, getting the best of me, caused me to call him back with, oh. Where are my questions?

Do I not seem like the Army type to you, obviously taken off guard, he turned around and told me I just seemed like I had a plan already. So I told him I think it's just that I seemed like a female. That I better get the same speech, and he'd regret not talking to me first. I'll be the best damn soldier he'd ever enlisted. My parents were not happy. I was effectively ignored at my house for two weeks, and by the time they'd started talking to me again, I had my final physical appointment before enlistment.

I'd scored one or two points shy of perfect on my exam, and my recruiter had been transporting me in their personal vehicle. If it needs to be said, that's extremely inappropriate. In the end, at the exam was the first time. I was told what my job would be, he'd chosen a female-dominated job that offered a 20k bonus, under the assumption I'd change it after becoming an officer. I was also told that day that it would be the day I signed my life to Uncle Sam. He didn't call my parents to be there, and my grandparents were the only ones contacted.

It broke my family's hearts. I spent the summer before basic training as a nanny for two kids, then shipped off and had an oddly great time in basic. I had been among the top scoring physical scores of the females, and held different leadership positions throughout that time. My job training is where my life began to spiral. All was well, difficult, but I loved a challenge. But in March of 2020, I accompanied a friend to the restroom, unless you finished the test that day, recruits were never supposed to be alone, where I noticed a pair of boots sticking out from the handicapped stall. I told my friend to run and

find an advisor as I unlocked the stall from the outside to find a female from a different class who must have been the only female who had finished the exam when she'd asked to go. She had her belt tightened and locked around her neck, lying on the floor with dried tears fading into her hairline. As fast as I could, I undid her belt and lifted her chin, when she let out the most horrifying breaths I'd ever heard. I held her head and threw the belt as far from her as I could as I tried to comfort her until help arrived. I stayed with her until EMS came to take her away, and my instructor gave her the belt back before she was loaded in. I was doing my best to be strong for her, my tears wouldn't help. Panicking wouldn't help, but my argument

with the instructor over giving her the object she'd used to attempt suicide resulted in my company being punished. For hours we ran and low crawled the field, and it wasn't until after I got to my barracks that I was allowed to call my mom and I broke down. I was offered no form of counseling or tools to cope. Classes continued as if nothing happened. The last time I saw that girl, she'd been forced to restart the course. And she had her belt around her waist. After I finished my training, COVID was in full force. I couldn't see any of my old support system, and I couldn't do much of anything. That was until a college friend, M., of an old H.S. friend, F., reached out and we'd become

friends. I was religious, waiting for marriage, and he had been telling me he was the same. So when schools opened back up, I helped move him into his dorm. We started hanging out, he was flirting with me, he kissed me, took me on dates, only to end up raping me. After the first time he pressured me into telling him that I was okay with what had happened. It took a half hour of my silence and his badgering before I could even nod. I had been going over there. I'd been flirting back. He was obviously joking when he was agreeing with my religious views, and this is just something adult friends did. I felt

robbed. My whole life I dreamed of only having one man get the honor of seeing me so venerable, and after that I did everything I could to keep my world together. I bought food. I got into some games he liked, I was willing to be whatever I needed to be for him to treat me the way he had before. He continued to get what he wanted for me physically, despite every time I said I just wanted to hang out. But as soon as classes started, he simply told me that there's a good chance he'll meet someone better and didn't feel like breaking up with me. So he wasn't interested. It wasn't a big deal and I was desperate in trying to manipulate him. I stopped working out. I stopped shaving. I moved into an apartment by myself after my parents

kicked me out for spending too much time with him. The army became my escape. I went to work in administration for the COVID response, making my schedule simply too hard for him to care to make time to see me. I became addicted to finding my value elsewhere. I, 19 at the time, worked so hard in a position I hadn't been schooled in that they trained me to be the leave manager for my state's operations. I worked night and day managing the vacation time of hundreds of soldiers, when a significantly older higher-ranking soldier, whose position in his unit was to help younger soldiers with administrative and personal issues, as well as encouraged them to re-enlist, grabbed me to slow dance as we were talking about finances in his office.

I pulled away and he grabbed the name tape off my chest and placed it back. Running his fingers back and forth warning me that he was going to do something stupid. I ran out, saying I had laundry to do, filed a report, and requested to transfer to the state headquarters. I still loved the work I was doing, but in a different city, I had nobody. The people around my age were officers, making a friendship would have jeopardized their career, and those in an appropriate rank were a minimum of ten years my senior, and I wasn't old enough to drink with them anyway. I got a pet hedgehog, and he was the only friend I had for those final seven months on orders. I tried making a friend online, they'd seemed nice. But the first time

we met ended with me dodging kisses only to get held down while he left me bruised and scarred for life. Not long after that I broke down and had to step away from my position. It had gotten to be too much. Once I was home, I was alone again. In an attempt to convince myself that not all men ate evil, I tried dating. I disclosed the basics of my sexual trauma and at the end of the date he refused to leave my home telling me that if I let some other man use me, what's the point of lying to myself

about purity and self-respect now? I sat in silence as he forced himself on me and fell asleep. I didn't realize that meeting that man would be the worst thing to happen to me. He never left. If I told him to he'd threaten suicide, and given my experience, it would throw me into a panic of trying to calm him down. He started smoking pot in my place, and eventually scream at me every time I refused to smoke with him.

It progressed into him living with me full time, not letting me sit in a room if he wasn't in the same room. I couldn't get out of bed until he was awake. The only escape I had were monthly weekends where I'd be sent pornography without the woman's face in frame and accused of being a cheating whore. Accused of sleeping with my entire unit. Accused of lying about my assaults just because they didn't work out in the end. I stopped eating and would throw myself against the bathroom counter after every sexual

encounter with him. He wanted a baby, I wanted to die. Every night hoping I would have eaten so little that I wouldn't wake up. Every day being called horrible names, even going weeks not being allowed to sit on my own furniture. I'm a bitch. Dogs aren't allowed on the couch. I finally convinced him to let me go see my family for Thanksgiving. During a family game, he texted me that a best friend of his that I'd never heard of had died. I didn't see the text right away, and since he had no qualms with calling me to tell me I'm worthless, I said I'd finished the game with my family and find an

excuse to leave. The next day, he started throwing clothes on me while I was sitting on the couch. He said I couldn't be there for him, I wasn't good for anything, but maybe I'd I'd feel more useful as a coat rack. He then told me he wished the first time he heard my name was as a death announcement on the news. I should have killed myself so he'd never have to meet me. I just said I'm sorry, and he ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. I sprinted to the back room and tried holding the door shut, but when he kicked a hold through the door, I knew I wouldn't be able to hold it for long, so I swung the door open

and held it for a second with my foot as I scooted back against the wall. There, I was given two options. I could take the knife and stab him, since I was the reason he wanted to die and I needed to feel my impact on him. Or, he'd stab me and position me so I'd see him end his life as I bled out. For over a half hour it was a standoff of me trying to talk him down and him stabbing through tables, carpet, anything he could to show that there were only two ways this would end. He got impatient and started slowly coming at me, so I asked for the knife.

I didn't want to die. He called me some name and put the knife on the ground while I crawled over to it. I don't remember how I got to be so bruised, I'm certain I was hit but the fight before was a blur, and I just knew I hurt. I grabbed it and backed up a little closer to the door, asking if this is really how it had to end. Before he could answer I ran. He caught me and threw me into the bathroom where we rested over the blade, and I somehow managed to trip him into the tub after he got the knife back.

I ran to the door, grabbed my keys off the table and out of the apartment as fast as I could. No phone. No shoes. I ran until I found a wonderful man walking his dog and I cried to him asking to call an ambulance. I thought that he'd just hurt himself now that I was gone. The police came instead. They took my statement and tried to make contact, but he was refusing to open the door.

My cat and my hedgehog were still in there and I drove to my parents in a horrible state. That eventually got him out, I was able to collect my animals, and he spent two weeks in jail before getting out on bail. But he was under no contact. So I felt safe. My parents just pressured me to start school or working, so I decided I'd just go back to where I had everything I owned for a little while until I was able to collect myself. And then he came back.

I should have called the police, but I was too terrified. So it just went back to the horrific normal I was used to. The knife threats were my fault. I should have been there to support him. He said everyone we knew agreed and thought I was horrible for calling in the first place. I got back into my habit of just paying the bills, never allowed to work, and he cleared and blocked every contact I had. Forced me to put passwords in to delete every social platform, and I was alone again. He escalated into hiding my keys before military obligations, telling me that bringing makeup to hide blemishes,

even the red dots on my face or the marks on my neck from being choked, made me a whore and I wasn't allowed to wear it outside of his presence. August 8, 2022 was the day I got back from one of my trainings. I was exhausted. The one night I was gone, I was on the phone convincing him that the random girl in a porn video wasn't me, and I just got to my apartment and sat with my cat and my hedgehog sleeping on my lap. As I was about to take a nap myself, he took Timothy, my hedgehog, and said he seemed tired. I nodded and assumed he'd throw him into his cage where at least he'd be safe and able to take a nap. I got up for my nap and went into the bathroom to find the tub full of hot water with my little boy

floating with his head under the water. I'd never screamed the way I did that day. When I tried CPR his nose just gushed with blood and water, and he was warm but frozen in his position. I rushed him to the emergency vet, but it was too late. I told them I think he'd only been in there a short time, since he was still warm and my boyfriend would supervise him while he swam for exercise. But I'd been sleeping. Over the next three days he slowly admitted that he'd run the water as hot as he could to, wake Timmy up because he's lazy, even though hedgehogs are nocturnal. He didn't check the temperature. It was when he told me he'd just thrown him from the door into the tub and shut the door that it finally came together. He'd complained

about how much I loved Timothy. How I loved Tim more than I loved him. He killed my boy. I grabbed my phone and called 911 as he sprinted out of my home, knowing he wasn't supposed to be there. This man that blew smoke in my face when he knew I had training, the man that got me humiliated and demoted in my unit. The man that screamed at me for going outside without permission had killed the first thing I had that loved me unconditionally. And I let Timothy down. The police did a perimeter search, and didn't find him. I begged them to check my garage. Sure enough, there he was. Ready to do God knows what when I went with my cat to drive away. They let me get to my car, but said that since his belongings were in the apartment, I needed to let him stay in there

alone to collect his things until his friends could get him. Four months he texted from four numbers. Ranging from begging for forgiveness to calling me terrible names for abandoning him. After a lot of legal trouble, I got him to stop contacting me, but he wasn't really reprimanded legally for the whole knife incident. They claimed I'd threatened to kill myself and it sent him into a psychotic episode, so really it's my fault. I was too much of a coward to go testify and defend myself.

That man is free. He walks the streets of my city, and I'm sure he'd be happy to know that now I'm medically retired with a minimum of 70% disability for the culmination of PTSD and anxiety from both him and my service. I have representatives fighting for me thinking I deserve higher compensation. My unit had been lying about my weight loss on paperwork. They'd hear my phone calls being screamed at without telling me there are safe haven rooms for me at my local armories.

They send me back every month without so much as checking in on me. I had to omit much of the physical abuse and destruction of my property, or else this would have been even more obscenely long. I'm now working through figuring out medications that let my heart beat at under 100 BPM when I'm awake and wake up with being surrounded in a puddle of my own sweat. Now I'm with a real man who supports me

and is so incredibly patient. He doesn't even bat an eye when I'm freaking out over the safety of one of our now four cats. Every day I'm working to make a happy ending for myself. Because that's how all good stories are supposed to end. If you actually read all of this, I'm sorry for taking so much of your time. I hope you're safe.

I hope you're healthy. And if you ever need anyone to talk to, I'm working on rebuilding any semblance of a social life again and my PMS are always open. The character development of hardship is overrated. Thank you for your time. When I was 16 years old, I committed my first serious crime in Russia.

It was planned as a theft, but as it happened, the worst came to worst and it became a robbery. We wanted to steal firearms, AK-47, and perhaps some grenades from a local military base. We had a tip off that there was poor security, so it was relatively easy to execute. To make a long story short, we got busted and I was sentenced to two years in prison by 158 and 161 paragraphs, others got nine and 15 years consecutively. Given the unusual circumstances of the crime, I was sentenced to a so-called special regime.

The special regime, also known as a striped one because of the particular kind of uniform that prisoners were supposed to wear, deep blue and gray instead of a regular black, is extremely harsh to endure, even in juvenile prison. In this special regime, prisoners are held in real prisons, not in camps where conditions are much milder. The prison in Russia is nothing like a prison in, say, the USA. In the Soviet Union, recidivist criminals were given the maximum sentence of 15 years with the first 10 years in prison, which was a death penalty in suspension. The term in prison would almost certainly guarantee that the convict would get tuberculosis sooner or later, something that happened to me, too. So, as I said, conditions in

prison were excruciating. Prison guards regard those convicted to a special regime as incorrigible, per se, the worst of the worst, irredeemable, who have nothing to lose. And the treatment of inmates was in accordance with this perception. There were four to six people in one cell. We woke up at six o'clock and after that, we weren't allowed to sit or, God forbid, lay on a bunk during the day. It was even dangerous to approach it. When a guard would come up to a cell and open the first metal door, we were supposed to run to the nearest wall, bending as much as possible, head close to a wall, hands extended over the head with palms outward, leg stretched.

In this position, we would each give a report, that is, what I was convicted for, my sentence, and so forth. Then, the orderly of a cell would give a general report on the condition in the cell. We would do this there four times a day, quite the same procedure. We were allowed to go outside in a yard. The yard was the same concrete box with a grill above. We were allowed to promenade there for 1.5 hours, but some prisoners would usually refuse to go out, because of beatings. The thing was, coming out of a cell was a hard procedure.

Handcuffs, at least four guards, and a guard with a dog. So the guards were generally reluctant to escort us to the yards, so they would beat us in the corridor, with batons. So many prisoners choose to file rejection. with ridiculous reasons why they do not want to get out. In our cell, there were six individuals. There was one full open queen, a downcast, or a rooster, who was convicted for multiple episodes of rape.

He raped two girls five and seven years old. He was somewhat mentally retarded as I could judge. His sobriquet was Medusa, a jellyfish, and guards were usually trading him from cell to sell in exchange for tobacco and tea. Of course, there were some prisoners who tried to maintain some sort of a thief law, even in such conditions. They were frequently tortured and put in a hole. The hole was a small cell with a window without a windshield, very damp, and with chlorine

scattered on the floor. Ideal conditions for tuberculosis. I used to be in this cell for several days for an unbuttoned top button and for a mistake during a regular reporting event. I was also thinking about writing a little bit on the psychology of an average NPC, that is, so-called native prison citizens, as they call themselves. Who are they? Are they regular convicts?

By no means. Regular convicts are called Majeks. Mijeks represent the vast majority of the prison population. But for those of whom we are going to talk here, they are friars all the same. By friars I mean everybody who is not of those who represent a separate caste, Blatney. But who is Blatnoy? A vagabond, as they usually call themselves. A Blatnoy is necessarily a professional criminal who lives in and out of jail and considers a prison as a home.

Well, the same could be said about many criminals who reside in prison. The fact that one perpetrates various crimes on a regular basis and gets in prison still doesn't make one a Blatnoi. Blatnoi is a status in the prison hierarchy. They do not call themselves Blatnoy, but if somebody in camps says, we got to solve this problem through Blatney, everybody understands what he means. So, Blatnoi is by no means an average criminal. The set of mind of a regular criminal is the set of mind of a saint in comparison with an average Blatnoy.

Blatnoy could say about himself, yes, I am a scoundrel, so what of it? I do not live up to the standards of your world, the moral of your world is not one of mine. It is a totally perverted view of the world. Blatnoi doesn't have any regret or remorse for what he has done, his crimes he considers as valor and prowess. Normal human emotions and concerns are unknown to a typical blater.

Blader, or Pac-on, is like a father in the prison world. He counts the prison as his home, so he has a right to act. accordingly. In our prison, in an adjacent cell, a few Blatney got hold of a small dog and slept with her, using her like a woman. It is hard to conceive that such thought can come to mind to a human being, but Blatnoy has nothing to do with a human. The most atrocious acts I have ever seen in prison were done by Blatney. Extortion, coercion to homosexual acts, beatings, the most vulgar language, constant cheating, snitching, all this was done by Blatney. There is an opinion that Blanties are simply mentally deranged people and therefore must be confined to special psychiatric hospitals.

Nothing to argue with. Blatneys are all hysterics and psychopaths. A proverbial Blatnois spirit, the ability to hit the ceiling and go hogwild is an integral part of it. Being a sanguine is pretty rare among them. One young convict who just came to prison doesn't know much about it. He sees guys, very conspicuous in appearance. Tattoos ring on fingers, a special kind of clothing nothing like other prisoners.

where, waddling, an ineffable manner of talking. This unfledged youth sees them, and he sees that they are living like kings, they have authority, and all the people around are scared of them. He wants to be like them, badly, he starts to imitate them. Gradually, he succeeds in it. Lo and behold, he almost learned offengea, prison language. His face has acquired this indescribable impudent sneer, and when he is talking, he tries all manners of this particular kind of gesticulations that he has seen so often Blatney's are performing. He learns to be a professional gambler, that is, a professional sharper. It is highly esteemed among Blatneys.

Be able to overdo your opponent in cheating, and be able to expose his cheating, and you will get respect. What he doesn't understand is that it is all a big lie. Blatnoi world is an evil world that does not forgive a weakness. About this, I will write later. The trench was soaked, the mud clinging to everything, and the rain fell relentlessly, a constant reminder. that we were stuck in this nightmare.

The war had turned into a blur of exhaustion, blood, and gunfire. Days merged together, and I had lost count of how many men had disappeared into the dark. It was the third night in a row that I'd heard the whispers. At first, I thought it was the wind. But it wasn't. The voices were too distinct, too real. They murmured words I couldn't make out, distant, hollow, almost like they were coming from beneath the earth itself. At first, I tried to ignore them, thinking I was losing my mind from lack of sleep.

But they grew louder, insistent. Help us, I looked at the others. Thompson, Jenkins, and the rest of the squad sat huddled together, trying to keep warm, their eyes glazed with exhaustion. They didn't hear anything. I was sure of it. The whispers grew louder that night. I could feel them pressing against my skull, clawing their way into my thoughts.

Help us, we're still here. I gripped my rifle, my palms slick with sweat, my mind racing. Who's there? I whispered into the darkness. No answer. Then, from the fog ahead of me, a figure appeared. A soldier, or at least what looked like one. His uniform was torn and stained with mud, his face pale, eyes wide, as though he had seen things no one should ever see. I called out to him, but he didn't respond. He just stood there, swaying slightly, his breath ragged. I took a step forward.

Hey. Are you, before I could finish, his head snapped to the side with a sickening crack. I froze, the air thick with dread. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. The whispers were louder now, coming from him, from every inch of the earth beneath me. They're coming for you, then, without warning, he collapsed, his body twitching, jerking unnaturally on the ground. I stumbled back, my heart pounding, but before I could even take another breath,

I saw more figures emerging from the mist. Soldiers, our own, or what used to be. Their eyes were empty, their faces twisted in agony, bodies jerking with grotesque movements. The whispers grew deafening, echoing from all sides now. You can't escape, I ran, not looking back. But as I turned, the trench was gone. The forest was gone. The battlefield, gone.

The fog had swallowed it all. And when I looked down, I realized I wasn't running anymore. I was standing still, surrounded by the dead. The whispers had found me. And now, I was one of them. I, Liam 35M, am married to my wife, Jennifer 35F, for the last 11 years. We met at the tail end of college, and never looked back. We dated for a year, had a four-week engagement and got married.

Our marriage has been pretty spectacular. It's not perfect, no one's is. We have our arguments, we get heated sometimes, but we are better at this marriage thing after being together for 12 years than we ever have been. Over the course of this time, we have gone on a lot of adventures and have quite a bit of savings. Just before our 10th anniversary we had the discussion about having kids. We've both agreed that one kid was enough. We also talked about when should we start.

The consensus was that we should have one more child-free year. In this year we would hit a lot of those bucket list items. We went skydiving, finally took that trip to Italy that was our dream vacation. We also did some typical things like a beach vacation and a couple amusement parks. Our year wasn't just about us together, we also took some effort to do more with friends and each reconnected with some old friends. We didn't have bachelorette slash bachelor parties so we joked this year was our last year of freedom before we had kids. It was on our 10th anniversary, before this year of freedom. That our decisions would end up causing us the turmoil we're experiencing today.

To give some background, my wife and I have always had a great bedroom life. We're both high libido and are into a lot of the same things. We are both aware that we each had a very active past prior to getting together. Nothing crazy crazy, we each just had around a dozen partners prior to getting together and we each had some special experiences back in college. Since getting together, though it's been 100% just us. We planned a big day of activities for our 10th anniversary and had a lot of fun, it culminated in a fancy dinner and getting a suite at a nearby, nice hotel.

During dinner my wife started asking me questions because she wanted to reminisce about our years together. This was really fun actually and we had a long, deep conversation about a lot of our favorite memories. Then my wife asked me, what's something you miss about being single? I replied, don't get mad at me but, one night stands. She laughed, which made me feel better, and said, yeah, I kind of do too. This got the ball going on us talking about what we liked about an ONS, and reliving our first night together, our relationship started as a post-party hookup. That's when I said, well, we've got all these plans for this year coming up,

do you want to add a one-night hall pass on the list? My wife looked intrigued, she said, maybe, you don't think that's too much. We've never done anything like that. I kept going, I don't think so, we can talk about it more this week and then decide. She agreed and we enjoyed the rest of our night. We talked more about the hall pass idea later in the week. We ultimately decided to do this, we had one year to use it,

as we had agreed on our 11th anniversary Jennifer would be going off birth control. There were ground rules, it was to be a one-night-only pass-off marriage with someone not in our lives. Be safe and smart. Must tell the other when you are using the pass. It can be in the moment like a chance meeting, but a text heads-up at minimum was a must. Over this past year we did all the adventures we planned. I got on the apps and put myself out there looking for a single ONS. It took a few months, but I lucked out and met an attractive 30-year-old.

years old woman. Her and her husband were opening their marriage. She wasn't sure what she was wanting out of their arrangement yet, and thought just having a quick one-nighter would be a way to get her feet wet and figure herself out. I was like the perfect candidate as one night was all I was offering. We met, it was a fun and exciting night. I was able to tell Jennifer ahead of time, she was excited for me, and when I got back the next day she reclaimed me. I figured it wouldn't be long before she used hers. I was wrong. Over the year I had asked her if she had any luck finding someone for her HP. She said, no, no one has stood out for me, the profiles I see are just not appealing, maybe it's me.

We had some talks and she was looking for a younger guy, maybe around 25. She said there are a lot of single guys on, but they always came off as arrogant or immature. It wasn't until we were almost 11 months in that she said she was ready to use her whole pass. I had gotten to the point I was feeling guilty about using mine, thinking maybe she reconsidered and wasn't going to use hers at all. So when she told me she was ready, she also said it was a special situation, and wanted to know if she was still inside our rules, because she wasn't going to break those. She told me for the last three months there's been a 23-year-old intern, Wes, in one of the other departments at her company. They interacted some but just about work

as her department and his often had to collaborate. She had been attracted to him, even more so after figuring out he wasn't an idiot, but new co-workers were bad choices. On top of that he could potentially be hired at the end of his internship and that's a big HR no-no. A few days ago Wes came in and put in a notice that he would be ending his internship, as he had been hired for a full-time position in the same field at another company. Their office was all the way across the city so it would be unlikely for them to be bumping into each other. She wanted to know if this was, out of our lives, enough.

I told her it sounded fine to me, just be safe and smart. She said she would, she wasn't going to proposition him until after his last day was over. Fast forward a week and the day was here. At the end of the day as Wes was leaving and had said his goodbyes to everyone. My wife told him she would walk him out. He thought that was weird. When they got to his car she propositioned him about having a night of fun together. She told him she had one hall pass for one night and would get hotel for them if he was interested.

He was very interested but also wasn't sure if it was true and didn't want to get involved in a marriage. My wife put me on a face-time call and the guy asked if it was. real. I told him, yeah, I already used mine, you're her pick, so it's up to you. Jennifer told me he was very excited at that point. He followed her to a hotel and she came back the next morning, where I returned the favor by reclaiming her. The next few weeks clicked by, and our 11th anniversary got here. That day she stopped her birth control. About two weeks later my wife was pregnant, which we thought was oddly quick. We booked an appointment and learned today that she is actually about seven weeks. This lines up perfectly with her hall pass use, but we also have

been having sex often around that time, including the next day. So now I have no idea what to do. She's pregnant, and there is a chance it's not mine. I'm so stressed out. She said she needed to go for a walk to clear her mind. I'm just sitting here stewing trying to figure out what I should do while waiting for her to come back. This is a total mess. Part two, the baby is here. I'll start by filling you in on all that happened with my wife, Jennifer, and I, Liam. After my last post I was waiting for Jennifer to come back from her walk. We had a long talk. I asked her if she used a condom when with Wes, she said, no, that didn't even cross my mind. I was noticeably flabbergasted by that revelation, and had a bit of a snap, what the hell happened to, safe and smart, dot. Jennifer, is that

what you meant by that, I thought you just meant make sure they're not a psycho. I was on the pill. know why you're snapping at me, you know I've never made anyone use a condom before, why the hell would I think to do that now? Me, really, Jennifer, I don't know, maybe because you're not 21 anymore and I thought you'd want to not get an STD. Jennifer, started to tear up, I didn't want anything like this to happen, I'm sorry, I really just didn't think about it. I mean, did you use condoms during your pass? Me, yes. All three times, like better safe than sorry. I paused, I'm going to ask some things I never planned on asking, how many times did you two? She looked up, eyes pointed up like she was thinking, five. God damn, I followed up, so he finished in you five times. She said, no, just twice.

I gave her a blank stare and she said, I told him the same thing I always tell you, and everyone before you. I just matter of factly said, you can finish wherever you want. Of course you did. At this point she started to cry, what do you want to do? I responded, I don't want to to do anything right now, we should look into paternity tests just so we know. A couple weeks later we had a follow-up. Jennifer asked about the birth control failing and the doctor asked several questions. We figured out that the prescription athlete's foot med she had been on may make birth control less effective, though that is rare.

Not rare enough apparently. Afterwards I asked if the pharmacist said anything her when she picked up the script, and she said, I don't know, I wasn't really listening. I'm also not surprised by this, I found the bottle and yes it had a birth control warning on it. I was about to ask about paternity tests when Jennifer cued me not to. When we left I asked her why and she said, I don't want to spoil my pregnancy, it's probably yours. We had sex twice as many times around then, but if we get the test and it's not yours, she, teared a little, well, this is the only time I'm going to be pregnant, I'd rather believe I'm carrying your child than someone else's,

I don't want to give that up. We've agreed we're keeping this baby, you've told me you don't want to separate, can we just get the test done when the baby's here? I agreed, I wanted her to, enjoy her only pregnancy. We did all the normal things over the remaining months. Got all the stuff for the nursery, the car essentials, and stocked up on diapers. We made plans, got a go bag ready, and I baby-proofed the house the best I could. Our parents are extremely excited, they threw us a baby shower. The pregnancy was relatively smooth and after 39 weeks, our beautiful baby girl, Willow, was born. As we were there in the hospital, Jennifer asked me if I'd like to get that paternity test while we're still here. I told her, no, I don't care anymore. This perfect girl is mine, I don't need a

test to tell me that. I'm her dad, she's my girl. Jennifer was so happy, I think it was what she always wanted to hear. We're going to take this baby home tomorrow, and just enjoy every moment we have ahead of us. Besides, the likelihood this ever comes up again is pretty slim. Part 3, 22 years I made a couple posts detailing the issues surrounding my Liam 58M, wife's, Jennifer 58F, pregnancy. Since I doubt anyone remembers, the short of it was we gave each other, Hall passes. My wife used hers, and was having sex with me around that time. Her birth control failed and she became pregnant. We were torn about what to do, we're always keeping the baby, but knowing it was possibly another man's child caused us quite a bit of heartache. Ultimately, we decided to not

get a paternity test and just raise our daughter together. Our daughter, Willow 22F, is a senior in college now. She always comes home on extended breaks and over the summer, which is easy because her university is only about an hour from here, it's the same one we graduated from. She is fantastic young woman with a bright future. This year she asked if she could bring her boyfriend, Woody 20M, of the last nine months home with her. We agreed. The night they got home we had a big dinner made for them. It was going along really nicely, and we were getting to know Woody. He seemed like a really good kid. He was actually from Oregon. His grandparents lived near the university, as this is where his mom and dad were originally from. He came to college here because

it's where his dad went and to be around his grandparents. He was asking us questions too, and it was good until he asked my wife where she worked at and what she did. When she told him, he said, oh cool, that's what my dad does. Woody then proceeded to tell her that his dad actually interned at my wife's company before getting a job at their rival. Then he got promoted and sent out to Oregon. I watched as my wife got noticeably alert during this conversation, and then it hit me like a truck. I luckily did not fall over or blurt anything out. My wife then said, Woody, is that a nickname or were you named after the actor? He chuckled, sort of, it's my last name, Woodson, my first name is actually Josh, but my friends have called me Woody since middle school because,

you know, when you're 12 that's hilarious, I just embrace it. My wife was starting to sweat, and can I ask, what was your dad's name? Maybe I remember him. Woody, Wesley Woodson, most people call him West though. I wanted to pass out. But we played it cool, Willow did ask if something was wrong but we said no, and changed the subject. They wanted to play Mario Party 30 with us, so we did. Afterwards they headed off to Willow's room and we sprinted into ours. What the fuck? I exclaimed.

Jennifer, I know, I know, what are the odds of that, of all the people in the world she could meet and fall for, oh my God, oh my God, she might be fucking her brother. Me refusing to pull my head from the sand. Are you sure? They might not be doing that yet. My wife looked at me, seriously. She tells me everything. I normally shelter you from this because you can't handle it, but we're going to have to

grow up to get through this. She's just like we were in college. They've been doing it since the first date, he's far from her first. I need you to quickly come to terms with this. I am actively pretending I didn't hear anything she said, my head is going back in the sand when this is over. We realized, we can't just a man she breaks up with him. She will absolutely question that. Also, we know she really likes him, maybe in love with him. She's getting towards the end of college and that's when life decisions get made, we can't just sit here and hope the relationship runs its course. Now we have to make decisions. We realize we need to get that paternity test.

This will also raise questions. So we have to talk to Willow, and tell her the reality of the situation, because she is a strong-willed person and is not going to just go along with anything without answers. We talked her into sending Woody onto his grandparents a half day early. It was an awkward day and half for us, but we did our best to not let them notice. Then we told her the whole deal, as discreetly in non-traumatizing as possible, about the Hall passes, and Wes, and our decision to not get a paternity test. Willow looked like she wanted to throw up.

She was so mad and disgusted. I can't blame her. All in one moment she found out she may not know her biological father, but also that she may be in a sexual relationship with her half-brother. We got the test done and are now waiting the five or so days to get the results back. Willow is faking an illness to avoid visiting Woody and keeping him from coming back here. They are still talking, but she seems sad, her somber tone is helping with the sick ruse. She is just hoping that the tests come back with me as her father.

I'll update when they get here and everything is settled. I feel so terrible about everything that has happened. It's been a month and I think the dust is finally starting to settle. I'll get right to the million-dollar question. Willow was not my biological daughter. She took it really hard. Not just that I wasn't her father, but this also meant she was having a relationship with her half-brother. It was a devastating discovery.

We invited Woody back over. He got really nervous when he saw that Willow was crying. That is when we told him the story, about Jennifer and Wes. How we never got it tested and it was a one-in-a-billion chance that him and Willow find each other. He was distraught, he got angry, and stormed out. He came back later on, and had his dad, Wes, on the phone. We talked and I revealed that my daughter was biologically his. He remembered my wife and his night with her.

He couldn't believe it. He said he would get on the first flight here. In the meantime Willow was not accepting of this and wanted proof that they were brother and sister. Saying, this test just says you're not my father, not that his dad is mine, how do you know mom didn't cheat? I volunteered to get them DNA tested. I knew what it was going to say, but if it gave her a few days of hope I was willing. Woody agreed and we got the test sent that day. His parents arrived the next day.

We showed them the results stating Willow was not mine. We also told them we tested the two youths to see if they were brother and sister. Woody's mom was upset we got him tested without their permission and felt like we were taking to many liberties with her family. She said, you already dropped a bomb that my husband has a secret child, and now you're just doing what you want with our son. I understood where she was coming from, we were definitely disrupting their peace. Wes and Willow took a paternity test that day and got it in the mail.

The Woodson's went to stay with their family. We stayed home and tried to work through everything as a family. We made an individual counseling appointment for Willow, and a family therapy appointment for all of us. It was a tough few days. When we got the results back from Willow and Woody's test we called the Woodson's. They had just received the paternity test, and were going to come over and over and over it with us."

They arrived and I opened the DNA test. Willow and Woody were not siblings. There was a sigh of relief amongst everyone there. I looked at my wife, my mind was racing. She had the most confused look on her face, which gave my rising anger pause. I was not prepared for what happened next. Wes opened his results, and they confirmed he was the father of Willow. He said, this doesn't make sense, how can I be her father and them not be siblings?

I understood right away. As the will turned in his mind I could see obvious pain in his eyes. He turned to his wife, who had a defensive and angry look. She began going off about the tests had to be wrong, how this is all some trick, that we want something from them, and that we are scammers. Her rambling confirmed everything. In the week since Willow and Woody have broken up, but are remaining friends. Those two have been through way too much and way too short of time.

They are supporting each other through all of this. She has informed me that Wes has dug deep into their entire lives. He has uncovered some truly horrible and undeserved truths. His wife has been cheating and having affairs since they were engaged. Woody's younger brother, who is 14, is also the product of infidelity and has a different father than Woody. To really twist the knife though he found her Reddit account, where she was highly active in our adultery.

Lots of posts and comments by her celebrating her affairs and all the ways she pulls it off. her talking about how great Wes is, and that she's just a cake-eater out, living life to the fullest. He has already begun the divorce process, and the pre-nup his parents forced him to get is going to be a lifesaver. Wes called me today and asked about forming a relationship with Willow. He has a lot of mixed feelings about it all, especially being in the dark for over 20. Years, but says he understands. I told him it would be her decision. We are still doing family therapy and working through all of this for Willow. She's holding up pretty well, though.

I don't know where we all go from here, I guess only time will tell. I, Seth 27M, have been married to my wife, Madison 26F, for two years. We have been together for four years. I wouldn't say anything about our relationship had been, extraordinary, in the grand scheme of things. We met through a mutual friend and just clicked. We dated for like 18 months, then moved in together and got engaged. We had a typical small wedding six months later. For the first two years of our marriage, everything seemed fine.

We have both been focused on our careers and are doing pretty well. We still make time for each other and go on dates often. Four or five months ago, she landed a managerial position in her field at a different company. One week later, she asked me for an open relationship. I was completely blindsided by that. We have never talked about anything like that before. When I asked her this was coming from, she talked about some married coworker named Abigail that is in an, open, open relationship.

Madison and her have been talking about this since her third day working there. She starts trying to sell me on this with all these bullet points. Bring us closer together, new experiences, take our sex life to the max, meet new people, etc, etc, etc. On initial approach I was completely against this. I still am, yet I find myself in this stupid situation. When I first rejected it, she just accepted that and we moved on with our night. She didn't stop, though, she brought it up again, and again.

In addition to just casual mentionings, she also began sending me stories out of R-slash-nonogamy and our slash open marriage. These were all cherry-picked stories, and when I started exploring the subs on my own and sending back horror stories, she stopped doing this and said, we shouldn't be basing our marriage adventure on someone else. She also became super-wife. Picking up my favorite snacks, doing more housework, trying to initiate sex all the time. I enjoyed that, but at the same time it's not as much fun when you know there is an ulterior

motive. I've been asking her if there is someone she has in mind. She swears there is not, even getting angry the last time I asked. I don't really believe her. I know her new job has quite a few guys that work there. The company is also known for recruiting heavily out of the colleges, so it's likely a lot of guys right in our age bracket. Yet, she keeps pushing the same narrative of bringing us closer together and having new experiences. I can kind of see the latter point, I am only her second boyfriend. She was in a six-year relationship prior to our meeting, and had only been out of it for three weeks when we met. I'm slightly more experienced than her. Her being my third girlfriend and sixth sexual partner. Two months ago she managed to

break me. I had stayed pretty steadfast in that I was apprehensive towards doing anything like this. the whole time from the initial approach until that two-month mark she was really sweet and understanding, but also pushy. On this day, she went ultimatum. I said, I don't think I'll ever be ready to share you with others. She responded by saying, maybe we should take some time apart. That was like a jab in the face. Are you serious? She looked sad, and had a tear forming in one eye, yeah, I just feel, confined, I understand you don't want this, but I think I need to experience things.

Maybe it isn't for us, but I want to try, and it seems you don't so I guess we are at an impasse. I asked, you want a divorce. Am I just not enough for you anymore? She softened, never about you not being enough, I just want to be open to having experiences, meeting people, and not being bound by arbitrary rules and social norms. I don't want to divorce, I want you. I just feel like I need to explore this, and you don't want to. So maybe we should just take some time apart, not divorce, and see how we feel after a month or two.

This is where I caved, and ended up in the position I am now. I will give it a try, she immediately perked up, but can we take things slow, can we come up with some basic rules? Madison clearly excited but trying to downplay, yes, yes, we can just take our time, thank you, I really think this will be a good thing in the long term. She then initiated sex, which I totally went along with. A few hours ago we had dinner with a couple we are supposed to swing with. I spent most of the dinner making small talk with Kara, a very attractive point.

21-year-old. She is very much my type physically, but this feels so weird. Madison and Kara's boyfriend Leland, who are co-workers by the way, were flirting and talking like this is second nature. I can't help but wonder if this was Madison's plan all along. He is a good-looking guy, so am I, but this all seems too convenient. Kara and I, however, seem a lot more apprehensive. She seems sweet, but there is definitely an awkwardness between us. Madison told me this couple wanted to swing with us, because we're all new to this. I have this feeling something is up, though, between my wife and this other guy. When I caved and told Madison we could try an open relationship, and that I'd like to take it really slow, she took that to mean like waiting until the next day was slow enough.

I figured we would really talk about rules, read some books on E&M, ethical non-monogamy, and take things one step at a time. I got up the morning after I agreed a little later than usual. Madison had gotten up quite a bit earlier than usual. She had made us both Tinder, her profiles. Like really had put a lot of effort into both of them. I tried to tell her this was too fast, but she countered saying, it's just being ready for when we are ready, it could take months for either of us to match with anyone, we can take things slow, but now this part is done and we can start making matches while we figure this out. I accepted that response. However, within 24 hours she had about 20 matches. That number just kept growing and growing

as the days went by. We would try to talk about how we wanted this to go, but she was a also distracted by all the activity on her phone. Within four days she was already messaging directly with a few guys. Three weeks later she had her first date set up. We had talked about the rules and boundaries we were going to have. She had agreed to all of them, although some of them only begrudgingly. First was the obvious one, use protection at all times. We also had a few more boundaries, though, like not being physical with anyone on the first date. Being home by an agreed upon time were updating the other on changes. Giving each other details on our dates, like location, who the other person was,

this was for safety, and making our relationship a priority, this meant no canceling plans with each other for time with others. A lot of these boundaries went out the window on her first date. We had only been open three weeks at this point. She went out and said she would be back by 11 p.m. She came home at 12.30 a.m. I was still up. I was pretty upset at the time.

She had not so much as sent a text. She clearly had done something with this guy. She was trying to come on to me, but I was rejecting it. I was done at this point and told her that she was way later than she said, there was no communication at all, and I had no doubt she messed around with this guy. She didn't try to hide it, just kept giving me the excuse that things escalated and she got caught up in the moment. She promised to do better next time, and that now that she knows she can get excited,

she will have a plan for managing that. Then she tried to get me to reclaim her. I was not interested and told her so. That's when she got pissed and told me she was getting in the shower. I slept on the couch that night. The next morning, I had decided I was out. I went into our bedroom and was packing a bag. She woke up to this and asked me what I was doing.

I said, I'm leaving. She seemed alarmed and asked, where are you going? What do you mean you're leaving? I told her, I'm done, I'm going to my sisters. I'm not going to sit here around the house forever while you're out dating. You put me onto those subs to convince me, well, I read a lot more than just what you wanted me to. Here's the reality of most of those stories,

and I'm sure this would be my reality as well. You'll sort through tons of matches and pick and choose who you want. I'll go months, maybe years without a match, then eventually we will divorce once the resentment gets too high. I'm just cutting to the end now. She interjected, you had the one match. I angrily replied, we both know that was a bot. She jumped up then and put her hands on me,

Okay, okay, I'm sorry, you are right, we are going too fast. Please don't go, we can work this out, we can find a balance that works for both of us. You're upset right now, let's calm down and really talk about this. I'm sorry, nothing like last night will happen again, trust me, we can work through this. I caved again at that point, I cave a lot. We talked later that day. It was finally the deep conversation we needed to have before we did anything. The conversation she was too distracted to have the first time.

It's also the one that led to today. Going to dinner with Madison and another couple, having a, vibe check. Dinner was fine. Madison and Leland vibed for sure. Which I found pretty annoying. I did my best to act normal. I think Kara was doing the same thing. As the night went on, and it appeared like our significant others were way more infatuated with each other,

Kara and I started talking a little bit about the elephant in the room. While neither of us just came out and said it, I think the real vibe here is that neither of us necessarily wanted this, and now we're just along for the ride. At least that's how it seemed to me. Before we parted ways we traded numbers. I think I'll try texting her tomorrow just to see how much of this is actually her idea. I only have another day. We're supposed to go over to Abigail's house Saturday night for a play party.

Which again, makes me feel like we're rushing into this. We have never done this before, but apparently we're going to join ten other couples at a swinger party. Madison keeps assuring me it's not what I'm thinking and I don't have to do anything I don't want to, but we should go and see what it's like. She says we're just going to see if this is something we want, and if so we can go ahead with Leland and Kara. I guess I'm going, I'm just stupid enough to keep this fail train rolling. I'm also thinking Kara is really hot, and if Madison keeps pissing me off and fucking around, I may just say fuck it and find out. I have been with S for five years and married for two and in those seven years

everything for me was great. When we first met it was love at the first sight, I loved her more and more in this years. My friends even made fun of me for my changed character when I was with her. Before meeting her I was usually a cold, thought and very hard man. My character went from my experience in the army and due to my parents' character and I have never been so vulnerable with anyone apart her. So in this seven years everything for me was perfect, I was doing a job that was paying me very well, I finally had some money and I was extremely in love with the woman of my dreams. Thinking now I was smart enough to make a trust where put all my money and properties and giving to my best friend and my sister the rule of executors. I did this because my best friend was

divorced and he must split all his money and properties with his ex-wife when she never contributed to pay a single cent. So I did this to be protected from a possible, but at that time impossible, and for emergencies because at that time I wasn't financially stable so I must have a security net. Then before the marriage we both agreed to do a pre-nup where the only condition was that if someone of us would cheat he, she wouldn't had any type of alimony, in my country is legal. The thing is that when she proposed me this I was a bit in shock because I never taught for one second to cheat on her or that she would cheat on me so it went out of the blue but I acted it. The first year of marriage was perfect. We were wealthy thanks to my job that was paying very well,

were renting a very big and nice house, were enjoying our life, doing amazing experiences, going to amazing places for vacations, and we went out to new new people and friends. Unfortunately the second year wasn't so good because I started to work with my company to make sign a very big client with us, so I admit that I was using all my energies for my work and I told her this, but she was okay because my work was our first and only resource of money since she wasn't having any intention to work but Jussie being a stay home, wife. Anyway, I knew that my work was getting diffi-eacled and I was always tired, after it, but I tried my best to make her happy and satisfied unless the stressing period,

about six months. In fact, many times I put aside my personal life to prioritize her over myself just to not make her sad, feeling alone and without attention. My routine was, getting up very early in the morning, gym, making breakfast for her, work, coming home and preparing her dinner and then spending time with her, instead of relaxing. I went like this for six months and after the client finally signed with us I booked a two months vacation in her favorite place, Paris, to release stress and tension. The vacation went very well because I thought that we became stronger and more in love with each other, but when we came back home I noticed that she was changing.

She became distant, cold, and always looking at the phone instead of talking with me like before. I tried to talk her about this many times, but her excuse was, personal problems and stress, so I let it slide. This went for six months. One day I was having a very important meeting where the big boss was about to announce the rising, so I was nervous because finally my hard work and death. were about to pay off with a big rise. In fact, I had a rise of 30% on my salary because of the

sign with the big client and after the meeting I told my coworkers that I was about to take a couple days of vacations to celebrate the important news and they all agreed. So that day I went home early to give the announce to my lovely wife but when I parked my car I heard very loud voices of someone who was doing sex coming from my house but I thought that I heard wrong because my wife would be to shopping with her friend. Until, while I was getting near to the door, I heard her voice so I took a moment to tail out my phone and record the scene. When I entered the end of the world happened. I caught her having sex with a random guy and when I called her name the shock on her face

was just absolutely priceless. After I entered and I recorded like one minute they guy sneaked out of our house partially nude and with clothes in his hands leaving my wife covered with a cushion. I swear to God I wanted to destroy everything but I just was in shock and didn't said anything. I went to my room to pack all my stuff AMD she started angrily to accuse me of cheese and that all this wasn't real and that I was just dreaming. Thinking now what she was saying was just absurd and with zero sense. I took like 30 minutes to pack my stuff and drove away and when I left that house I just had a

sense of relief and that all my anger and tension was getting away. I stayed in a hotel for some days while my phone was bombarded with calls and texts from her. I ignored everything and changed number. After a few more days I contacted a lawyer and told him all the situation and he said, you are a smart ass. I can guarantee that a part of having half of your money she wouldn't get nothing else from you. So after a few months of no contact, I sent her the divorce papers. In those months of no contact, I heard that she found a job to barely mantie in the house, and when she got my divorce papers, she went on a meeting with her lawyer and mine with a big

smile on her face, AMD, said, I did the right thing cheating on you. I will have all your money and I wouldn't work for the rest of my life. Me and my lawyer smiled at each other, and he put on the table the pre-nup agreement and she immediately understood her mistake. She would only have half of my money and nothing else. Then S started to cry and begging me to forgive her, that it was just a little mistake, that she loves me and this kind of stuff. This scene went on for 20 minutes and finally she signed the papers. She realized that the money she would have were enough to pay five months of rent of our house and that she was fucked up. While I was going out of the place she run behind me repeating all the stuff, it was a mistake, she loves me, I must

forgive her and all this shit. Coming to nowadays, I met a new girl and we are dating since a few months, I'm happy, I have my work that pays me well and my life is again happy. From what I heard she stayed at our old house for some months, until the money were over, and now she is leaving in a small apartment near her new job. Of course she tried again to contact me, but I never answered her texts and calls because I don't feel anything for her but just indifference. I still thank my best friend for his advice of the trust ahaha. P.S. sorry for my English, but is not my first language so I tried my best. In the labyrinthine corridors of my heart, where once love blossomed in vibrant hues, now lay a macabre tapestry of shattered trust and

betrayal. My wife, Sarah, the woman I had sworn to cherish till eternity, had shattered my world with an act of infidelity that left me drowning in an abyss of sorrow. It was an ordinary evening when a text message from an unknown number pierced the tranquility of our home. Curiosity nodded at me as I read the cryptic words, Sarah is sleeping with her ex-boyfriend, Mark. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, as if the foundations of my life had been irrevocably shaken. Driven by a primal instinct, I confronted Sarah. Her eyes, once filled with warmth and affection, now held a cold, evasive look. She admitted to the affair, her voice trembling with a mixture of guilt and defiance.

The pain was unbearable, as if a thousand shards of glass were piercing my soul. In the aftermath of the revelation, I retreated into a solitary existence. It eluded me, and the once familiar walls of our home now felt like a prison. I questioned everything I thought I knew about Sarah and the relationship we had built together. As days turned into sleepless nights, I stumbled upon a box hidden deep in the attic. Inside, I found letters and photographs that chronicled Sarah's past with Mark. The words they shared were filled with passion and regret, a poignant reminder of the love they

had once shared. Jealousy nodded at me as I realized that our relationship had been built on a foundation of deception. Sarah had never truly moved on for Mark, and our marriage had been a mere substitute for the love she had lost. Haunted by the betrayal, I sought solace in isolation. I roamed the city streets, lost in a fog of despair. Strangers passed me by, oblivious to the agony that consumed me. The world seemed indifferent to my shattered life.

But as time passed, a flicker of resolve ignited within me. I refused to be consumed by the darkness that threatened to envelop me. I reached out to friends and family, seeking comfort and support in the midst of my shattered dreams. Slowly but surely, I began to piece my life back together. The wounds inflicted by Sarah's infidelity would never fully heal, but I was determined to heal and find meaning in the wreckage she had left behind. Today, I stand as a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. The pain of betrayal still lingers, but it no longer defines me.

I have forgiven Sarah, not because I condone her actions, but because I believe in the power of redemption. The path to healing has been arduous, but the journey has taught me the true meaning of forgiveness, resilience, and the enduring power of hope. And though the scars of the past may never fully fade, I am grateful for the lessons they have taught me and the strength they have forged within me. It's been over four years since this happened. I, Chuck, was 37 at the time and had been with my wife, Chrissy, 36, for 16 years, married for 13. We lived a comfortable upper-middle-class life and have a 15-year-old. year old daughter, Cora. I had two best friends that I had met in college. Eric and Mike. Eric,

35, was married to Emily, 31, and Mike, 35, had gotten divorced from his wife that spring. Through us, Chrissy and Emily had become best friends as well. As a group of three couples we had been taking a week-long vacation every summer for a few years at this point. Everything was booked and ready when I broke my ankle three days before our flight date. I decided to not go on, on the trip as one, I was to be non-weight-bearing for 16 weeks, two my meds made me extremely tired and sleepy, and three I just didn't want to be a burden to everyone else's fun. My wife offered to stay home with me, but I convinced her to not worry and go on the trip. When Chrissy returned from the trip she seemed like a whole new person.

She had been having a tough work year, and the stress was high. I knew she needed a real break, and was really glad she got it. On top of that she was very affectionate and attentive upon return, almost to the point you'd call it love bombing. I was not complaining, our sex life seemed like we were in our early twenties. I chalked it up to guilt over leaving me behind and just the overall rest from the trip itself. Fast forward to a couple weeks after Thanksgiving. All had been going well. Chrissy and Emily had planned a girls' shopping weekend a couple hours away, with a hotel stay on Saturday night. Now, here's where the situation goes to shit. We are all on Snapchat.

chat. Eric and Emily have a couple of nieces, and started using it because it's the only way they can get them to message them back. I found that out myself when Cora got her first iPhone. Send a text, may as well be sending a smoke signal, send a snap, immediate response. We had group chats and would all send each other nonsense often enough. That night, after sending my wife a snap of the dog, I flipped to the map thing. There were the bitmojis of Chrissy and Emily, and Mike. I zoomed way in and it appeared they were all at the same place. This didn't make any sense. Why would Mike be in a town 2.5 hours away staying at the same hotel as Chrissy and Emily? My mind went immediately to the worst case scenario. I tried calling Chrissy at that point,

but got no answer. I called again, then again. After the fourth call, I grabbed my keys and was about to start driving that way. Then I remembered I had a 15-year-old at home and couldn't just take off at 830 at night to a town 2.5 hours away. I relaxed for a moment and began to think. Eric's wife was also there, maybe he knows something. I called Eric and he picked up. I told him about the snap map. It was weird though because he didn't seem surprised or concerned. Which momentarily relaxed me, maybe I just missed something. That's when Eric verified my worst nightmares. He said, he knows they are all there, Emily and Mike finally convinced Chrissy to have another threesome with them. Another. WTF. I felt the room spin at that moment. My heart sank

into my feet. I snapped to after a few moments and told Eric, you better fucking tell me everything right now. Eric, sounding defeated, said, I will. It started with the vacation back in July. The trip was basically five days, after you subtract the travel days on the front and end of the trip. The first day was largely just a chill day around the pool at the Airbnb. It was day two when things started to happen. I knew a full outing had been planned that day. Without their spouses, Mike and Chrissy kind of naturally paired off, seeing as they were with a married couple.

It all seemed innocent enough and just friendly. However, Eric noted they seemed to get more comfortable with each other as the day went on. That night was a pretty heavy drinking night with dinner back at the BNB. The drinking continued through dinner and after. noticed how much flirtier and closer Chrissy and Mike were getting. After a while Eric and Emily went to their room and left Mike and Chrissy alone. After about an hour, Emily decided to quietly venture out to see what became of them. She went by Chrissy's room only to find she wasn't there.

She then crept up to Mike's room to hear the clear distinct sounds of sex between two drunk people trying to keep it down. Emily came back to the room and told Eric what was going on. I interrupted him at this point and said how could she just let this happen, you said she noticed them getting like this during dinner, why didn't she pull Chrissy aside and intervene? Eric then coldly said, because we didn't want to. Apparently, Eric and Emily have been mulling over an open relationship.

They had agreed if something happened on the trip they would just let it happen. Eric admitted to me that he has always had a thing for my wife and thought this might be his opportunity, and it was. That was a kick in the teeth. I already had it verified that one close friend had betrayed me with my wife, and now here it was the other did too. I cussed him out, and he just took it, trying to apologue i.e., trying to make excuses. I told him to shove that up his ass and just finished the story. The next morning Emily went to talk to Chrissy about it.

Chrissy had the expected guilt, and extreme worry about being found out especially since there were witnesses. She said it was a huge mistake, but also that it was really, really good, especially for drunk sex. Emily said, why stop? He just got divorced, you have been on edge because of work for a year now, were on vacation and nothing came with you, not your job, not Chuck, not Cora. You left your whole life behind, consider it a free week. Eric and I won't say a thing, and we'll cover if anything comes up. Chrissy liked the sound of it, but had apprehension, she went to talk to Mike,

and then Mike came to Eric asking if they were for real about letting this happen. Eric said yes, just enjoy the week. In reality he had his own scheme to sleep with my wife as well. Eric said over the next three days they stuck to all the plans for the trip. I know this to be true because all the expected IG and Facebook posts went up. I kept getting included in the group Snap from everyone, and Chrissy would call twice a day to check in, with intermittent texts throughout the day. I suspected absolutely nothing while back home recovering.

Over those last three days, Mike and Chrissy basically acted like a newly dating couple. They made sure on outings that any picks slash posts slash snaps were innocent. Otherwise they held nothing back in terms of touching or kissing while out, and whenever they got back to the BNB it was almost always immediately to Mike's bed. They were not quiet about it, it was very evident what they were doing and for how long. Eric, wanting his chance with Chrissy, pressured Emily into proposing a swap on the final night. He isn't totally sure what was said but knows she, and all other parties, agreed. I interjected and said, I don't need the details.

responded, you do actually. Because it has to do with where she is now. On the final night, they swapped. Eric got to have Chrissy, however, he told me he was overly excited, and it did not last very long at all. That's when she just got up, went back down the hall and joined the other two. Eric's pride was majorly hurt as he could hear them down the hall for what seemed like forever. In fact, Emily never returned to their bed that night. This was the first time he felt regret about initiating an open marriage with his wife. The next day they traveled back, all swearing to take it to their grave. Eric went on to say as soon as they got back from vacation Emily, who had first been apprehensive, was dead set on the open relationship now. He still thought

it would benefit him even though he had grown some doubts. They landed on some ground rules. He wanted to have a list of people who were no go, and she said, no, this was about being open sexually and they couldn't do that if people were off limits, it was going to be the same for both of them so he should be fine with it. If he wanted to try and fuck her sister he could, and she didn't want co-workers, exes, anyone off her list either. He agreed on the stipulation he knows everything, and has access to everything. Neither of them liked the other's demands but ended up agreeing to them. He told me they each made videos with the other stating they were agreeing to this arrangement, so the other couldn't use it against them if they ever divorced.

I was sitting there thinking, this guy is a total fucking idiot. Eric then let me know how awful this whole situation has gone. Telling me Emily has been highly active while he is yet to manage a single date. As the months have crept on it's only put a greater void between the two them, and he said he already has divorce papers drawn up. At that point he offered up all evidence he had. I accepted. Shortly after there was a whole folder in my inbox.

The vast majority of stuff was his wife with other men. Co-workers, randoms, she had been busy. But there were plenty of messages between Chrissy and Emily. I picked up that Emily and Mike had started a regular affair about four months earlier. About one month ago the conversation of the threesome started. That whole time after the vacation Chrissy had been really good to me, and seemed much happier than before. In the beginning of the convo she stuck to the idea that what happened on vacation was it, it was

vacation from reality, and now it was over and life would just go on like normal. About two weeks ago she started to show some interest at Emily's encouragement for a repeat of that final vacation day. This is when Mike entered the conversation too. Chrissy agrees at this point and the plan comes to be. In addition, Eric had photos of Chrissy and Mike kissing, and a recording of him having sex with her. The son of a bitch had sneakily recorded it.

Not the best quality vid, but he did manage to get a clear shot of her face and tattoo. I thanked him for the evidence, he tried to apologize again, then I told him he was piece of shit, and he better never contact me again. With the whole betrayal now out in the open, it was time to turn my attention back to my wife. In all the time I was talking to Eric, I still had not gotten a call back from Chrissy. I called two more times and then just said fuck it and sent her a pick of her and Mike kissing. The return call was immediate. I didn't answer.

She kept calling and I kept ignoring. Eventually she switched to text. The first text was as cliche as it gets, I can explain. I sent back, don't bother, I already got the whole story from Eric, tell your trashy little friend he has divorce papers for her. Just like you will come Monday. At that point I blocked her number. Chrissy came into the house frantically at about 1.30 a.m.

She immediately broke down in tears and tried to hug me. I blocked the advance and she began apologizing profusely and begging for forgiveness. I told her to save it, we had a lot to talk. about. I wanted every question answered 100% honestly. If I thought she was lying I would end the conversation and file for divorce on Monday. I had tons of evidence and was not afraid to show the world who she is. I then asked her, what do you want? She said she wanted to show me how sorry she was, she wanted to work for forgiveness, and for us to work past this. I told her I didn't think that was possible, but would let her explain herself. I asked why she

cheated in the first place. She said she had to her had a lot of fun that day, was feeling good and relaxed. She hadn't felt that way in a long time. Work had been so stressful for so long. She let the moment, the drinks, take over and just went with it. She tried telling me how terrible she felt after, but I cut her off. I said, okay, not condoning, not forgiving, but that only explains the drunk sex you had the first time, it doesn't explain the rest of the week. You weren't drunk when you were fucking him three to four times a day the rest of the trip. Probably weren't too drunk when you fucked Eric, then went and had sandwich sex after.

She looked at me with tears and said, when in Rome. I replied, Are you fucking kidding me? That's it. She started again, well, let's be real, what's the difference between one time and a 100? You'd still react this way, once I had already fucked up, was there really any difference in stopping or not? Would you feel different? I was in a fantasy land, and just embraced it while I was there.

I never intended for you to find out, and I never intended to do this again. I wish I could take it all back. I was despondent, that's the most terrible thing I've ever heard, she just said, you asked me to be honest. I asked if she was unhappy, if she was tired of me, if I didn't do it for her anymore. She said, no, I love you, I'm happy, all the usually crap. That we have a good marriage, she just wanted to feel wild, feel excited. We had gotten somewhat monotonous, and this experience was exhilarating.

Her plan had been to have this much sex with me, but when I didn't go she at first thought well that's out, but once it was available she let herself get taken by the moment. I asked about the swapping. She said that was a huge mistake. Emily had talked to her about that on the last full day, and about how they were trying and open. Emily said it's perfect because she isn't even giving up Chuck, just Mike. She admitted to being curious about Eric.

Mostly though she kind of felt obligated, if they were going to cover, this was kind of payback, and a way for them to have something writing on the secret as well. I asked about this weekend. Asked why she agreed to that if she was so sorry about betraying me the first time. Chrissy said she never intended to step out of line again, and swore she was going to make the most of our relationship going forward. I now think about the months following the vacation and wretch. She had been talking with Emily like usual,

and Emily just seemed like she was having the time of her life now that she was open. Chrissy admitted to being a little jealous. Emily had been with several men and Chrissy was living a bit vicariously through her. When Emily started the affair with Mike she knew what she was missing out on, and became more jealous. For the record I know Mike had a rep in college for being a ladies' man, and if I'm being honest, was the best-looking of the three of us. He had managed to stay the most fit as he aged and that had only improved post-divorce. Chrissy said when the threesome got proposed she really tried to stay strong and not get drawn in, but as the weeks went on she found herself just thinking about that. She told me she caved because the spontaneous one had been really good and honestly thought she could get away with it.

At that point she asked how I figured it out, and I said I didn't have to answer that. I asked her if there was anything else and she said no, she just wanted a chance to earn trust, forgiveness, and to reconcile. I told her I didn't believe that, I mean come on, 16 years totally faithful, then total porn star with my two best friends for a whole week. She swore, offered her phone, laptop, old phones, old email accounts. I said, no, I don't need all that, because it doesn't matter, you've done enough that I know about already. I am hurt, betrayed, and can't stand to look at you. I am done, and I'm filing for divorce tomorrow. When I woke that Monday morning Chrissy was still home.

She usually was on her way to the office but had taken the day off, anticipating I had done the same thing. Once Cora was off to school, she began her love bombing. I told her I didn't care, I'd already seen all this before. She said she had a proposal for me. All access to her, all of her stuff, all the time, marriage counseling, she would go to individual counseling, cut off Emily, Mike, anyone I wanted permanently, and she would be an open book at all times for any questions. I said those are just things you do when you're trying to reconcile.

I don't want to be a warden at home and I don't want to reconcile. She begged and pleaded, and asked that I just wait a week, just a week, and if next Monday I still felt the same she would sign no matter what, no contest. I looked at her and said, You swear to that, if I wait a week we will have totally uncontested divorce, no dragging it out at all. She swore. I agreed to the one-week trial, seemed worth the risk. If she just signed and agreed that would save us both time and money.

If she was lying and still fought the divorce, well it was just one awkward, terrible week I was losing. She continued to love bomb and consistently tried initiating sex. I rejected these usual efforts, and on Thursday night told her I was not moved in any way and still planned to file on Monday. She broke down and ran into the guest room until the next morning. Friday after work I could tell she had something in mind. I really didn't care, I was literally counting the hours until I could be rid of her at this point, the love bombing was not working, and I was actually getting annoyed with her overzealous efforts. She said she thought we couldn't go on because of the imbalance that her infidelity had caused.

I wasn't sure at first if she was implying what I thought she was implying, but she was. Chrissy said we should have a threesome. I said you did more than that. She said, okay, and you can have a week off marriage too. I pointed out that was worthless, I just heard all about Eric's disastrous open marriage. I'm a guy, and unless you're a rich guy or a famous guy, you're not picking up with a that easily, especially as a mid-30s already married man. There's no point in me sitting in bars for a week or on dating apps not getting matches.

She said, OK, you can have ten hall passes that never expire instead. That can be the same woman or ten different. I replied, you think that's not going to impact our life, you're going to be okay with that? I doubt it. She said she won't let it suffer, she will make a huge effort to be available for all of my needs, and we can do anything I've ever wanted. I know that what I did next was sleazy, maybe not as bad as what she did, still sleazy though, but at the time, I didn't really care.

I made it clear that I wouldn't let these, concessions, just be a way to stall. If she wanted me to stay then these things needed to happen sooner than later. I wanted the threesome to be her priority. I said she needed to have at least someone agreeing by February 1st or I was out. I don't know how she found her, but in the week between Christmas and New Year's she showed me a picture of a woman from her spin class. She was gorgeous, and I couldn't believe she found someone that quick and someone so attractive. Tiffany was 24 years old. Her and Chrissy had been chatting at Spin for months, but nothing passed regular small talk.

I asked how, and Chrissy just said she had her ways. My assumption was she offered her money. About two weeks later was the big night. I made it a point to make sure Chrissy was fully involved and didn't feel left out. I mean I still had my fun, but I knew this would make Chrissy think we were on the right track. I wasn't wrong, she told me how she only did this to try and win me back, but that the whole experience was actually amazing. Prior to that I had been cashing in on her obligation of being overly sexual with me, after

the threesome it stopped feeling like she was just meeting an obligation. She seemed excited to be with me and to try new things. Although, I think a part of it was her hope that I would abandon the hall passes. Mid-February I took the first plunge into using the hall passes. There was a 27-year-old restaurant manager, Sabrina, close by my work, I had frequented it often and always thought she was a little flirty with me. I asked her out. I told her I was two months into my divorce proceedings, not true.

I said we were still living in the same house, but that I had moved into the basement, also not true. Sabrina seemed hesitant but agreed to the date. Later on I asked her what made her agree knowing my situation, and she said she noticed the first time I came in without my wedding ring, I took it off after I caught my wife, and and since by the time I asked her my tan line was fading away, it meant I wasn't just taking it off to meet women, but not wearing it at all. During all of this Chrissy had been pushing that we start marriage counseling.

I stayed steadfast that I wasn't interested in doing that until I had used all my passes. By April I had seen Sabrina seven times. That really tore Chrissy up, and while today I regret doing this to her, at the time I felt justified. As I began to run out of my passes, I came to realize I was more and more interested in pursuing something official with Sabrina. I decided it was time to stop pretending to reconcile, I also think I had hurt Chrissy enough she was two, I still feel heavy guilt for this today. When I said it didn't work, and I still wanted to divorce, she didn't fight me. She was sad, she seemed defeated,

but she didn't fight it. I found a small two-bedroom house and left Chrissy in our family home. When I sat Cora down to tell her we were divorcing, I told her the appropriate amount of truth. I didn't put all the blame on her mother, and owned up to my own behaviors during this. I focused on letting her know we both loved her, and wanted the best, but we both wronged each other and had to separate. The three of us decided that 50-50 custody was best, so she alternated week-to-week staying at each other's place. It took until October for the divorce to go final.

I dated Sabrina the entire time. Cora and her got along fine, I was happy Cora didn't see her as, the other woman, or anything. They never had a step-parent vibe or anything but were friendly in the way a child is with their parents' friends. My relationship with Sabrina lasted about two years. It ended because I don't want to marry again, or have more children. Chrissy had done some sporadic dating over the last couple years, one guy she was with for about 11 months.

Then something weird happened this past spring. We have co-parented pretty effectively through all this. The one thing we both wanted was to be there for our daughter. We've been amicable through all of her events and for her sake. When her high school graduation hit, we ended up sitting by each other. What should have been awkward, just wasn't. We started joking around, talking, got a little flirty. It was refreshing.

A week later, I was still thinking of the fun I had at graduation. I decided to call Chrissy and ask her out. She said, absolutely not. This caused quite the swell of embarrassment, luckily that was only temporary. a long pause, she continued, unless we start couples counseling. I agreed. We had our first session on a Thursday, and our second first date on that Friday. It's been six months since that graduation. We are still doing counseling, dating, and have also started exploring the concept of alternative lifestyles, gonna take that slow. Things are going well, Chrissy even

brought up the idea of me moving back to our family home. Cora can't believe we are getting back together, and says it's weird. She told me when she got back from her first semester at college last week that she wasn't sure if she was happy or concerned. She just knows for sure she doesn't want any details of any kind in regards to any of our exploits. Eric divorced Emily and ran for the hills. He put in a work transfer and now lives four states away. Mike and Emily tried to make a real relationship work for about a month after her divorce. Chrissy got back in contact with Emily after hours, and learned that pretty much sex was the only thing they had in common, and it fizzled out pretty quick. Emily remarried

a guy that used to work with Eric, and the company moved him when he was promoted to a regional manager spot. He is now Eric's direct boss, which I found himarius. Little did the guy know, though, Eric and Emily started having an affair behind his back. I say did because someone tipped that guy off, probably out of spite, and now he's out for blood from both of them. Motherfucker Mike, as I refer to him, is still around and still single to this day. He got jumped one night after coming out of a local bar by some massed assailant. Rumor has it he was beaten up pretty good and may have gotten kicked in the balls 12 times. I don't know what the future holds from here, but today, I can't complain.

I'll be sure to update the masses if it ever gets interesting again. Until then, thanks for reading. P.S. Chrisy paid Tiffany $350 for the threesome. Okay, so this story. is actually pretty tongue-in-cheek. I just thought it was hilarious. I-26M and my wife 28F have been together since high school. When we first started dating, we took each other's virginities when I was 16 and she was 18. We were both still and high school at the time. Honestly, the whole relationship was pretty adorable right from the start. Holding hands on the

bus, us getting off at the wrong bus stop so I could spend more time walking her home, us kissing on an old wooden bridge while it rained. Very hallmarked tight. of stuff. As we grew older, I would tease her that because I was 16 and she was technically an adult that means she technically groomed me, her being a 5 feet 2 inches innocent Catholic girl and me being a 5 feet 9 inches lacrosse player. Her deflection for this was that the age of consent in our state is 16. But one night we were drinking and the same old joke came up. That led us to do some research on the actual law. Turns out yes, the age of consent is 16 but the relationship has to at the approval of the younger party's parents.

My wife then claimed that because my mom would buy my condoms for Christmas it was my mom's way of consenting to us having sex. Fast forward to this year. My mother was staying over at the house because she was on a business trip and didn't want to pay for any hotels. Once again, I brought up the joke and my wife then used her trump card about my mom buying condoms, which means everything was cool. My mom then turned and looked at her and said, I didn't consent to you two having sex. I just bought my son condoms because I didn't want him getting any girls pregnant. I knew I couldn't stop him from having sex, but if he was going to I wanted him to use protection. I don't think I've laughed that hard in years.

So now because of this revelation, I can now say the canonical story of events for me and my wife's long and very happy marriage starts with her grooming me as a young teen, technically molesting me, and then through her manipulating my young mind she convinced me to buy and ring and proposed to her on the top of a mountain overlooking a lake on a camping trip we went on together. Long story short, according to Reddit Logic. My wife is a pedophile and a child molester and I've sentenced her to asking for forgiveness over her large collection of Jesus candles. I told her not to be looking at the baby Jesus candle because I just know. Before the comment section starts freaking out. Yes, I know there are real victims in this world and this story isn't meant to belittle their experience. I'm just trying to tell a wholesome and funny story that's finally come to a close. Edit, this post has made me realize that a lot of people either don't have a friendship

with their significant other where there are recurring jokes or they aren't in a relationship with their best friend. They're in a relationship with their bully. Part 4. It's been a long year, and was a good year up until very recently. The first few months post affair were rough. After everything came to light, Olivia, 32F, had a really hard time coming to terms with her own infidelity. I, Alex 32M, was ready to move past it, as I,

stated in my last post, I had processed all the feelings around it a long time ago. I made it a rule that she was only allowed a fair talk five times a week. Then she had to wait until Monday for her week to reset. On top of that I said I was not going to miss any more D&D Wednesdays. She agreed to this, but was concerned with what she was going to do on Wednesday since I usually don't get home until midnight or 1 a.m. I told her to tell her sister everything that has happened. She actually listened to me, and while her sister was mad and disappointed in her, after the initial shock wore off she has been someone else for my wife to lean on. There were still triggers and setbacks after this, but it was a lot more manageable of a reconciliation.

We got back to a regular routine and all was going well. Olivia ended up joining an actual yoga class on Wednesdays. She has been doing yoga for years but usually did videos at home. Everything was fine until we got served last week. Asher was suing both my wife. I was suing both my wife's and myself on the grounds of emotional duress and lost wages. He is stating that my wife led him on for two years and manipulated him into believing that they would have a life together. He is also seeking damages for lost wages. According to his complaint, he passed on a job offer to another company that would have paid him more, and a promotion within the company that would have moved him to another city. He claims he stayed for Olivia under the impression she was going

to divorce and begin an official relationship with him. My wife was ready to contact and confront Ashar, but I told her we could not do that. We needed to get a lawyer and we needed to do so immediately. We hired Reed Bomer out of Milwaukee, he specializes in civil court cases. At our consultation he told us not to worry about this too much. There is no way a judge isn't going to throw this out. He told us there are around six states that have laws regarding alienation of affection. Wisconsin is not one of them, but in those states that do, these laws allow a betrayed spouse to file a lawsuit against the cheating spouse's affair partner. These lawsuits are rare, and often don't go anywhere, however there have been a few big ones. He said, what we have here

is the opposite of that, and this guy has some serious nerve. To imply that he is the victim, when he knowingly pursued a relationship with a married woman, he isn't going to get any sympathy from a judge. I'm surprised he found someone to represent him. He would have an answer filed in regards to this complaint this week. After which he said he would file a motion to dismissed the case. Overall the consultation has me feeling better. Our lawyer really makes it seem like this will probably be over before it even starts. I'm just a little on edge. I do not want this getting out. It's one thing for Cam to know, but that's about as far I want to include other people into our personal lives. I really just want to find Asher and kick

the shit out of him, I won't, but I want to. Olivia has been a mess since we got served. Even after meeting with the lawyer she doesn't seem to be any better. After a year of getting things back in order, this is the last thing we need. Hopefully, it does go just like Reed says it will and the case will just be dismissed. Part 5, the Milwaukee County case of Asher Bigelow v. Olivia Horn and Alex Horn continues on, fuck me. The case was not dismissed in the pleadings phase of the case. I literally could not believe it when Reid told us.

I asked how this was even possible. I mean here is a guy that is basically a male homewrecker, and he is fucking suing me, and it wasn't thrown out. In what fucking world is he the victim here? I have never been so angry in my life. Reed says that the only thing he can think is going through that judge's mind, is he is about to hear a case that has no precedence. Precedents are everything in the legal world, and when something new comes up it's kind

of a big deal for judges and lawyers. Reed said since we brought this case to him he has been doing some research and he literally cannot find anything like it out there. He says if it's been brought before other judges they must have thrown it out. I asked, isn't that a precedent then? He explained, no, it's not officially a ruling. Those cases could have been thrown out for any number of reasons, like improperly filed paperwork. This case has all the T's crossed and the eyes dotted. This is the kind of case that law school classes will study when they talk about frivolous or not. I am really trying not to take this out on Olivia.

I can understand why she started the affair in the first place, and I made my peace with it a long time ago, but this has me so stressed out. I do not want to be known publicly for this. If this gets out I do not know what I will do. We entered into the discovery phase of the case. I guess I should have been looking at Olivia's messages with him that last year, and probably should have gone through them after everything came out. There are numerous times in which, I Love You, was exchanged, way more by him, but she

did message him that a few times. There are times in which he point blank asks her when she is going to leave me, and she always responds with soon. She tells him she wants to be with him just the timing is wrong, as soon as she gets enough of her own money saved up, all the old excuses cheaters who have no plan to leave their spouse use. It's literally bad dialogue out of an old rom-dram. I asked if she meant any of this and she said, no, not any of it, after we began to work on our marriage I never thought of leaving you, I just told him what he wanted to hear. I asked her, really? How could you do that? She told me, he was just my drug of choice, and I wasn't done using yet. I told her if she gets asked in court do not repeat that sentence. I believe her,

I think she just liked what this guy provided and didn't want to give it up. But fuck if this hasn't put us in a bad spot. She is also on administrative leave pending an investigation. Her boss got subpoenaed for a deposition as he is one of the higher ups, and Asher is claiming that Olivia used her position as his secretary to influence against Asher. It is such a mess. On top of that I am stated as being complicit in her efforts to undermine his career and damage his mental state. Apparently he's citing the fact that I knew about the affair the whole time as me being in on it, and encouraged her to lead him on and waste years of his life. The fucker recorded both her closure phone call and our talk outside of my house.

I am so paranoid about the local media jumping on this case. The last thing I want is everyone I know to be aware of her affair, or my knowledge of it the whole time. I'm literally checking the news websites ten times a day. I'm not sure I can keep living like this. I try to be a rock for Olivia as I know she is taking this really hard. She rightfully blames herself for the whole fiasco, but I still love her and hate to see her hurting this much. Hopefully we can reach some kind of settlement before ever ending up in actual court. Part 6. Well, it's all over, and all the damage is done. We pushed for a settlement just to get this all to go away, notably because we didn't want to go to court. Asher asked for a ridiculous number to settle and absolutely would not

budge. That told me all I needed to know. He wasn't doing this for money, he was doing this for revenge and to embarrass us. There was no way any sane judge was going to rule in favor of, the other man, I was right about that. The court case itself was rather short all things considered. His lawyer presented their case. It was such a bullshit argument. He attempted to completely paint Olivia as some sort of manipulative dominatrix or something. Like she was trying to keep him as some sort of sex slave. They implied that she was purposely keeping him from advancing in his career even though they had no evidence of this, and he was offered a promotion that he turned down.

Reed Bomer countered easily. It was obvious from their early messages that he pursued her and that she had made it known that she was married. Even though she did go along with the affair, he got nothing from the judge. The judge ruled in our favor and Asher went home with nothing. I guess the judge got to set the precedent on this one. Even though Asher lost the court battle, it appears he may have won the war. Weeks leading up to the case, the details ended up in the media. It started off just local, but soon progressed to national media.

It was just so goddamn preposterous of a case, of course it got national coverage. I have probably read every article on our case from just about every news outlet. The comments are always brutal. It seems most people have landed on the nickname, The Cuck of Oak Creek. It's just so embarrassing, I can get over the affair and still love my wife, but being known as that is just too much. I haven't been out in weeks. I stopped going to Wednesday D&D, friends have called to offer support, but I can't answer the phone. I will respond to texts, but have no desire to actually socialize.

My parents, my family also know now. My dad has no sympathy, and keeps giving me unsolicited advice. I finally just blocked him the fifth time he told me I should have divorced the first time she texted another guy. That shit is just not helpful at all. Even if it was, I don't have a fucking time machine. Olivia had to resign from her job. They would have fired if she hadn't. We didn't need her income, but I know she is upset.

She liked working there. Asher had left shortly after their affair ended so that hadn't been an issue. She feels terrible, but unlike before I have no energy to console her. I am far too hurt myself. There was a noticeable rift at home soon as we got past the pleadings phase. She was trying to make up for it, but was back to being a mess, even worse than after the affair ended. I just did not have it in me to be her rock.

Our intimacy suffered hard as both of us had a lot of internal conflict. This led to some pretty heated arguments. At one point she even implied that the affair was my fault. She quickly tried to backtrack on that statement. I know she said it out of anxiety, but it still stung me pretty hard. I may not be the best guy in the world, and I especially wasn't then, but to imply that it was my fault was too far. I think we both hoped that the weeks after the case was over and the media spotlight gone,

we would recover. That has not held true. If anything we seem to be trapped in this free, frigid awkwardness in our own home. I can't forgive and I know it stems from my own embarrassment. I didn't ask for this, she chose to cheat, and if she just would have owned it and left me, and not tried to be a fucking cake eater, I would at least still have my dignity. I applied for and got a job in Hartford, Connecticut. I am moving. My employer, I'm sure, appreciates that. Once my identity got out our social media responses started getting spammed with idiots

making jokes at my expense. I also had Olivia served divorce papers. It seems our marriage was strong enough to survive infidelity, but wasn't strong enough to survive this. She has been begging me to reconsider, I was willing to listen to her until she tried to sell me on staying here in Oak Creek. I can't, I have to leave Milwaukee, I have to leave Wisconsin. I'll go be the only Bucks fan in Connecticut. I'm just giving her the house, I don't want it. She can sell it and we will call that alimony. I'm sure she will land on her feet when she is ready to make the effort. She still has her mom and sister, which is where she has been staying since I served her. I feel really terrible about all of this, but I know I can't go back, and I can't stay here.

I start my new job in two weeks. I've got an apartment lined up and I'll make the trip a week early. I hate that it all ended like this. I do no one thing. If I ever, have even the slightest chance to fuck over Asher Bigelow, I will do it. I will go out of my way to do it. He has made an enemy for life, and I will not be forgetting or forgiving ever. I, Alex 29M, have been married to my wife, Olivia 29F, for five years. We have been together for seven years in total. We started together during my senior year of college and ran in the same friends group, although I had known her for two years at that point, she was the sister of a girl who went to the college. I was supposed to be a rebound. She had been in a relationship for the previous three years, even lived with the guy,

who I was sort of friends with. They had issues before they moved in together, and needless to say moving in together to fix issues wasn't a good idea. Things got worse and he kicked her out of their apartment. Three days later she was riding me on my couch. Olivia had been single for around a combined month's worth of time since she was a freshman in high school. All of her previous boyfriends had issues around sex, and my reputation proceeding itself, she

She figured I'd be a good candidate to have some fun with given her newfound freedom. She had never had a fling, and just wanted to use me like a friends with benefits thing. I wasn't complaining, the sex was amazing. However, I had always kind of had a thing for her. I just never acted on it because she had a boyfriend. I was smitten from that first night on my couch. Fortunately, she was not very good at maintaining any form of her own boundaries. It took her a month to really kiss me, but other than that, any time I asked her on any time

type of date she said yes. We were spending every available night together. After six weeks she asked me to be exclusive with her. I agreed. After college I got my ideal job as a social media manager. My now wife had been doing secretarial work since she was 19 and had just landed a spot at a high school. The first two years of dating and engagement were really fun and we connected in every way. The whole thing was fast. We dated a year, engaged a year, and got married. Our first year of married life was pretty good. We did a small vacation, bought a house, and had discussions on children, we agreed to not start until we were closer to 30. When COVID hit, I went to working from home. While the buildings were closed and most staff at home,

the secretaries were still working in building. It was during this time that we began to drift apart. I just found the whole situation to be pretty easy. I was still doing my job from the comfort of my basement office. I found keeping the house clean was a breeze with it just being the two of us and her being gone most of the day. With some extra time on my hands, I got really into GTA online. It was my new hobby. I was playing quite a bit during that period of time. When Olivia would get home, I was usually just getting into the ideal play time. I tried including her in it, but she wasn't very interested in my new hobby. Since then I have expanded my variety of games, so I am online a fair amount of time each day.

It was also during this time that some glaring communication issues became more and more evident. This problem has only gotten worse in the last four years since I went to work from home. For example, for nearly three years she has been telling me that I don't communicate with her. Which is not true, I tell her everything that happens to me, which isn't very much.

I work at home and my main hobby is here at home. There really isn't that much to tell, so I don't really understand why this is an issue. I think she has finally come to understand this, as it hasn't been brought up for months now. This is just one problem we've been battling the last few years. There are other things she is always going on about as well, like that I don't care about her or support her. Which is ridiculous because I obviously do, I married her, wouldn't have done that if I didn't care, and even though I make way more than her now, I rarely splurge on myself, instead I encourage her to get the thing she likes,

she buys a ton of shit every month. We could literally survive off my salary now, she chooses to work. I have no idea what she wants, I work full time and do almost all the housework. Those are the things she largely nags me about. Anytime we try to talk about any of our issues, though, it just feels like I am supposed to sit there and take it. She never wants to talk about any of the issues I see. She just tells me I'm being defensive and hijacking the conversation. always telling me that I don't say anything until she brings something up, and then suddenly

it's a floodgate of problems I have with her. It's not a floodgate and it's nothing new. It's the same problems. She never just outright says what she wants or what she means. I have told her so many times I'm not going to pick up on stupid hints and half the time I have no idea what she wants. She wants me to be vulnerable, what does that even mean, I'm not going to just randomly start crying.

I think the biggest thing that shows me that she doesn't care about me. or like me at all, is complete lack of physical intimacy. Our sex life started to diminish right around the same time COVID hit. The frequency just kept dropping and has continued to over the last four years. I was the only one ever initiating. The rejections built up more and more, eventually I just stopped trying. Most of the time I don't even come to bed anymore. Instead, I just sleep on the couch down here in my office.

Our problems aside, we've had some changes over the last few years. years ago I switched jobs. I'm still a social media manager, I just jumped from the small company I was working at to a much larger corporation. I had lots of reasons, I liked the people I worked with before, but this was more money, better benefits, and 100% work from home. My old company was planning a hybrid situation once COVID restrictions began relaxing. Olivia also switched jobs two years ago, and became a secretary at another large company. About six months ago, a new entry-level guy, Asher 23M, began working at Olivia's company. At this same time she got a new iPhone. Like usual, I set her phone up for her. However, I had been suspecting that she was talking badly about me

to her mother and sister. It just seemed like their overall mood towards me had soured. So, I am not proud of this, but while I was setting up her phone, I also put some different types of spying apps on it, and synced everything into the cloud, which I then synced to my tablet. I did see her complain to her sister about our marriage. Her sister never really bashed me, just gave her advice. A month ago, though, is when I started to see her message with Asher. It started off as just friendly office talk. Quickly that turned into innocent, personal talk. They would discuss books they liked, TV shows, hobbies, and so on. They would do this for hours at a time.

It definitely had me thinking something was going on, but at the same time if she just had a friend I figured it would be good for her, and keep her off my ass at least some. The last two weeks I have noticed she was in a better mood overall, that is also when their conversations took a steep turn into the inappropriate. It was quick too, they went from just discussing a love of Hunger Games to talking about what they wanted to do to each other in a single night. It only kept escalating from there, and this past Wednesday they met outside of work for the first time.

She gave me the dumbest excuse too. Telling me she had to work late, she typically works 8.30 to 5 p.m., and she wasn't sure how long she would have to work past 5 p.m. Even if I didn't know what she was up to, this would still be a red flag. She works under a very high up in the company, and he is literally the sweetest old man. I have met him twice, and she has never said one bad word about this guy. So for him to suddenly require her to work for an undetermined amount of time past her normal hours, after two years in which she was never asked to do extra, or stay late, was a red flag in itself.

She told me that on Monday, and I decided I was just going to play it cool. See what happens. I didn't want to burst her bubble and have her backtrack with all that, it was never physical, crap. Wednesday came, she didn't get home until around 8.15 p.m. and immediately hit the shower. Normally she likes to snack first, work out, or sit down and scroll on her phone for a half hour. She tried to come down to my office and talk to me, but I just ignored her. I knew what she did and I wasn't interested in easing her conscience. I actually think I inadvertently did, though, as she seemed to relax more just before she left.

I guess the thing that is throwing me off is, I don't really feel any which way about her cheating. I feel like I should be pissed or hurt, but I'm just, meh. I can't really explain it. Later that night they exchanged a few messages, but she was very short in response and was giving off the vibe that she didn't want to talk with him. That changed the next day and they talked a lot more, including discussing how amazing the night before had been. Olivia told him that she was going to tell me that, late Wednesdays, was going to be a regular

thing going forward. She did just that yesterday. I am genuinely happy about this. This wasn't a one-off situation, she is having a full-blown affair and, and she is having a full-blown affair and I can prove it. She had no power over me now. I don't care what she is doing, so if she is trying to hurt me, she has failed. Now I can get out of this marriage and not be the bad guy. I've always assumed she would paint me negatively if we ever divorced, now she can try but at the end of the day, she cheated. I know I have let myself go a little

bit physically, and of course there are things I could improve on, but everyone does. That doesn't mean it's okay to go out and cheat, if you're that unhappy go out and get a divorce first. I was planning on spending this day researching divorce attorneys. Olivia came into my office about 20 minutes ago and asked me to take her on a hike and picnic. I don't know what she is getting at. I could see the shock on her face when I agreed to go. I'm debating on whether or not to drop the bomb on her while we're out there or wait until we get back. I half expect she will ask for a divorce.

Part 2. I, Alex 29M, didn't end up saying anything during the hike. Neither did my wife, Olivia 29F. It was actually a really nice day. We hiked, we joked, we talked. It was like being on a first date. She had packed a picnic filled with my favorite snacking foods. I just kept expecting her to ask for a divorce or come clean about the affair and beg for forgiveness. It didn't happen.

When we were done, we drove home. When we got home I went down to my office and started up a game. She went and showered. I was sitting there playing when she walked in and said, I'm ordering takeout from the Japanese place, then I'm going to watch Abigail. I would like it if you watched it with me, but you don't have to if you are busy. Either way, what do you want to eat? I told her, she left the room, and I went back to my game. I was planning on just gaming through the night.

I had already missed a lot of time going out with her during the day. Then I started feeling guilty about not watching the movie with her. I ended up leaving my game when she came back with the food. We ate and watched Abigail together. When we were done eating she moved over closer and we cuddled on the couch together. I couldn't even remember the last time we had a day or night like that one. The next day on Sunday I was gaming, and I just kind of started to feel bored with it. I went into our home gym, if you want to call it that.

It's a treadmill and set of dumbbells going up from five pounds to 50 pounds. I worked out for the first time in probably three years. I went back to gaming afterwards, but it did feel good. On Monday, when she got home I came back upstairs and asked her how her day was. We ended up talking for two hours about random stuff like work and what's going on with her friends. She made us both dinner and picked out a new show for us to binge. We didn't make it but halfway through episode two and we were getting it on right there on the living room couch. We hadn't had sex in at least five months at this point, well, I guess that's only true for me.

Tuesday was much of the same. I had no idea what was going on but she was putting real effort, into our relationship, and in return I began to do the same. When Wednesday rolled around I wondered if she would work late or not. I monitored her messages during the day and while they are few and far between when they are at work, the ones that were there did indicate she intended to go to his place that night. Which is exactly what she did. For the two hours or so she was there I sat and wondered. I wondered why it didn't bother me. It made no sense, I should be very angry that she is banging some other guy literally right at that moment. It did not. It didn't

I didn't, though. I don't want to give the wrong idea, I also got no pleasure or excitement from the knowledge either. I felt nothing. My feelings were literally no different than if she were out getting her nails done, or at Starbucks having a coffee with a friend. When she got back home after that second time, I was going to confront her. I had no doubt about what transpired, his graphic text to her on her way home really didn't

leave much to the imagination. Like the previous week, she went straight to the shower upon arrival. I waited in the bedroom for her to come out. Olivia walked out into the room wrapped in her towel. I had a somber look on my face. I kept thinking about how great the previous few days had been, but I still needed to confront her. When I saw her though she looked literally amazing, and actually happy.

I was so used to her sulking. I had noticed this change slowly after her affair started. She was much more like the Olivia I had fallen in love with seven years ago. When she looked at me her face turned to concern, actual affectionate concern for me. She approached quickly, put her hand on my back and asked me what was wrong in a sweet voice. I looked at her, I actually felt a well of tears begin to form, but I pushed that down. I decided not to say anything.

I told her I had a rough day with work and just needed some reassurance. She loved on me with some shoulder rubs and we talked about it. I got up and went to get her some food I had prepped earlier. As I was leaving, she said, you know all those times, I told you I wanted you to open up to me or be vulnerable. This is what I meant. You don't have to face everything alone, I want to be part of your life. I nodded and left. After that night, I started to really think about our relationship, and just about myself as a whole. Ever since COVID hit I really haven't done anything. I barely talked to my parents, I had lost connection with all

of my friends. I was horribly out of shape, especially for a guy who had always been the fit guy. I decided if she was going to put effort into our relationship then I should as well. I began to look into some relationship books. I also designed myself a workout plan. All of that was almost six months ago now and I can report I don't think I have been happier than I am now. I really enjoy the routine of our lives. Sunday and Friday are Do Your Own Thing nights. On Mondays and Tuesdays we hang out around the house with each other, one day she picks what we watched the other day I pick. Wednesday is when she works late. I have reconnected with some friends and we have a weekly D&D night. I had never played before but I've gotten really into it.

They are all season players but I am coming along. Typically I am also out later than she is, which I prefer. Thursday and every other Saturday are date nights. We usually just go to a movie or dinner on Thursday. Saturday we do something fun, like hit a museum or go hiking. On the the other Saturday, is for us to do our own thing on our own. I sometimes go out on these days, but usually this is where I do my gaming. I barely play through the week now and have gotten into pretty good shape by replacing it with working out. She could be doing any number of things on these days. Sometimes she is with Asher, I get annoyed sometimes because she lies to me about where she is going. I just smile and nod, but I know what she is actually doing. She also uses

these days to visit family or just have some alone time. I know what everyone is going to say, how can you be okay with her cheating? I don't have a good answer. It just doesn't bother me. I had some person reach out to me on my last post and tell me they think I might be Polly. I just don't think that's the case, I have no interest in pursuing anyone else. For whatever reason, I am just indifferent to the fact of her infidelity. I also really want to stress the indifferent part. I've had so many in the comments imply that I get off on this. I don't. I feel no excitement, no pleasure, no jealousy, no embarrassment, this might be different if it

were public knowledge, but it's not. I still hope that the affair just ends. If it does I'll never say anything, and we can just go about the rest of our marriage. I know at some point I'm going to have to force it to stop, we will want kids eventually, and I am only doing that if we can be 100%. In the meantime, I'm just going to keep enjoying my marriage. life. Part 3. Before I, Alex 31M, get into the problem, I'm going to give a quick update on what the last year and half since my last post has been like. It's been great. We have

really reconnected as a couple. We've been on a few vacations, I am spending more time with friends and family, and our communication has never been better. She, Olivia 31F, is still seeing Asher, 25M, and still lying about it. I pay very little attention to that. I hadn't looked her messages with anyone in probably the last year. Honestly, I don't know how she keeps up with it. I figured out from their messages, and assuming they are still going like this, that she sleeps with Asher one to three times a week. I know from first-hand experience she sleeps with me three to five times a week.

That does not include the random messing around, we do. Now I don't want it to seem like we don't still have arguments and disagreements. We fight a little bit, some of our old issues creep back in there sometimes. The difference is now we talk them out, we get over them faster, and we show each other respect when we share our feelings. Our current issues began when I noticed that my wife had been on the phone quite a bit with a friend of hers, Cody 31F. After the third or fourth consecutive day of her being on the phone with this friend for

upwards of an hour, I finally had to ask what was going on. Cody just figured out that her husband, Channing 32M, was having an affair for the last three months. They have been married for ten years. Making matters worse, his affair partner is Cody's 19-year-old first cousin, Michaela. I went back and looked through Olivia's messages with Cody and unless she has said it over the phone, Olivia has not let Cody know that she is having an affair. Everything would have been fine if I could have kept my dumb mouth shut.

Olivia went into this tirade about how awful Channing was for being an adulterer. I was shaking my head with a dumb grin on my face, when she noticed. Olivia kind of snapped, what you don't agree. I couldn't contain it and blurted out, Your one to talk. Her whole demeanor changed, and she started to press me for what I was talking about. I at first tried to deny it and apologize.

She wasn't having it, she just kept pressing me. That's when I told her that I knew about her affair with Asher. She asked me how long and I said the entire time it's been going, back when it was just innocent messages about work. She asked me why I just let it go on, and I told her, because I didn't care. She completely broke down crying and ran into our bedroom at that point. She locked the door behind her.

It was pretty late at night at this point. I was messaging her trying to get a response, trying to get her to talk to me about what just happened. She only sent me one message that read, Please leave me alone, I need time. I slept on the couch in the basement for the first time in over a year. The next morning she left for work earlier than normal. I checked her messages. She contacted Asher that night and

ended things with him. He was blowing up her phone trying to get answers, and she was blocking him on everything he tried. When she got home that night I was waiting. She just looked at me and went into our bedroom. She locked the door behind her. I went to sleep on the couch again and was awoken at around 1 a.m. She came in and laid down next to me and just cried. I held her for maybe 15 to 20 minutes while she just let it all out. She began apologizing profusely, and self-deprecating. I told her to stop that she wasn't all these horrible things she was saying. I knew, and I didn't say anything. I didn't think less of her and still loved her completely.

She asked me how I knew and I came clean about my surveillance apps. She was hurt by this, but strongly conflicted. She was telling me she felt this intense invasion of privacy that she was having a hard time processing. At the same time she was betraying me, and feels that she deserved this that I asked why she locked herself away for two days. She told me, when you said, I don't care, it just all flooded into me all at once that I spent years believing you didn't care about me, it was just too much at that moment. It was a crazy and emotional conversation, but we eventually fell asleep together on my couch. She took the next two days off and we went over everything that had happened in our relationship. We talked about how bad things got after COVID.

My indifference and unwillingness to change. My surveillance of her phone. We talked about how much I have changed over the last couple years. We spent a huge amount of time going over her affair, more details than I actually cared to hear, which was surprising because I hadn't had even the slightest emotional response up until this point. I asked her why she started the affair, and she said because he paid attention to her, but also she assumed we would be divorcing. She loved the attention and validation, especially after years of being ignored. She remembers she would try to get me to do things with her, even things that I, used to, like. I would usually turn her down, and on the rare occasions that I didn't, it was always like I wanted to hurry through it so I could get back home and get back on my games.

She was totally right about my behavior at that time. I should also say she wasn't trying to justify her behavior, just explain to me what she was thinking at the time. After she slept with him for the first time she knew we needed to divorce. She got this idea for one last test to see if our relationship was even remotely salvageable. That was when she invited me on the hike and picnic. She never thought in a million years would I agree to go. When I did she was shocked, but also figured I'd be trying to make it quick. Then I didn't and we had a wonderful day.

She thought she should continue to make an effort, and all of sudden I was responding in making an effort myself. I interjected during this part and asked, why after everything got better between us, did you keep up with the affair? She held nothing back in her responses, I was just selfish, I liked having it all and didn't want it to stop. I actually feel bad for stringing him along, I am pretty much. sure he is in love with me. I cut in once more, and how did you feel about him? Olivia, I definitely

had, have feelings for him, but not like with you. I guess you could call it love-like, but really what I loved was the attention and I didn't want to give it up. Once I had you back, and we were really enjoying each other again, I knew I should end things, but I didn't want to. I was spending time with the man I loved, and that meant a ton to me, but I was also selfish, and allowing this other person to shower me with attention. I used all the cliche justifications to my I'm coming clean will just hurt Alex, I'm in too deep to stop, I deserve it, and so on. I asked, did you ever feel guilty? Olivia, all the time, but having it all was more important to me.

I responded, did you have it all? She continued, in my mind I did, if I'm being totally open, yeah, I think I did. I had you, and we were enjoying each other more than we had since we were dating. I had my space and free time, then I also had this guy who wanted nothing more than to shower me with attention. You were both so different, I liked sleeping with. both of you. We were back to our wild kinky crazy stuff that you know I'm into, and he was the opposite, simple, attentive, kind of sensually vanilla. Not that we don't do passionate, but it was just different. I was pretty worn out after this conversation, and we had several

more over the weekend. It was Sunday afternoon, and Asher was still trying to get a hold of Olivia. I told her she should call him, and give some sort of closure. She fully agreed. When she called she put it on speaker and I remained silent just listening. She explained to him that I had found out about the affair, but not that I knew the whole time. That she was committing fully to her marriage and we were going to work through all of our issues, she admitted to me that after things got better she stopped talking about our marriage to him. He begged her to reconsider and said he loved her, you could tell that he really did.

He truly believed through all of this that they would end up together, and had bought into the idea that she was just waiting for the right time to divorce me. I kind of felt sorry for him. As she tried to reassure him and convince him that he needed to move on, he began to get a bit confrontational. Eventually he made a veiled threat at telling me everything. She told him that I already knew all about it and that she had come completely clean. She quickly ended the conversation after this and blocked him once again. The next week while Olivia was at work I heard a knock on the door.

It was Asher. I stepped out to talk to him. I wasn't worried about a physical confrontation, I wasn't worried about a physical confrontation, I've got three inches and probably 40 pounds on the guy. He just started showing the evidence of their affair, he seemed a little manic. I told him to stop, I tried to be as empathetic as possible, but honestly didn't really care if he was upset. I told him I always knew about their affair and he could just save it. I figured it out when it started.

I just didn't say anything or stop her because I didn't care. He was dumbfounded, and just turned and left. I told Olivia what happened and she went into a bit of a doom spiral. That's kind of been the norm the last few weeks, I am getting a little worn out from it. She got us some recovering from infidelity books and we've been reading them together, because she thinks we should. The thing is it's all ass backwards. Like I'm the betrayed partner and she is the wayward partner, yet I spend all the time trying

to reassure her. She has these huge crashes and triggers, and I'm the one trying to anticipate this stuff. She wants to talk and check in on me, and make sure I'm fine, but I processed all this a long time ago. It's old news to me and I'm ready to get back to our routines. I have missed my last three D&D Wednesdays, didn't go to the fights last weekend even though that night had been planned for two months. I'm trying to be a good partner here, but the irony of the situation is not unnoticed. I'm thinking of putting in some hard boundaries in regards to a fair talk. I am also pushing her to come clean to her sister. I need someone else to shoulder the burden of

keeping Olivia together. Olivia and her sister, Cam 34F. F. have always been really close. I think in the long term we will be fine, I just need it to vent through this rough patch. Part one, I guess I should say STBXW and EX best friend. Just typing that hurts. Everything hurts. I'm Eric 28M, a full-grown man,

and I have cried more this last week than I think I have my whole life combined. I am so miserable. My best friend, Charles 28M, and I have been friends since we were eight years old. We were on all the same sports teams, each our parents basically consider the other family. I was invited on every one of his family vacations and vice versa. We graduated high school together in 2014 and were roommates all through college. He was the best man in my wedding.

God it hurts so much. As painful as this is, losing my wife, Moira 27F, is even worse. She was my everything. We met seven years ago, started dating shortly after, have been married for. for 4.5 years now. I keep running through my mind. How did I lose her? What did I do wrong?

I have to let myself go, I plan dates and vacations, we are doing well financially, we have little fights but nothing big, and we always make up and do better going forward. I'm willing to say I'm sorry, I learn from our conversations, I listen. We have a healthy and active sex life. We split the work around the house. I just don't know how this can happen, I'm hunting for reasons and I can't find them. I'm so lost, maybe I'm blind to my own faults. I wish she would have talked to me.

It's so painful to say out loud what has transpired. I'm sitting here now trying to type it out. But it's hard with the tears rolling down my face. Two months ago, Charles' long-time girlfriend ended their relationship. He took it really hard. Moira and I have been doing our best to cheer him up. In fact, a week after their breakup, Moira took him out to coffee to just let him get a woman's perspective while he vented. When she came back home after, she was noticeably mad and kind of ranting about Charles's

ex. She was saying things like, that woman never deserved him. He's a catch, and she will regret it. And so on. We were all close, Charles and Moira were good friends too. I felt the same as she did and chalked it up to just her being protective. Over the next week she was on her phone a lot, when I asked who, she would tell me she was messaging Charles, giving him a little pick me up.

I thought nothing of it really. Then over the last seven or eight weeks she started running more errands, going to meet friends for coffee or lunch more often. Charles was also acting a little odd. I was trying to be there for him, especially early on. I would invite him over or just text to see how he was doing. Over the weeks his messages back got shorter, with more time between. He came over less and less.

I assumed he was just coping in his own way. This last Tuesday, I was on my way home from work when he was. and Charles' text asking me to stop by. I told him I'd be right there. I was excited because I thought he was back and just wanted to hang out or work on something together. I arrived and tried to make some references to our inside jokes. I laughed a little, but he just smirked and it looked like he had tear form in his eye.

He motioned for me to follow him into the living room. Moira, my wife, was sitting on the couch. When I entered the room she burst into tears. I immediately went to comfort her, thinking something bad had happened. happened. Like someone had died. Before I could get to her, Charles said, Eric, wait. Moira at the same time put her hand up as if giving the signal to stop.

Charles let a tear fall down his face and said, I am so sorry, I don't know how to say this. Moira and I have fallen in love. I felt the color run from me, my heart actually physically hurt. I wasn't sure if I was hearing this correct. Moira just started repeating, I am so sorry. The two of them were both just apologizing profusely. Then they started, we know it is wrong, we know it's not fair, but we are in love, and we can't deny it.

We didn't mean for this to happen, but it did. We still care for you. We still love you, you don't deserve this. We regret what has happened, but we want to be together. Everything was we. The room was spinning, I was having a full-blown panic attack. It felt like dying, I started begging, begging them to tell this was a prank, a joke. Please, I don't care if you're filming this, I don't care if you share it to the world,

just please let this be fake, please. I was hysterical in this moment. Moira put her arms around me and tried to comfort me and I let her. I just cried. When I calmed down. They repeated, it was real. They loved each other, they wanted to be together. I asked the how, the when, the why.

After his breakup, they just felt this spark at that coffee meeting. they knew it the spark was an inferno. They said they tried to fight it, talked about how unfair it was to me, how wrong. Then Sunday, when my wife told me she was meeting a friend to shop. She actually came here to his house, and they made love, for the first time. At that point they said there was no going back. They had to face the reality of their love, and that meant they had to come clean to me. I ran at that point. I got in my truck and I returned home. Moira followed behind, without Charles, about ten minutes later. When she entered, I asked, why did you follow me? She said, because I love you, and I don't want you to do anything permanent. I broke

down again and begged her not to do this. Begged her to have me back. She cried hard and apologized so many times. I asked over and over again what I did wrong. What did I do to drive her away? She just kept saying things like, You've done nothing, you have been an amazing husband. I am at fault, I have failed you and fallen for him. We are in love and I can't stop it. It's not you, it was never you. You deserve great love, and everything that comes with it.

I'm so sorry I failed to give you that, and never will be able to. Once I was calm again, she packed to large suitcases with most of her stuff. She left that day. She moved in with Charles. In the past week, I have received multiple apologies from both of them. Moira has been trying to check on me, telling me she loves and cares for me, and that she's here if I need her. I've left them mostly ignored.

Moira told me she was extremely worried about me and asked for me just to confirm I was, physically okay. I did send back, yes. Then felt bad about responding. She didn't deserve to know. Both Charles's parents and Moira's parents have called me this week. I answered both calls. The calls were very similar.

The gist was they love me, care for me, and are so sorry. They are angry, disappointed, and hurt by their child's actions. They won't cut them off or anything, because they love their child, but they can't look at them right now. My family has been supportive, but they live pretty far away. My mother dropped everything and came to be with me for three days, but had to go back for work. My little brother has been checking in but he has the emotional depth of a tin can. I still appreciate his efforts. I don't know how I'm going to survive this.

It has changed my entire outlook on life. How could this happen? We had a great marriage, I know everyone thinks they do, but we really did. I tried, I really tried. Moira has said so many times that I did nothing wrong, that I was everything and more. But this still happened. If you can do everything right and this still happens, then it is inevitable. I'm so hurt.

If the two most important people in your life can betray you, how can anyone trust anyone? Part 2. It's been two months since my last post. Thank you to all those who offered support and kind words. I am still reeling. My, Eric 28M, family is trying their best to support me. Moira 27F still messages some to, check on me. She was doing this almost daily and offering apologies and support. After two more weeks of that, I finally replied,

Please stop, you're hurting me far more than you're helping. Now she only checks once a week. Monday, just as work was ending, this somewhat official-looking person came in and presented me with divorce papers. I went home and just sat there staring at it for the longest time before opening the envelope. I finally did. I guess you could say she's being generous. I get the house, no split, no buy out.

I don't want it. We bought it just 16 months ago. I remember that day, the process. We were so excited, so happy. Three bedrooms because when I turned 30 we were going to start having a family. At least two kids. The work we did to this place. These walls are the color she picked out. The his and hers sinks in the bathroom we installed together.

I can't keep living here. Too many memories. All the cookouts and game nights with Charles. In my lower moments, I just want to burn it down with me in it. The rest of the stuff in the papers is straightforward. She took all of our small amount of credit card debt, she left me $11,000 of the savings, taking only $3,500. I guess she's trying to literally pay for my pain.

Amongst the papers was a note written by her. Another apology and request to talk. Also a warning that her and her brother, Kevin, would be by Tuesday to collect the rest of her things. When I got home after work, they were all there waiting for me. There were two trucks. Moira and Kevin were waiting on the front porch. I could see Charles, 28M, was parked across the street and sitting in his truck. I walked up and Moira looked like she was going to cry again, I'm sure I looked terrible, she tried to hug me, but I put my hand up. I pointed towards Charles and said, what is he doing? Moira said, he doesn't feel right coming in, and says he has no right

to be in your home. We needed him to drive one of the trucks. I shook my head and let them in. Kevin did pull me aside at one point and apologize. Told me he always considered me a brother, that this is a bad deal. He didn't really want to help, but it's his sister, they've always been close. I know he is here because they don't want me making a scene. When they loaded the rest of her personal things, and the few pieces of furniture that were hers from before our marriage. Kevin said, I'll be right outside. I had spent most of their visit sitting on the backyard slab. Thinking about how Charles and I were going to build a deck on this very spot this summer.

When I noticed that they appeared to be finishing up I had gone back in. When Kevin walked out, I thought, here we go, time to dump another 10K tons of pain on me. I wasn't wrong. Moira told me she thinks she is six weeks pregnant. She didn't want me finding out from someone else or at a sensitive moment. She felt she owed it to me to tell me herself. I asked, was that an accident or was the waiting until 30 rule only for me? She looked sad, I saw that little quiver in her lip, we want a family now, I went off

birth control the same day I moved in, I'm so sorry for how this all happened. I sat down on the couch, she took a step towards me then stopped. She turned and went for the front door. So much suffering, I couldn't hold it in, was I just a placeholder? Is Charles who you always wanted? Did you pick me because it meant you'd get to be around him? I just don't understand, you've been in each other's lives for years. I've never suspected anything, the most he's ever said about you that would lead me to think

anything was that I am a lucky man. I just don't get it. I had tears again. She turned and ran back over putting her hand on my back. She was direct in tone, no, nothing like that, nothing had ever happened between us ever. I loved you, you are amazing. This just happened, it just happened, I'm sorry, it's so wrong, but we can't stop. I'm so sorry.

At that point she turned and ran out of the house in tears. I'm left here, alone, picking up the pieces of my own shattered life. Part 3. I figure most of you have never heard my story. The last post I made is linked at the top. I, Eric 35m, was betrayed by my best friend Charles, 35m, and my then wife Moira, 33F. In the years since then I have tried to move on and have a life. I just can't get past what happened. These two I cared for more than anything else in my life.

I was a good friend and a great husband. They even said so themselves. If this can happen despite me doing everything right, how can I ever trust anyone again? I haven't been able to. I have attempted to date a few times, each time I have sabotaged the relationship from the start. My mind can't help but think the worst. To give an example I was dating this woman, Amelia. We were really hitting it off in those three weeks.

She cancelled plans on me late one night but said she would message me later. I sent a few intrusive texts asking where she was going and why so last minute. She ignores me that night and I have a panic attack. The next day she asked me out to lunch and while we were there she told me she felt I came on a little strong and controlling the night before. She had a family situation and it wasn't really my business considering we've only been dating three weeks. I broke down a bit and told her I had some past trauma that left me with extreme trust issue. I said I was sorry, but she decided to end things, saying she wasn't in the place for that kind of relationship given her own dealing with past exes.

This is pretty much how all my dates end eventually. I don't really have friends anymore. Most of my mutual friends with Charles or Moira chose me and cut them off when the whole situation went down. I was broken though, I didn't want to do much, I appreciated the few pop-ins and calls. I just wasn't the same person. Eventually, I drifted from the mall. Some of them even went back to being friends with them. I've done well at work, there's nothing to distract me from work.

I am in incredible physical shape. Therapy has not worked, I've been to three different therapists. I see my family when I can but they can only do so much. That brings me to the point of this update. I ran into Charles and Moira. I went to the mall recently, holiday season is usually the only time I ever go. there. I came out of a store, turned right, and there they were. Two sons with them. One looked to be about five, the other in a stroller about two. We met eyes, and I froze.

Moira just said, Eric. I turned and went the complete opposite direction at that point. As I was fleeing, I heard a fast approach and Charles yelled, Eric, wait please. I don't know why but I stopped. Moira and their two kids were still back standing in front of the store, I could see concern on her face. Charles began, I know it doesn't mean much, but I can't say how sorry I am still. We still think about you, we still hurt for what we did to you. I know you can't forgive us nor do we deserve it. I, I just, let me start over, I ran into your brother, maybe six months ago. I asked about you and he had some choice words from me.

He was always a hot head, he chuckled and looked at me sheepishly, I think hoping I would respond in any way. He told me, that we destroyed you. That you haven't moved on, you have a hard time meeting people, dating, he really chewed into me and told me what a piece of shit I was. I hate seeing you like this, I'm sorry, please get help. You deserve everything and more. Don't let what happened consume the rest of your life, please.

He choked up during that last sentence. I had been looking down while I listened, but at that point I decided to look up into his eyes. Are you happy? He looked stunned, yes, we are happy. But we still hurt for what happened. I said, you hurt. Do you remember how I was really into Reddit?

He smiled, yeah, yeah I do, you used to talk all sorts of stuff, and send us links to all those crazy stories, and funny posts. I continued, I got into all the support for betrayal subs after you both left me, his smile erased. I heard the perfect analogy while in those. Imagine you are riding in the back of car. The two people you love and trust the most are in the front. Everything is going fine. Then suddenly they start accelerating really fast, they are swerving all over. Then one slams the gas to the floor while the other yanks the wheel hard to the right.

You smash into a tree at full speed. After the accident the two people who wrecked the car, get up, walk off, a few minor cuts and bruises. You on the other hand, you're in the ICU. You're not sure you're going to make it. You've lost a limb, your body is destroyed with broken bones and failing organs. It takes years of rehab, to even walk again much less run. But the drivers, they're fine, they feel a little guilty over the wreck, but otherwise they

just get to keep on going. That's my reality, you hurt, fine, I will never be the same. No amount of counseling, no amount of time will ever be enough and believe me I've tried. Remember that the next you're hurting over what happed, it's not what happened, it's what you both did to me. I walked away at that point. They didn't follow, didn't try to talk. Just another day in hell. Part 4, I, Eric 59M, attended my 40-year high school reunion. I can't believe that much time has passed. I have so little to show for it. I have money, and that's about it. I could retire any moment but I don't because then I don't know what I would do with myself. I gave up on

finding someone a long time ago. After my last post, linked to I sulked for two more years. My family was pressuring me to get out there. So I did. I was wealthy, I was fit. I had no trouble meeting women. I just didn't feel anything for them. We would date for a while. I wouldn't freak out like I used to, I just wouldn't commit to anything. Not really, anyway, I always kept myself closed off, sex was fine, feelings weren't. They'd always pick up on this and things would end. As I passed 40, my My family really intervened. It seemed like everyone in my life, which wasn't many people, wanted to set me up with the future Mrs. Stan, my last name.

I realized I should try. I met a woman, Trish, she was nice, and driven. I put the effort in to act like I thought I should. She was no dummy though, she could tell I wasn't really in. It came to a head in a big argument about a year in. That was my last relationship, 16 years ago. My little brother died two years ago. I still miss him.

My parents have been gone for a few years now too. I think these are the things that made me go to the reunion in the first place. After all this time, I needed to socialize, if even for a only night. I was not going to go at all out of fear that Charles, 59M, and Moira, 57F, would be there. But I got over it. For the most part it was relatively tame evening. I conversed with a few people I remembered from high school, but mostly spent a large amount of time sitting at a table by myself. As the night wood on Dukes came

by and sat next to me. We weren't close friends back in H.S., but he was always friendly, man could talk to anyone. That's probably why he took up the mantle of organizing this thing. Dukes, man, Eric, you've barely aged a day, it seems. We're all pushing 60 and you look like you're south of 40. Me, yeah, I hear that all the time. I take care of myself, and I'm lucky, I can't remember the last time I was sick. Dukes, guess old Chuck couldn't make it after all. I looked at him a little surprised, I guess not, we haven't spoken in some time now, was he supposed to?

Dukes, oh, my apologies, I remembered you two were tight back in the day, I figured you still were since he called me to ask if you had R.SVP'd. Me, he did? Did he say anything else? Dukes, not much, just wanted to see if you had, said he was deciding if he was coming, and wanted to see what your status was before he committed, had me put him down as maybe. I knew now he wouldn't show. We had ran into each other one other time about ten years ago, and that time we both turned

and ran away. Dukes continued, well, he's doing well for himself. I saw on Facebook he got a couple of grandkids now, and is closing in on retirement. Good for him. This is where I went pain shopping, I don't, um, have social media. Can you show me how Charles is doing, like I said we lost touch a few years back. Dukes, oh yeah, let's check it out. He pulled his phone out and clicked on the app, searched for Charles.

Then he saw someone in the crowd. He just handed me his phone and said, have a look, I need to go talk to somebody I'll come back over in a minute or two. I thanked him, then scrolled. He was gone for ten minutes or so. In that time I saw a lot. Years of smiling photos, holidays and vacations. They had three kids, and two grandkids, and their daughter was

currently pregnant with twins. Saw my ex-in-laws. Birthday messages, my once upon a time F-I-L had a post-calling Charles, the best son-in-law man could ask for. I saw events and parties with old friends. It was the life I was supposed to have. I left shortly after. A few days later I got a call from Dukes. He was apologizing profusely for his foe Pouse in bringing up Charles. I guess after I left someone who was in the know told him what had gone on between Charles and I, Duke's was a nice man. He didn't have to call, but he did. He ended the call like everyone always does, if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. Like everyone else who hears this, there was never anything to ask for, because no one can make your memories go away or stop your heart

from hurting. They say time heals all, but for me, time just makes it worse. Part 5, I can't believe even after all this time, they still find ways to pop back into my life. It's been a lot of years since I updated this post. A part of the story permanently ended recently. I, Eric 76M, live a very routine life. I have been mostly alone for the last 48 years. I made a ton of money by being a workaholic, and rarely spending any of it. I still work out regularly, and often get mistaken for a man in his early 50s. I awoke this morning, had breakfast, worked out, watched a movie. This is typical. On most days I go for a walk around noon, especially here in February when it's colder. I leave out of my apartment and head towards a cemetery nearby.

I like walking the paths and enjoying the peace. Sometimes when I walk there's a service going on. I always take paths that go around or away from the services. This cemetery is rather large, and has a number of single-lane roads going through its grounds. Often when a service is going on the local funeral homes will put small signs with the deceased's last name them so that those coming know which way to turn. As I entered and prepared to walk down my usual paths, I noticed the sign said, Francis, on it. That is the last name of my former best friend Charles, 76M. I decided to walk down that path towards the service. I was not dressed for it, not in my red

track suit. But curiosity was winning this day. I came up on the scene just as it must have ended. people were getting back into cars and heading back towards me as they exited. I could see a large group, probably immediate family, standing around consoling each other. I just stood and watched from a distance. Though I was a little ways out, my eyes have always been perfect. I could see that the matriarch of the group was my ex-wife Moira. I hadn't so much as seen a picture of her in 15 years, but that was without a doubt a 75-year-old version of her. They got her in the car, and were coming this way.

As it went by I stared into the cabin. The car went a few feet past me and came to a sudden stop. Moira appeared from the back passenger side. She looked at me with tears in her eye, Eric. You've barely aged a day. I can't believe you came, thank you. She rushed forward as quick as she could and threw her arms around me. I put mine around her.

I was caught off guard by the gesture and just kind of went with it out of reflex. I don't think I had ever felt more awkward. I whispered in her ear warmly, Moira. She looked up at me, and our eyes locked in. I kissed her and she kissed me back, warm and tender. Then she snapped out of it, and gasped audibly. She stepped back, eyes filling with tears, she said the words I never wanted to hear again, for I heard them far too many times, I'm so sorry.

Then she scurried into the car. I thought to myself, Charles, I hope you were looking down just now, with any luck I will be her last kiss, take that you dead fuck. I was about to turn and walk away when the driver got out and approached. He walked up hand extended, I shook it. The man said, Eric, right? I'm Scott, my mother's oldest. I don't know how to say this, I know all about your history with my parents.

I want you to know they never stopped regretting, at least to some degree, what happened between you all. I hope you'll forgive my mother for her behavior just now, she's been hearing your name for the last few years. My father had dementia towards the end, and she has been enduring him asking where her husband Eric is at for the past couple years, and if he'll be back soon. Seeing you today was, unexpected and a lot for her. So I'm sorry, he's gone now and she's grieving, you understand right? I met his eyes, my boy, I understand all too well what it's like to lose your spouse and best friend in one moment.

With that I turned and continued my walk down the path. With everyone gone I stopped by the headstone. It read, in loving memory, Charles P. Francis October 6th, 1995 to February 14th, 2072. Beloved husband and father, I feel like that bottom line should say, treacherous bastard and backstabber, but no one asked me. I entertained the thought of coming back at night and pissing on his grave, but I won't, the knowledge that I haunted him for the last of his days will be comfort enough. Part 6. Today is the 10-year anniversary of Moira's passing.

I, Eric 99M, actually took the effort to print out her obituary. Moira McKenzie Francis passed away after a long battle with breast cancer on May 5th, 2085 at the age of 88. She was born to Sean and Teresa Thomas. After college she became a teacher, and later had a long and prominent career as the superintendent of schools for the Westchester School District. Moira was married to Charles P. Francis from January 1st, 2025 to his passing on February 14, 2022. She is survived by her three children, Scott, Henry, and Jeannie. Her six grandchildren, Warren, Robert, Alex, Lorna, Aurora, and Kurt. And her eight great-grandchildren, Logan, Sean, Rachel, Bishop, Elizabeth, Catherine, Allison, and Peter.

Moira loved to spend time with her family, and volunteer throughout the community. Services will be held at Wilson Funeral Home on May 8th at 10 a.m. She will be laid to rest next to her husband at Frost Cemetery. I have read this thing way too many times over the last decade. I let it haunt me to some degree. I've wallowed in sadness for 70 years because of her and Charles. Recently that turned to anger. Ancestry DNA kits had a super sale, 90% off for anyone over 90.

I thought, what the hell? I matched with one of my brother's kids. I should have maintained a relationship with them. They moved several states away, but looking back now this is just another regret. I had a few other matches, including a cousin I didn't know who lives in Hawaii. But the most painful thing I read in my entire report was a match with two team girls here in my city. Their names are Rachel and Liz Francis. Scott was mine.

She lied to me. Seventy fucking years. She told me she was six weeks along, I still remember that day, I still remember the pain thinking two months ago I was married to this woman and now she is six weeks along with my best friend's kid. She wasn't, she lied. I met with Rachel, Liz, and briefly with Warren recently. Warren was still having some trouble processing the whole reality of it all. He loved his grandparents.

Now knowing the truth has him a bit in disbelief, but he did say he would like to visit me and find out more in the future. The girls have another sister named Allie, but she didn't meet with me, she's young, only 11 years. years old, so I understand. I got the usual from the girls, there's no way you are 100 years old. You look younger than our grandpa did when he died. Yes, my son died two years ago at the age of 68 from cancer, I'm at least thankful I got to shake his hand that day 23 years ago. The girls told me all about themselves, their parents, aunts, uncles, cousins. They have some memories of Moira. Knowing what she did now, I sped them through that part because my memories of her a full of disdain again.

Rachel is actually leaving for college soon, Liz plans to join her there in two years. We parted ways, but they both promised to see me again before school started. I was happy that day, I haven't been happy very much in the last 70 years. I was also angry. I never forgave them for what they did, but God damn I would have killed them myself if I had known they were hiding my son from me. Nothing I can do now, of course, I do hope Warren meets with me again, and brings his brother Robert and my only great-grandson and eldest great-grandchild Logan.

It's the first thing I've looked forward to in a long time. Part 7. The last dozen or so years of my life have almost made up for the previous 70. It happened in the most fucked-up way, but I actually have a family. My biological grandchildren and great-grandchildren have formed a real relationship with me. It was pretty natural forming with the great-grandkids. Warren and Robert took some time. I understand, they had grandparents, they loved them and thought they were. They were great. There was a little dissension amongst the rest of the family when I came into the

picture. As there was worry that Charles may have not fathered any kids. They did DNA tests and it appears they are Charles's children. At very least they are full siblings, since Charles had been in the ground for over 25 years they obviously didn't have his sample. All their concerns were further put to bed when one of them finally went though the junk drawer at their family home, which now belongs to Jeannie's son Alex, and found a post-it note with the login information to Moira's Google Drive. It had a memoir written by Moira detailing her life, up until she was about 61. In it was the confession that she lied to everyone and stated she was six weeks along instead of ten weeks along, and when Scott was born at, 34 weeks, she simply claimed

he came early. Charles never knew. She took that to her grave. The rest of it was largely mundane. It confirmed Charles was the father of Henry and Jeannie. It made no mention of any further infidelity on either of their parts, or any major problems really. I found that disappointing, granted, I never got to read it, I was getting all my intel secondhand from Rachel and Liz, so maybe it was more scandalous than they told me, probably not, though. Those two girls have really taken a liking to me. I don't get to see them that often, but I cherish every moment I do. They got me on all sorts of weird social medias. When we first met I wasn't sure they'd want to see me again, they said they would, but you know how teens are. They'd

did, though, and it was that second meeting that finally got me up and on with my life. I went to my doctor. We had a long conversation. He did all the possible tests, and confirmed what I knew. I was in shape like no person my age had ever been. He said he couldn't explain it. Perfect vision, hearing, cognition. I have the joints of a man in his 30s despite being a lifelong jimaholic. He said, it's like I just don't age, at least not like the rest of us. It was funny because I always considered it a curse. I still remember my 95th birthday, and cursing the heavens why they left me here like this, and I'm not even religious. Saying if they were going to make me suffer through this life forever why couldn't they at least take my mind from me, what was the point

in being like this if I had no one to spend it with? After my doctor gave me the green light, I decided I was going for all of the old man records. The girls helped me manage me social media accounts and I've become somewhat famous, I have over two million followers across my three platforms. So far I have claimed, oldest man to, bungee jump skydive fight in a sanctioned MMA fight, I lost, run the Boston Marathon visit all seven continents in the same year. I even got an offer to become the oldest person to ever star in an adult film. I declined, no one needs to see that. The buzz around that is actually what got me like half my followers if you can believe it. I have a few items on my bucket list still and figure a few more world records

are in order. But best of all I finally understand what it's like to live. Update, hi Reddit people, it's me Rachel. I knew my Grams had just posted this about a week ago. He unfortunately died in a cave diving accident, he will be happy knowing he still gets the record for oldest cave diver. I'm really sad still, I only got to know him for 12 years, but I am glad he went the way he did. He always said he didn't want to die alone in a bed, and he didn't. Eric Nathaniel Stan, September 17, 1995 to August 12, 2107, I have been with my wife for 17 years. We have three children together. I was always of the mindset that I wanted monogamy in life, one woman to come home to and that I d

be with for the long haul. I had women try to talk to me over the years, but I never pursued it because I was completely content in my marriage, my wife was my dream girl and I never wanted to hurt her. Over the years there was two occasions where I discovered she was being unfaithful in our marriage. One was an off and on again affair that lasted a few years with her married co-worker and the other was a fling with an ex she dated in high school when she went to visit her family states away. I'm sure there will be people who say I am stupid which looking back I can't even deny myself, but, after a period of separation with both situations, I decided to forgive my wife as I never wanted to raise my children in a broken home like I had been and I really felt like we could make it through it. We were young whenever the situation with her co-worker happened, so I chalked it up to being young and making dumb choices without thinking. For a while things were seemingly okay, I never fully trusted her, but I tried my best to push back my doubts because I knew if I decided to forgive her then I had to do my best to move past it and have a clean slate.

It's been four years since the second time she'd been unfaithful and I felt like I made the right decision by letting her have that chance to show she still wanted to be in our marriage. She was a different person for years and we were happy and even had various things set in motion for the future of our family. However, two months ago my reality was once again shattered by yet another incident which in my mind was by far worse than the others. I ended up receiving a message from one of my best friend's wives. This friend knew my wife a little, he'd met her in passing, but it wasn't like we all hung out together or anything like that for me to even worry about them. We worked together so there was sometimes my wife would bring him up multiple times while we were talking about work, she would bring me coffee to work and also one for him. I noticed when she did she dress in more revealing clothing than she usually wore, but I never commented on it.

She even convinced me that we should buy him a joint birthday present and take him out for drinks on his birthday. Just little things like that which were obviously weird, but like I said, I didn't think I had anything to worry about with either of them. To my knowledge he had a good marriage with his wife, he never spoke badly about it so I didn't think head have any interest either. Not to mention we would actually been friends for a very long time and I trusted him. I'd make comments in a joking way to my wife about how she took too much of an interest in him

and she laughed it off saying she just wanted to have another couple to be friends with, she never actually tried to plan anything as far as to hang out with him and his wife as a couple, I agreed they would be good to be friends with so again I never thought too much into the overly friendliness of my wife with him. Turns out I was way wrong not to because I was met with multiple screenshots implying they were engaged in a full-out affair. I wanted to get my proof situated before I ended up confronting my wife because I didn't want her to have the to manipulate the situation or try to lie her way out of it. So I started to go through call logs, credit statements, etc. Because I didn't know how far this actually went past the social media screenshots I saw.

When the truth came out, neither of them tried to lie to me about it. I found out they were sneaking off to hotels when she was supposed to be doing doubles at work and he was supposed to be off with family. And that my friend would leave work to go see her at her job basically every day for a month and she'd meet up with him on his lunch breaks. They were even planning a weekend at a hotel for the next weekend before the truth came out. I obviously cut ties with my friend and honestly, I have no idea what to do about my situation with my wife.

Their affair ended and my wife apologized profusely saying she just got carried away. She said that she'd felt lacking in our marriage with both of us dedicating so much time to work slash other things and that my friend was there and a nice guy, she said she let herself envy the way he treated his wife and wished she could have had that with me but was afraid to tell me I wasn't doing enough in our marriage. So in her words, she made a mistake and that she didn't know how to end it once it started. For now we are living in the same house because realistically neither of us have the means to leave right now as her family doesn't live here plus the costs of renting and houses here are absurd and on top of that we still have our

children in our house who are all still in school. She is basically trying to do anything to keep me around including telling me I can see women casually outside of our marriage as long as I come home to her she would never hold it against me as cheating. I told her that's not much of a marriage and it's certainly not anything I ever set out to have, but she is hell-bent on keeping our family together by any means. She's even brought up how we shouldn't let our kids live in a broken home because of our marital issues. I guess my wife is under the impression that nothing could make me want out of this marriage and that by offering things like that she thinks will fix our marriage. I guess in a way that is my fault for letting so much slide in the past. I do love her in some ways,

but at this point I think the love is more just from the fact we have kids together and that I've been with her for nearly two decades rather than feelings of being in love. My self-confidence is low and my wife is out of my league but still I don't think that's enough of a reason to stay. She claims she loves me and doesn't want to lose all we've built and are building toward but to me I just can't see how that can be true when she was so okay with running around with one of my only friends. I can't trust her, to me her word is meaningless, I forgive her then how long until she goes and does it again. I do think people can make mistakes and be forgiven because people are flawed, but this isn't just one slip-up.

And truth be told my faith in her is so low I don't even know if there's been more instances on top of the ones I actually know about. My mental state is essentially a puddle of mud right now. I'm sure there's probably someone reading this calling me a dumbass and I can't even argue that but yeah, basically my life is a shit show and I don't know how to proceed. Edit, I'm not staying with my wife I should have clarified that better. Me saying I don't know how to proceed is more talking about how to go about handling this with my children, I've never dealt with anything legal so the stress of having to meet with lawyers and also not knowing how to go about our living situation. I have enough proof that my wife couldn't flip the switch and take everything for me,

but as a guy that's always something you have to worry about. Thank you for your words, and some of you saying I'm a dumb ass, trust me I know, can't change that now, unfortunately. Just have to keep moving forward. We start on Tuesday, May 11th, 2021. It's 4.30 a.m., and the Athens police receive a distressing call. On the other end is a man, clearly shaken, his voice trembling and hard to understand. Between stammer's, the officers make out that he's been a victim of a violent robbery. He provides his address, repeatedly pleads for help, and asks for an ambulance, stressing again and again that his wife might be hurt. Police cars rushed to the scene, securing the area. They forced the door open, stepping into a chaotic mess that perfectly matches the

man's report. Droars are left open, the content spilled everywhere, furniture overturned, and security cameras ripped from their spots. It screams, robbery, but one horrifying detail didn't fit, the man's wife was dead. And the way she died set off every alarm bell imaginable. This is where the deeply unsettling case of Caroline Louise Crouch begins. The beginning of Caroline's story, Caroline Louise Crouch was born on July 12, 2001, in the United Kingdom. She was the daughter of Susan Della Questa and David Crouch, a Filipino and British descent, respectively. David, a former member of the Armed Forces, left his military career when Caroline was born and took up a job in an international oil company. When Caroline was just two years old,

the family moved to Athens, Greece. By the time she turned eight, they had relocated to the picturesque island of Alanissos. Life there was idyllic. Caroline grew up in a loving family, made tons of friends, and excelled at almost everything she tried. Her younger years were filled with activities. She joined the scouts, learned to dive, and embraced her love for theater. She was charismatic, intelligent, and a natural leader who often stole the spotlight in school plays, whether she had a leading role or a supporting one. By the time she graduated from secondary school at 18, Caroline was a well-rounded young woman

who had already achieved more than many her age. After school, Caroline chose to study statistics at the University of Pyreus. But even before enrolling, her life took a dramatic turn when she met someone who would completely change her path, Bobbush and Agnistopoulos. The meeting that changed everything, it was the summer of 2017, and Caroline was just shy of her 16th birthday. Like any teenager, she spent her days at the beach with friends, going to parties, and enjoying the carefree bliss of summer.

During one of these outings, she met Bobbish. At the time, he was 29 years old, 12 years her senior. The official story is that they started at a day. as friends, nothing more. But unofficially, it said that sparks flew from the very beginning. Despite the age gap, their connection quickly grew. Bobbish soon returned to Athens, but their bond remained strong. By the end of summer, they were officially a couple. Bobbish was handsome, charming, and intelligent. He worked as a helicopter pilot and had a way of making Caroline feel special. In his own words, he later described her as, the most extraordinary person I've ever met. He

went on to say, she was brilliant, even at 16. You could talk to her about anything. Her personality was enchanting, and she filled everyone around her with love. We spent the whole summer together, and by the end, it was clear we were in a relationship, despite the practical challenges. Those practical challenges included the fact that Caroline was still a child while Bobbish was a grown man with life experience, multiple past relationships, and a steady career. Yet, for the two of them, none of this seemed to matter. Caroline knew very little about Bobbish beyond his good looks and captivating personality. He was a pilot, he earned a good living, and she loved him deeply.

She envisioned a future with him, marriage, children, the works. But her parents were less enthusiastic. They were adamantly opposed to the relationship. To them, it was obvious, Bobbish was too old for her. She was still a teenager who hadn't experienced enough of life to settle down, and they wanted her to focus on her studies. But Caroline was headstrong. When she set her mind on something, she didn't budge.

So, her parents decided to give her space, hoping the relationship would fizzle out on its own. Caroline continued excelling academically and stayed out of trouble, so they chose to trust her judgment. A relationship that defied expectations, instead of fading, the relationship grew more serious. After finishing secondary school, Caroline chose to attend the University of Pireas,

not because it was the best academic option but because it was close to Bobbish in Athens. She moved there, still had over heels in love. By 2018, Bobbish proposed, and Caroline said yes. Once again, her parents tried to slow things down. She was still so young and had her whole life ahead of her. But Caroline was determined. The couple got married on July 15, 2019, in Portugal. Some reports claim Caroline's parents didn't even know the wedding was happening that,

day, while others suggest they were there, supporting her despite their reservations. Regardless, it was a beautiful ceremony, a day to remember. Afterward, the newlyweds settled into a large home in Glycanera, a suburb on the outskirts of Athens. From the outside, their life seemed perfect. They had a spacious, multi-story house, a strong marriage, and even adopted several pets, a puppy named Roxy and four cats. Trouble beneath the surface, not long after the wedding, Caroline became pregnant. But Joy turned to sorrow when she suffered a miscarriage.

According to Bobbish, the loss deeply affected Caroline and marked the beginning of a change in her behavior. She started having sudden outbursts and moments of aggression toward me, Bobbish later claimed. She would hit me, lash out, and then apologize afterward. It all began after the miscarriage. To address these challenges, the couple started therapy. While Bobbish stuck with it, Caroline eventually stopped going, ignoring the therapist's advice. Despite this rocky period, Caroline became pregnant again. This time, everything went smoothly, and in June 2020, she gave birth to their daughter, Lydia.

With their growing family, the couple decided to upgrade to a bigger house in a better neighborhood. A fateful decision. At the time, the Greek banking system was unstable, and many people avoided keeping their money in banks. Instead, they stored cash at home. Bobish and Caroline were no exception. They had 10,000 euros in cash at home and needed 50,000 euro more to buy a new property. Caroline borrowed the additional funds from her parents. Unfortunately, this information wasn't kept private. Friends, family, and possibly others knew about their financial situation.

The night of the robbery, in the early hours of May 11, 2021, for masked men broke into the couple's home. One stayed by the door, while the other three entered through a basement window. The first thing they did was kill Roxy, the family's seven-month-old puppy, to prevent her from barking. They then headed upstairs, where chaos erupted. According to Babish, the men first restrained him, tying his hands and feet, placing a cord around his neck, and taping his mouth shut. They then turned their attention to Caroline. Bobbish later described the intruders as speaking broken Greek with an accent, possibly Albanian. He said they demanded money and threatened to kill their baby daughter if Caroline didn't cooperate.

Caroline told them about the 10,000 euros in the house, which they found. But even after taking the money, the robbers wanted more. They stole jewelry and other valuables worth an additional 20,000 euros. At some point during the chaos, Caroline screamed. Bobbish, restrained and struggling to breathe because of the cord around his neck, tried to help but kept losing consciousness. When he finally regained awareness, the house was silent. The robbers were gone, and all he could hear was Lydia's faint crime.

eyes. A shocking discovery, Bobbish managed to free himself and used his nose to dial for help on his phone, as his hands were still tied. He called a neighbor first, then the police. When officers arrived, they found Bobbish, Lydia, and Caroline. Bobbish, distraught and in shock, was taken to the hospital. Lydia was unharmed. But Caroline was dead. What unfolded next would turn this tragic robbery into a case that shocked the nation. The police, upon inspecting the scene, encountered a horrifying sight. Caroline lay lifeless on the bed, while baby Lydia cried incessantly. Bobbish, still in a state of shock, was screaming and begging for help, utterly devastated.

The initial confusion soon gave way to a more methodical analysis of the crime scene. The basement revealed signs of forced entry. A shattered window and disarray confirmed the burglar's point of access. The family dog, Roxy, was found lifeless, having been cruelly hanged with its leash to prevent it from a alerting the neighbors. The living room was a mess, drawers pulled out, cabinets ransacked, and personal belongings scattered across the floor. The surveillance cameras had been ripped from their mounts, further complicating the investigation. As officers moved upstairs to the master bedroom, the chilling reality of the crime came into full view. Caroline's lifeless body lay on the

bed, her face pale and her posture unnaturally still. Little Lydia sat near her mother, crying and oblivious to the tragedy. The scene was heart-wrenching, and the responding officers knew they were dealing with a particularly heinous crime. The investigation begins, Bobbish, visibly shaken and in tears, described the events to the police as best he could. He recounted how three men, speaking in broken Greek with what he believed to be Albanian accents, had stormed into their home in the early hours. They were aggressive and relentless, demanding to know where the family kept their money. Caroline, terrified for her child safety, told them about the 10,000 euros hidden in the house. But even after they found

the cash, the intruders seemed unsatisfied. They wanted more, Bobbish explained, his voice trembling. They took our jewelry, watches, anything of value. And then, then I heard Caroline scream. I tried to get to her, but they had tied me up. I kept losing consciousness. His account painted a picture of chaos and violence, but some details puzzled the investigators. The intruders had supposedly targeted the house knowing there was a significant amount of cash side. How did they obtain that information? Had someone close to the family betrayed their trust? Caroline's background revisited. As the investigation unfolded, detectives began piecing together Caroline's life and relationship with Bobbish. Born in the UK to Susan and David Crouch,

Caroline had an idyllic childhood that took her from the bustling streets of Athens to the serene beauty of the island of Alanisos. A bright, ambitious girl, she excelled in academics and extracurricular activities, earning admiration from peers and teachers alike. Her relationship with Bobbish, however, had been a point of contention. Meeting him at just 15 years old, Caroline was enamored by the older, charming helicopter pilot. Her parents were initially opposed to the relationship, concerned about the significant age gap and the potential impact on her education. Yet Caroline's determination and infatuation proved unyielding. Against her parents' wishes, she pursued the relationship, eventually marrying Bobbish at 18.

Friends and family described Caroline as vibrant and full of life, but the pressures of early motherhood and the miscarriage she suffered shortly after marriage seemed to take a toll on her emotional well-being. Bobbish himself admitted that the loss had profoundly affected Caroline, leading to bouts of mood swings and outbursts. Despite these challenges, the couple appeared outwardly happy, often sharing glimpses of their seemingly perfect life on social media. A crime that shocked Greece.

the murder of Caroline sent shockwaves through Greece, dominating headlines and sparking widespread outrage. The brutality of the crime, combined with the tragic loss of a young mother, left the nation demanding justice. Media outlets dissected every detail of the case, while the police worked tirelessly to identify the perpetrators. The public's attention also turned to Bobbish, who emerged as a grieving widower determined to honor his wife's memory. His emotional interviews painted a picture of a man shattered by the loss of his soulmate. Caroline was my everything, he told reporters. She was a wonderful mother, a devoted wife, and the love of my life. I will do whatever it takes to find those responsible for this.

The Greek police launched an intensive manhunt, employing every available resource to track down the assailants. Witnesses were interviewed, and forensic evidence from the scene was meticulously analyzed. The brutal nature of the crime led many to speculate that the perpetrators were part of an organized gang targeting affluent households. unraveling the truth. As weeks past, investigators began uncovering inconsistencies in Babish's story. While the physical evidence initially seemed to corroborate his account, closer scrutiny revealed troubling discrepancies. For instance, the placement of the surveillance cameras suggested they had been deliberately removed, not ripped off in haste as Bobbish had claimed.

Additionally, the timeline of events, as described by Bobbish, appeared increasingly implausible. One critical piece of evidence came from Caroline's smartwatch, which recorded biometric data, including her heart rate. The data indicated that her heart had stopped hours before Bobbisch made the frantic call to the police. This revelation cast serious doubt on his version of events. As the investigation continued, Bobbish's demeanor began to shift. While he had initially appeared cooperative and grief-stricken, his behavior during interrogations raised suspicions. Detectives noted that he seemed overly eager to steer this. the narrative, often volunteering details unprompted. Finally, on June 17, 2021, more than a month

after Caroline's death, the Greek police arrested Bobbish and Agnistopoulos. The shocking announcement sent ripples through the nation, the grieving husband, who had publicly vowed to find justice for his wife, was now accused of orchestrating her murder. The motive and confession, under intense questioning, Bobbish eventually confessed to killing Caroline. According to his account, an argument had escalated to violence in the early hours of May 11th. Caroline, frustrated and overwhelmed, had threatened to leave him and take Lydia with her. Enraged, Bobbish claimed he acted in a moment of blind fury, suffocating Caroline as she lay in bed. To cover up the crime, Bobbish staged the scene to resemble a home invasion.

He killed the family dog, ransacked the house, and tied himself up to lend credibility to his fabricated story. The 10,000 euros in cash and other valuables served as props to sell the narrative of a robbery gone wrong. Public outrage and legal proceedings, the revelation of Babish's guilt ignited a firestorm of anger and betrayal. How could a man who professed to love his wife commit such a heinous act? The public outcry was palpable, with many calling for the harshest possible punishment. In court, Bobbish attempted to portray himself as a remorseful husband who had acted out of desperation. His defense argued that the crime was not premeditated but rather a tragic culmination of marital strife. However,

The prosecution painted a far darker picture, presenting evidence of Bobbish's manipulative and controlling behavior throughout the relationship. The trial captivated Greece, with every detail dissected in the media. Ultimately, Bobish was found guilty of murder, animal cruelty, and staging a crime scene. He was sentenced to life imprisonment, with an additional ten years for the killing of Roxy. The legacy of Caroline Crouch, Caroline's tragic death left an indelible mark on those who knew her. Friends and family remembered her as a bright, compassionate soul whose life was cut short far too soon. Her parents, Susan and David, have since dedicated themselves to preserving Caroline's memory

and ensuring that Lydia grows up surrounded by love and support. The case also sparked broader conversations about domestic violence and the importance of recognizing warning signs in relationships. Caroline's story serves as a sobering reminder of the dangers of ignoring red flags and the need for vigilance in protecting vulnerable individuals. Today, Lydia lives with Caroline's parents in Alan Isso's, far from the chaos and tragedy that defined her early life. Though she is too young to understand the full extent of what happened, her grandparents

are determined to shield her from the darkness of the past and provide her with a bright and hopeful future. The story of Caroline Crouch, a woman whose tragic death led to an investigation that captured widespread attention, is a tale full of twists and unexpected turns. It started with a chilling phone call to the police, a woman, presumed dead, was discovered in her home after an alleged break-in. The police were quick to respond, but the details that unfolded were not as straightforward as they first seemed. Caroline, a young woman, was found unconscious in her home. Authorities were told that she had died during a violent robbery gone wrong.

The primary witness, Bobish, Caroline's husband, provided a grim narrative of what had transpired that night. According to Bobbish, he and his wife were the victims of an armed robbery. He claimed that three men, who he believed to be Albanian, had broken into their home, demanding money and valuables. One of the men, he said, was dark-skinned and wearing a black hoodie, which he allegedly found in the house later. Bobbish mentioned that the assailants carried black pistols, but aside from that, he could recall very little about the attack itself. The scene was chaotic, and the police were left with limited physical evidence to go on. There were no weapons found in the house, and the surveillance cameras were inactive. The only evidence they had was

Bobbish's account. Despite the lack of hard evidence, investigators pushed forward with their inquiries. They meticulously examined the house for clues, paying close attention to the window where the intruders allegedly entered. Caroline's body was sent to the nearest morgue, where a forensic examination would soon reveal disturbing details. She was dressed in her pajamas, and on her wrist, she wore a smart watch, something she had never removed, as it was part of her active lifestyle. This piece of technology would later become a crucial piece of evidence in understanding the circumstances surrounding her death. The autopsy revealed that Caroline had died from strangulation, not from the violent altercation Bobbisch had described.

Experts concluded that the weapon used was a pillowcase, which indicated a very personal and intimate nature to the crime. The strangulation had taken about six minutes, a slow and agonizing death. Bobbish's account of a violent struggle between his wife and the attackers was contradicted by the lack of defensive wounds on Caroline's body. She had no signs of a struggle, suggesting she had been overpowered quickly. The only marks on her body were from her efforts to protect herself during the final moments of her life. What was even more perplexing to the investigators was that Babysha's story didn't add up. Normally, a robbery doesn't involve such a violent attack, and it certainly doesn't end in murder. If the thieves had been armed with guns, why not simply

shoot their victim instead of strangling her? Furthermore, the police found that nothing of significant value had been stolen from the house, just a modest sum of around 30,000 euros. This raised the question, if the robbery was the motive, why had the attackers gone to such lengths? Adding to the mystery was the fact that the house had no signs of a forced entry. The window through which the intruder supposedly entered was narrow, and there was no physical evidence left behind, no hair, no blood, no fingerprints. Everything was remarkably clean. The surveillance cameras in the house had also been tampered with, the memory car cards removed, and yet they showed that the cameras had been functioning just minutes before

the attack. The footage indicated that someone had turned off the cameras and removed the memory cards shortly before the attack, leading the police to question Babish's version of events. Moreover, the smart watch that Caroline wore became an essential tool in piecing together the timeline of her death. According to the watch, Caroline had been asleep at the time of the attack. Her heart rate remained steady until around 358 a.m., when it spiked dramatically, indicating a state of stress. By 4.11 a.m., her heart rate had stopped entirely. This clearly pointed to the fact that Caroline had been attacked while she was asleep,

not during a struggle as Bobbish had claimed. The smartwatch data provided compelling evidence that the attack was premeditated, and Caroline had been caught off guard, unable to defend herself. As the investigation continued, the police began to focus on Bobbish. His actions in the hours following Caroline's death raised suspicions. After the attack, he had made several phone calls, including to his neighbor and to emergency services. His phone records showed that he had moved around the house in a way that suggested he was not in a state of shock, as one would expect from someone who had just lost their spouse. He had been in constant contact with others, even though he was supposed to be grieving.

But what truly unraveled the case was Bobbisch's behavior after Caroline's death. Despite the police's mounting suspicions, Bobbish continued to make media appearances, often in front of the camera. his need to be in the public eye, speaking out about the tragedy, did not sit well with investigators. He seemed more interested in playing the role of the grieving husband than in allowing the police to do their work. His constant presence in the media made him look less like a victim and more like someone trying to manipulate the public's perception. The case took a dramatic turn when, on June 17, 2021, a suspect was brought in for questioning. Bobbish, once again, was called to the police station to help identify him.

At this point, the investigators had uncovered several discrepancies in Babish's story, and they were ready to confront him. The police had analyzed the CCTV footage from around the neighborhood, and they had found no trace of any intruders during the time of the attack. There were no cars, no motorcycles, no unusual activity recorded in the area. The cameras at the house had been tampered with, and the police had found that they had been switched off just before the supposed attack took place. Furthermore, the story of the brutal struggle with Caroline seemed implausible, as there were no signs of violent confrontation in the house. No neighbors reported hearing any shouting or commotion, except for one who mentioned hearing strange murmurs at around 4 a.m. As the investigation progressed, the smartwatch data became even more critical. The data showed that Caroline had been relaxed before the attack, with no signs of any struggle.

The police also found that Bobbisch had used his phone extensively during the early hours of the morning, even though he had claimed to be tied up and unable to move. His phone activity showed that he had called a neighbor, used apps, and made several other calls. This evidence painted a very different picture from the one he had been presenting. The final nail in the coffin came from Caroline's diary, which revealed the true nature of her relationship with Bobbish. It had been an abusive and controlling marriage. Caroline had written about her struggles, her fights with Bobbish, and her desire to leave him. She had planned to take their daughter and escape from his oppressive control.

This information helped the police understand Babisha's motives. He had known that Caroline was planning to leave him, and he couldn't allow that to happen. Bobisha's interrogation lasted for hours, and eventually, he broke down and confessed to the crime. His first version of events was full of lies. He claimed that Caroline had become enraged and threatened to leave with their daughter. In a fit of rage, he said, he lost control and killed her. Later, he changed his story, admitting that he had killed her while she was a child. asleep. He had strangled her with a pillowcase, and in an attempt to cover up the crime,

he staged a robbery, killing the family dog and destroying the house to make it look like an intruder had been responsible. In May 2022, Bobish was convicted of Caroline's murder and sentenced to life in prison. He was also given an additional 10 years for the murder of the dog in 11 and a half years for deceiving the police. On top of that, he was fined over 20,000 euros. The court's verdict sent a clear message that justice had been served, but the case raised difficult questions about Babish's actions and the toll of abusive relationships. So, what do you think? Was the sentence just? Do you believe Bobbisha's behavior after Caroline's death pointed to his guilt, or do you think the investigation was too focused on him?

Would you have seen things differently based on the evidence? Whispers in the nursery, let me take you back to a quiet evening in Vaney, Oklahoma. Rachel, a young mother, was living with her parents, adjusting to life with her six-month-old baby girl. It was one of those serene nights where the world seems to pause, and the only sounds are the soft rustling of leaves and distant chirping of crickets. Rachel's daughter had been asleep for about two hours. Taking advantage of the peaceful moment, Rachel, her mother, and stepfather stepped outside for a smoke. They kept the baby monitor close, its soft static a comforting reminder of the sleeping infant inside. Suddenly, the monitor crackled to life.

A woman's voice, gentle and melodic, began speaking. Rachel and her mother exchanged puzzled glances. Then, they heard the unmistakable sound of the baby giggling, as if someone were playing with her. The voice continued, now singing a lullaby that included the baby's name. Alarmed, Rachel rushed back into the house. As she opened the nursery door, the singing ceased. The room was empty, save for her peacefully sleeping daughter. Confused, she returned outside, only for the singing to resume on the monitor.

Her mother, with a serene smile, suggested that it might be the baby's great-great-grandmother watching over her. Whether it was a spiritual presence or a trick of the monitor, the experience left an indelible mark on Rachel's heart. The coin from the heavens, in the early summer of 1954, eight-year-old Douglas roamed the suburbs of East London, near the Epping Forest. The neighborhood bore the scars of World War II, with bombed out houses and overgrown fields serving as playgrounds for adventurous children. Life was tough.

Douglas's father had left, and his mother worked tirelessly at a nearby engineering factory to support him and his two sisters. Meals were simple, potatoes, cabbage, eggs, and bread. One day, after accompanying his mother to work, Douglas asked for a few pennies to buy sweets. She opened her large leather purse, revealing its emptiness. Disheartened, Douglas wandered through the fields, his desire for sweets undiminished. In a moment of innocent desperation, he looked up and prayed, Jesus, please give me some money for sweets. To his astonishment, a deep male voice responded, kick the grass. Startled but curious, Douglas obeyed.

After a few kicks, a shiny threpanse coin rolled out from the grass. Overjoyed, he rushed to the sweet shop, savoring the treats bought with his miraculous coin. Though he tried praying for money again in the future, the voice never returned. Yet, the memory of that day remained vivid, a testament to the wonders that sometimes grace our lives. A farewell in the mirror, Kristen was five years old, living in Trafford, Pennsylvania, when her beloved grandmother suffered a stroke and was hospitalized. The two shared a close bond, and Kristen lived. long to visit her, but her parents deemed her too young for such a visit. One early Sunday morning,

around 5 a.m., Kristen awoke suddenly. At the foot of her bed stood a woman. Thinking it was her mother, she called out, but received no response. The figure extended an arm toward her, prompting Kristen to scream for her mom. Her mother rushed in, assuring her that she had been asleep in her own bed. Kristen, confused and frightened, eventually said, settled back to sleep. Later that morning, the family received news that her grandmother had passed away around 5 a.m. Years later, Kristen's mother revealed that she believed the figure Kristen saw was her grandmother's spirit, coming to say goodbye. The experience left Kristen with a profound sense of comfort, knowing her grandmother had visited her one last time. The mysterious voice on

the monitor, in 2021, a mother named Daisy experienced a chilling event. Her baby, monitor, which had always been a source of reassurance, became the medium for something inexplicable. Around 3 a.m., Daisy's son stirred in his crib. As she watched the monitor, a strange voice whispered the word forever. An hour later, the monitor captured what appeared to be an orb floating around the room. Daisy shared the footage on TikTok, sparking a flurry of reactions. Some viewers were skeptical, attributing the phenomena to technical glitches. Others believed Daisy had captured genuine paranormal activity. Regardless of the explanations, the incident left Daisy unsettled, prompting her to

reconsider the use of the monitor. Orbs and apparitions, Sarah and her husband lived in a house that had once belonged to his grandmother. Their six-year-old son's bedroom was formerly the grandmother's kitchen. Since moving in, they noticed strange lights, orb-like shape. appearing on the baby monitor. One evening, after a glass of wine, Sarah jokingly asked if the lights could be her husband's grandmother checking in. To their surprise, the lights responded, moving across the room and even creating an indent on the bed, as if someone had sat down. Another mother, Haley, reported seeing three balls of white light hovering in her son's doorway.

The lights entered the room, circled over her children, and then vanished. Her youngest son's later spoke of a man in his room, waving goodbye to him. These experiences, while unsettling, brought a sense of connection to loved ones who had passed, suggesting that perhaps they were still watching over their families. The Lady in the Mirror, at the Brinton Lodge in Pennsylvania, tales abound of a spectral woman in white appearing in mirrors. Some believe she was a former resident, perhaps Caleb's mother or wife. Visitors have reported seeing her reflection, even when no one else was present. Such stories add to the rich tapestry of ghostly lore surrounding the lodge,

drawing curious visitors eager to catch a glimpse of the otherworldly. The Smurl haunting, between 1974 and 1989, the Smurl family of West Pittston, Pennsylvania, claimed their home was haunted by a malevolent entity. They reported a range of disturbances, from foul odors and loud noises to physical assaults. The case gained national attention, with paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren becoming involved.

While some believed the family's claims, others were skeptical, attributing the events to natural causes or psychological factors. Regardless of the truth, the Smurl haunting remains one of the most well-known paranormal cases in American history. A twins' return, Brittany shared a haunting tale of her twin sister, Whitney, who had disappeared six years prior. One stormy night, while home alone, Brittany saw a face in the mirror that looked exactly like her own. From that night on, she claimed to see her twins' reflection alongside hers, sometimes even witnessing her stepping out of the mirror. The experience, though terrifying, offered Britney a sense of connection to her lost sister, blurring the lines between reality and the supernatural.

Conclusion, these stories, whether tales of guardian angels, mischievous spirits, or heartfelt farewells, remind us of the mysteries that surround us. They speak to the enduring bonds of love, the unexplained phenomena that challenge our understanding, and the comfort that sometimes comes from believing in something beyond ourselves. Whether you're a skeptic or a believer, these narratives invite you to ponder the unknown and perhaps, to look a little closer the next time you hear a whisper in the dark or catch a fleeting shadow in the corner of your eye. For context, I'm 23M, and my father is, Only recently, as I'm an adult has he started to open up about his past and the things he went through.

Never could I have imagined the hardships and things that happened to him. It has honestly blown my mind. So I started to write down his story with his permission to share. Anyways, I will detail hear what I know about him without revealing any names or specific locations. This is a very long post, sorry for that. Please let me know if this is something worth pursuing, along with any tips you may have. My father grew up as one of 24 children in his family, born in Laos in 1959 during the civil war between communist Pathet Lao, who was backed by northern Vietnam, and the Royal Lao government.

The U.S. backed the Royal Lao government and engaged in what is known as the Laos Secret War, and dropped more than 270 million cluster bombs on Laos in a nine-year period, making Laos the most bombed country per capita. During which my dad went to Catholic school in the morning and then to public school in the afternoon. Many families sent their children to Catholic schools so they could be fed due to the overwhelming poverty at the time. France had integrated Laos into French Indochina many decades prior, building many Catholic churches and schools. Thus converting a portion of the country from Buddhism to Catholicism. The school my father went to also taught the children Muay Thai as part of the curriculum for some reason. As my father studied and trained for a few years, the conflict was

starting to spread closer to his village and tension was building with the people there. My dad was around 10 at this time. I should also mention that my grandfather was a horrifying and abusive man. He was short and stocky, covered in tattoos of the Naga from head to toe. The Naga is a demigod-se serpent that is worshipped in Lao culture, said to reside in the Mekong River. All 24 of the children were his but split between three wives, which was sort of the norm at the time in Laos. My grandfather was seen as a powerful man in the village because of his abundance of sons. At the time you could just go and claim land with manpower alone, so my grandfather and his sons would go and claim rice fields for themselves. If any of his children didn't obey his orders he would punish them very severely, as well as punish the respective child's mother.

Intense beatings were the norm. As well as being farmers, my family were renowned water buffalo tamers. People would come to buy water buffalo and their meat, it was profitable. Once the conflict grew closer, buyers for the rice and buffalo stopped coming. This led my grandfather to turn to crime, crossing the Mekong River to Thailand to sell his goods, where he also began selling opium. Which was all explicitly outlawed. He forced his older sons to accompany him in the cover of night, risking all their lives in the process due to the nearby communist camps that would patrol the river at night looking to execute any who tried to escape across the river, and freedom fighters crossing into the country to fight the communists. During this time, my uncle, a pilot in the Lao military, decided to escape the country. He was about 15 years older than my father and was married to my aunt, who is my father's older sibling.

Sorry if that was confusing, they had a two-year-old son and did not want to bring him up in the middle of this conflict. At the time my uncle was stationed in Thailand because the communists were gathering up all the stray Lao government officials and members of the military to send them to work camps. My uncle hatched a plan to sneak back into Laos across the river at night and retrieve his wife and child. Initially, things went well and he was able to cross into the country without being spotted and retrieve his family, but by the time they returned to the river the boat that was waiting for them was gone, chased away by communist soldiers. So my uncle waited while hiding in a bush with his wife and their small child for days

until finally, another boat arrived to rescue them. This act inspired more people in the village to try and rebel or escape, causing many unfortunate deaths. My grandfather was explicitly against any of his other children attempting to do anything similar despite his frequent trips across the river. I guess he had a sort of, nobody can endanger my children but me, mindset. A few years went by with nothing major happening in the village, though the conflict was still going strong. My dad was around 13 at this time, and my grandfather became increasingly abusive due to the lack of money and food around, which led him to do one of the worst things I have had the displeasure of hearing to this day. My father had been tending the

fields and herding buffalo. During that time he had made his first real friend, a stray dog that he would often see on the edge of the village. He began to feed the dog with the little scraps he was able to sneak away from home, and the dog began accompanying him to the fields every morning while he did his work. The way my father described this dog and their relationship made me understand how much it meant to him. The dog became his best friend. They did everything together, and my father was happy for the first time in his life. Then one day, an unspecified amount of time later. My father woke up and was not able to find his buddy,

he went out to the fields and the dog never came, he tended to the buffalo and the dog was nowhere to be seen. He finished his work and returned home to find the most horrifying thing a child could see. My grandfather had the top half of his dog strung up on a meat hook to dry, while he sat and ate the other portion right in front of my father. My dad began to break down and cry asking him why he would do this, his father told him that he had seen him walking around the fields with this dog. He said that all animals are to him as meat and he was hungry, knowing that this was my father's

only friend and that taking him away would break my father's heart. This event is what would make my father start to truly hate his father. At this point, my dad had completely renounced any type of relationship he had with his father and decided that he would take revenge. My father spoke to his brothers and was able to convince a handful of them to help him take revenge for the beatings they'd all received and for the abuse of their mothers. Some time later they decided the time was right, they waited for their father to come home from a trip into town. When he did, they surrounded him, ready to take out all their frustrations on him. It was at this point that a few of the brothers started to get scared and back down,

but my father was so enraged that he rushed at his father with a farming tool and the intent to seriously harm him. Only my father was a 13-year-old boy, and his father was a grown man, strong from working the fields his entire life. My father proceeded to get the worst beating of his life, right there in front of his brothers. Everyone was too petrified to move and just let my father be beaten within an inch of his life. To this day my father still has resentment toward those brothers that he feels betrayed him that day. From then forward, the mistreatment toward my father only got worse and finally reached a boiling point. My father realized that the only way he could get away from this abuse was to escape the country.

This time he made sure only to tell the people he trusted. That being just two friends from the village who were a few years older than him. There were only two problems, they had no canoe to cross the river, and my father knew his siblings and mother would be punished for him leaving. Despite this, they still decided to go through with their plan. They spent the time they had after work going up and down the river scouting for the narrowest part of the river, and the parts with the weakest current so they could cross. The Mekong can be over a mile wide, or 1.5 kilometers in some areas.

The soldiers also only patrolled the river at night, as during the day it was sort of a no-man's land, and people were allowed to continue fishing and working on the river. At the same time, they were slowly gathering supplies for their journey. At some point, my grandmother started to put together what they were up to and offered to help them. She pulled my father aside and told him that she knew what they were up to and told them where to cross the river, as well as when my grandfather would be away and that they should steal his canoe and leave at that time. They had a long conversation about what would happen after they left. Much of this conversation my dad skimmed over when telling me.

My grandmother assured my father that she would be okay and that this was his opportunity for a better life. She gave him what little money she could without anyone noticing, and a handful of jewelry she had been stashing. With that the plan was complete. Some time later my father and his friends decided that the time was right. They gathered the little belongings they could carry on their backs and said their goodbyes. They left for the river in the middle of the night while my grandfather was in the woods foraging for mushrooms. It was lightly raining, they made their way to the canoe and sat for a while to gather the courage to actually get in. Once they were in they were almost immediately spotted by a nearby patrol of communist soldiers.

At this point, the fight or flight response kicked in, and they all chose flight. Knowing that turning around and surrendering would lead to being sent to a work camp or worse. So they all paddled as hard as they could away from the Lao shore and toward the Thai shore. The soldiers made their way to the edge of the embankment and began firing their guns into the water. Sadly, one friend was struck in the back of the head and died instantly, falling into the water. They had no time to process what just happened and continued to paddle for their lives. That was until my father's other friend was also hit, it pierced his upper back and he was paralyzed. My father started to panic and dropped the paddle only to be shot in his right shoulder as well,

but more soldiers were coming up the river in a boat and they had no time. Nearby Thai soldiers heard the gunfire and rushed to the shore on their side, returning fire to give my dad enough time to reach the shore. He touched the soil and knew that he had made it. Once they touched Thai soil, the soldiers no longer pursued them as they did want to start an all-out battle with the Thai soldiers at this time. The Thai soldiers began to escort my father and carry his paralyzed friend inland, but my dad decided to stop for a moment to look back. He saw the communist soldiers picking his dead friend up out of the water and placing him in the boat. My father still suffers from survivors' guilt to this day,

which is what led him to do what he did next. The Thai soldiers told them about a few large refugee camps on the border in Thailand, so my father decided to head towards one. On their way, stop at an immigration center so my father could register as a refugee and get some medical attention. Once completed, my dad, filled with anger, changed his mind and decided to head towards a group of Lao refugees he had heard about who had decided to form a resistance group to fight back against the communists. So my father said goodbye to his friend who had been paralyzed and started traveling to this camp alone. This camp was run by a Lao man who was previously in the Lao military until his entire unit was rounded up and sent to work camps or executed.

This man was the only one to escape. When my dad arrived at this place there were many young Lao men just like him, around 100, and many of them my dad knew from around his village. After feeding my father the man in charge explained that he was forming a resistance group, funded by the Thai military secretly, to go back and reclaim their villages from the communists and that my father could either join or be on his way to the refugee camp. At this time my father is around 14. My dad joined this camp and began his training as a child soldier of sorts.

This is one of the things I only learned about my father very recently, so I don't have many details about this time of his life yet. My dad started by training with firearms and digging trenches around their base, should the communists ever come to the Thai side. Part of the schedule was patrols during the day and night. My dad was stationed on night patrol where he admitted to messing around with an M-16 and accidentally firing off about 15 rounds into the night sky, which awoke the whole camp, who scolded him and nearly kicked him out. My dad was at this resistance camp for little more than six months. During this time they orchestrated several surprise attacks against groups of communist soldiers. My dad detailed his feelings about what happened, saying that he always had severe anxiety every time. they got into a boat to go back into Laos, probably due to the trauma he suffered crossing the river the day he escaped. He would close his eyes the entire boat ride and only open them once he knew they had made it across. Once back in the country, usually, groups of three men

would sneak around small villages, looking for patrols they could follow back to the main camps to map out where all their bases were. When they had identified all the camps in a given area, they would leave and gather more men to come back and wait to ambush patrols in quieter, more secluded areas, taking away a lot of manpower the communists had. Doing this allowed them to sneak people out of Laos much easier, and they were even able to rid a few small villages of soldiers altogether. Despite going on more than a few of these missions, my dad is not sure if he ever killed anyone.

In the same way that he closed his eyes when he was in the boat, he closed his eyes as they shot into groups of enemy soldiers, probably trying to save himself from the trauma of knowing, or just from being scared. This all culminated when my dad was sent out on one of the scouting missions, only this time they were scouting his village and the surrounding area. They arrived on the Laos shore, and this time my father was more angry than anxious. They entered the outskirts of the village and hid, having been here not long ago, my dad knew where a few of the enemy camps were nearby, and also where they usually patrolled. When they stepped foot in the village, my dad was filled with rage and hatred.

For the first time since joining, he wanted to end someone's life. They continued further into the village until they were basically on my grandfather's property, which only pissed my dad off more. They ducked down into the bushes and waited. Eventually, a patrol came into view, and as they got closer, my dad was. My dad started to lose his composure. This mission was intended to be a scouting mission as they were only a group of three, but my dad was so furious that he stood up and pointed his rifle at the approaching soldiers,

ready to end them. Just when he was about to start firing, his comrades pulled him down into the bushes, thankfully before they were spotted. My father fought for them to let go, but they held him down until the soldiers passed. They then explained to my dad that he wasn't thinking clearly. There was a nearby camp they already knew about, within distance to hear any commotion happening in the village, and that if my dad fired, they might have been able to kill the patrolling soldiers and get away uninjured, but there would soon be reinforcements coming and they would most

likely slaughter my dad and his comrades, as well as the people of the village. Now coming to his senses, my dad agreed with them and they finished their scouting and then returned to Thailand. On December 2nd, 1975 Laos had officially been seized by the communist path at Lao. Though it was over, the communists were still very hostile, making return to Laos for refugees impossible. My dad was distraught, the people in the resistance camp started to notice his reluctance to go out and fight, and he soon started to refuse. This was against the rules, as my dad had signed a contract to fight with them until they accomplished their goal, or died trying. My dad was on track to being punished when an older man who was in charge of some of the

men approached him. My father had seen this man in camp several times and always thought he looked familiar. It turns out that this older man was a relative of my father's, he had married one of my dad's distant aunt some time ago and they moved to a village far away enough that they hardly ever saw each other, and after the conflict got close they weren't able to come back at all. This older man told my father that he didn't recognize him either until he heard his name. They talked for a while and he proceeded to tell my dad that he knew fighting wasn't for him, he would surely die in vain and make the escape his mother created for him pointless. He offered to rip up the contract my dad signed and help him leave the resistance camp.

After some thought my dad agreed to this and his days as a freedom fighter were over. Once he was out of the camp, the only option was to head to a refugee camp. camp for shelter. When my dad got there, he said it was the most depressing environment he had been in. At least in the resistance camp, they had a purpose, a goal to strive for and keep them from falling apart. Here, the people had nothing. No hope of ever returning to their villages, or seeing the families they left behind again. They woke up in the morning and lined up with the bulls the camp provided them, and cows with small trailers in tow were led into the camp hauling barrels of food mush. You handed your bowl to the person in charge and they would dish out your food for

the whole day, you had to make that small bowl of food last for all three meals every day. At some point, my dad became tired of this monotonous life he was living and started looking for things to do, or ways to get more food. There was a bit of a trade market going on between the refugees, as some of them came with livestock or bundles of rice and different vegetables. My dad quickly burned through the little money his mother had given him to buy extra food, and the jewelry was of no use, as no one would trade precious food for them. A few months passed like this and my dad started to make some friends, as well as reconnect with people he had known from home. His new friends were not the best influences, they inducted him into a sort of gang that would steal money and food from other

refugees, as the Thai soldiers didn't care about what they did to each other. The word started to spread that my dad and his friends were bad news, and people stopped associating with them. The only other place they could go was a nearby Thai village, but the rules forbid anyone from leaving the camp without permission and a written pass. There were a few problems with this system. One was that there was only a certain amount of passes to be given out each day, and there were thousands of refugees in the camp. You would need to sign up for a pass ahead of time and be put on a waiting list, but with the amount of people in the camp it could be months before you were able to get one. The other problem being that there were people who had befriended, or bribed the

guards and got to skip the whole process to get a pass, making the waiting game take even longer for other people. My dad and his friends decided to go the faster route and try befriending the guards, they started by buying alcohol for them and staying up late to hang out with them. At some point, one of the guards developed a crush on the little sister of one of the friends. They found this out and used it as leverage, telling the guard that they would for sure get her to go on a date with him, and he agreed to let them out whenever he was stationed at the entrance. From their things became much easier for them, being able to go into town and get supplies as well as just having fun. Eventually, they found out about this Muay Thai fighting ring where they could earn some money. You had to have a sponsor or someone to vouch for you to be able to fight in these things, so my dad kept showing up and sparring with people hoping to get no.

noticed, and eventually did. He made a deal with this guy who said he would get my dad fights, and if he won they would split the money, but if he lost, my dad would have to pay him. Shitty deal, but my dad took it. He said he fought four times and won every time, which is very believable if you have ever actually met my father. Every time he fought, he was able to pay for at least one week's worth of food, two if he made it last. So it was worth it for him. After about a year of being in the refugee camp, word spread about a humanitarian aid organization called Compassion International. They had a sponsorship system in which a family from somewhere in the world would send money to kids and adults up to 22 years old in countries in need. They would send

some for food, education, and necessities, and sometimes, in the case of people like my father, get the person out of the country. My dad heard about this and signed up through the refugee camp. It took a while but around 1978 my dad became sponsored by a family of five from France. They sent him money for all his daily needs and my dad began to do better. Not hanging out with the same friends anymore and beginning to go to church. He would be sponsored by this family until he was 20 when they offered to buy him a plane ticket to anywhere in the world. My dad chose to go to San Francisco. He packed up what little he had said his goodbyes and left for the U.S.

He arrived in 1980, and once there he had to go through a sort of vetting process to be eligible for immigrant status in the U.S. Fun fact, the immigration agent that processed his arrival was in charge of taking down all my dad's information and submitting the forms. When my dad told him our last name, the agent misspelled it and when my dad tried to correct him, the agent just brushed him off. My dad never bothered to change it back so my last name is legally different than what it should be. He stayed in San Francisco for two months until he was granted immigrant status and able to travel elsewhere in the United States. By this time he had already decided that he hated San Francisco and that it was not for him. After remembering his sister who escaped all those years before was also in the U.S., the same sister detailed earlier. He tracked her down to Utah and got in contact with her.

She told him the story about how her family got to the U.S. after they escaped from Laos. My uncle being a pilot for the Lao military, knew some soldiers stationed at a refugee camp near where they were and knew that they had a helicopter. My uncle, along with some of the soldiers he convinced to flee, stole the helicopter and took his family to a safer part of the country where they would then leave for the U.S. Once there, they would go through the same process my father did and end up in Utah. My aunt agreed to take him my dad for a while until he figured something out. He slept on her couch for a few weeks until he knew they couldn't afford to feed him anymore, as they were struggling to raise a child in a new country where they didn't know the language, and didn't have a proper education.

Not to mention the racism toward Asians at the time immediately following the Vietnam and Lao's wars. So my dad decided to go to Job Corps. While there he would learn enough English to get by and study to be a machinist. Two years passed and he left Job Corps and became a full-time machinist. After getting a place to stay and saving up some money, my dad decided to buy a car. He went to a small dealership where he bought a car and drove it off the lot. Not even five minutes into his drive, the car broke down and my dad went back to the dealership. He tried to return the car but the salesman took advantage of his poor English and told my father there was nothing he could do.

My dad didn't realize how things worked and couldn't read or write well enough to know that he was entitled to a refund if he wanted. So my dad took the loss and kept the car. He became angry not at the salesman, but at himself for not knowing the language well enough. My dad enrolled himself in ESL classes to bridge the gap and hopefully get some more respect. During this time my dad became intrigued by bodybuilders like Lou Farigno and Arnold, and he envied the respect they demanded with their presence. So he began lifting in his free time and soon became obsessed with it, spending an absurd amount of time. absurd amount of time at the gym. He would meet a lot of people at the gym in the 80s, a few of them becoming lifelong friends. One of them was a man who was almost 20 years older than my dad.

He was from Indonesia and shared a lot in common with my father so they bonded and he became a father figure to my dad. He also met a man about the same age as him who introduced him to the world of powerlifting. Over the course of 10 years, my father took a lot of steroids and got absolutely massive, around 220 pounds at 5 feet 8 inches in his early 30s with a PR 5 plate bench press, or 495 pounds per 224 kilograms. He also met a woman and briefly married her to get his U.S. citizenship. Not really marriage fraud, just a mutual agreement between them. Things just didn't work so they split up.

At some point, my dad had figured out how to get in contact with his family back home and found out most of them were doing okay, though he didn't talk to anyone very often except his mother, and the only thing his father ever said to him was to send him money. In those 10 years, my dad transitioned to working in real estate and owned a few houses and a couple of cars. He was finally prospering and doing better than he ever could have imagined he would all those years ago when he was a farmer in the war-torn jungle. It was now the 90s, my dad had a lot of friends, and things were looking good. My dad spent a lot of of years partying and just enjoying his life. The man from Indonesia brought my dad in as a member

of his family, so he would spend all holidays split between that family and his sister's family. My father decided to quit his job as a real estate agent and work with the man from Indonesia, who owned a successful auto recovery company, so my dad became a tow truck driver. I know, a crazy career change, but my dad ended up buying the company and turned it from just successful to thriving. More years went by and through mutual friends, my dad befriended a woman who he would know for many more years as she went through a failed marriage and had two boys. My dad ended up helping her out as she was essentially homeless with two kids and nowhere to go. He gave her money to rent an apartment for the time being and she promised to pay him back

eventually. Well eventually turned into her moving in with my dad and them starting a relationship. She would become my mother, and my dad would become a stepdad and a father at the same time. She found out she was pregnant with me and my dad bought a home for his new family in late 1999. By 2000 they were all settled in and I was born. Then my dad got a call from his mother letting him know his father had died. My dad got on a flight back to Laos to attend his funeral, and this would be the first time he had been back to Laos in 20 years. When he arrived he immediately felt out of place, gone for so long not speaking his native tongue, he lost a lot of his vocabulary.

He came back to Laos to see his family and helped them with the expenses, but deep down he had some unfinished business with his father that he felt he couldn't resolve without returning to say goodbye. My dad spent only one short week there, seeing all the family he left behind, attending the funeral ceremonies, and spending time with his mother. He found out that the friend who was paralyzed in the escape attempt was still alive and living in France with some family. After everything, my father felt there was nothing left there for him, and returned to the U.S. and his family. That concludes everything I know about my dad, other than the hymn that I knew growing up,

and the parts he either left out, forgot, or just weren't important. Overall, I think that my dad had a very intense life growing up and that his story deserves to be told. If you made it this far, please tell me what you think about it, and whether this is something you would consider interesting enough to be adapted into a larger, more detailed work. Thank you for reading. The end. So I owned a restaurant for five years and it was located in a well-known shady part of town. To avoid conflict and robberies with some of the street dwellers, I would give them food

occasionally to help them out and allow them to hang around the shop, given they don't cause trouble. One day one the local homeless guys came in and asked if I could. could hold on to his luggage for him. I was reluctant at first, but then decided to allow him to store the bags behind the restaurant undercover until he needed to complete whatever mission his crystals were forcing him to do that day. I went about my day prepping food and setting the restaurant in preparation for a busy night. A few hours had passed and it was two hours until opening and the city detectives came into the restaurant. I was reluctant to stop and chat until they told me they were looking for stolen goods. I stopped and listened to their story about

a man that they had managed to follow CCTV footage back to him coming into my restaurant. Reluctant to make a statement and cause a stir in the street community, never snitch or make a statement or you are a dog and will feel the pain, I just said I had seen him but I am unsure where he is currently. The detectives interrogated me and any staff around for about half an hour and then left. Curiosity got the better of me and I went out the back to behind the restaurant and looked in the bags. There were five rifles, two shotguns and five thousand rounds of ammunition. I then proceeded to freak the fuck out and figure out how to go about this situation safety so that my business, my staff and myself were not involved in some serious crimes.

Before being able to decide how to go about this situation, the detectives came back with a search warrant. I was cooperative, gave them my CCTV footage and handed over the firearms. I was arrested and taken into police custody where they held me for the maximum amount of time. The entire time I refused to make statements because police love to twist stories and write their own narrative. The detectives hated that I wouldn't give them any information and they tried every trick to get me to confess to their theories about how the firearms ended up on my

premise. When I was eventually released after 12 hours in a holding cell. The detective took my phone, my wallet and my keys and told me to walk home, 1.5 hour walk at 4 in the morning. Getting home I was feeling pretty defeated and stressed about how this could end for me. As far as the detective were concerned. They had CCTV footage of me talking to this guy, then waking him out the back where he placed the bags and walked away. They were trying to make it look like I somehow organized this guy to sell me firearms. I couldn't sleep atl, I was non-stop thinking about every message in my phone, if there was anything, even jokes between friends that could be twisted to sell their narrative.

A few hours passed by and I picked myself up and went back to work to prepare for a busy night. The day went as normal, I prepped, I cooked, I cleaned and then I locked up the shop and made sure all the staff left safely. As I was locking up the door at midnight I heard a bunch of people walk up behind me. I turned around to see the homeless guy who dropped the bags off and a few of his mates. He bailed me up and asked here his luggage was. I told him the police took them and he's fucking lucky I didn't headbut him. He didn't like that. I presume he had been up for days and had forgotten how long it had been or what day it even was.

He thought I stole his guns and refused to give them back. Him and his mates pulled a machete on me and dragged me over to my car. They then bound my legs and threw me in the boot, I drove a Jeep Grand Cherokee so the boot wasn't really to the same effect they had hoped, they grabbed my keys and started driving off. One of the group hopped in a car and tailed us to the next location. As we were driving, I overheard them talking about what they were going to do to me. They came to the conclusion to take me out to the country and execute me on a property that their friend owns. I was totally fucked. I tried my hardest to unbound my legs knowing that I kept a chef's knife in a case behind the driver's seat.

I thought if only I could get to that knife. As I struggled for what felt like hours I suddenly saw red and blue flashing lights in the rear mirror. The friend who was following the car was being pulled over for driving erratically. The two bloke sighed the car tweeted out and started pulling the dash of the car apart trying to find some kind of wire that the police installed to try and get them. They were sue off their heads in meth I couldn't help but to chuckle a little bit. They drove ten-I'm down the road when one of them decided to jump out of the car and run on foot into the bushes.

The remaining guy drove back towards town with me still in the boot bounded. We pulled up in the car park of a retirement village where he came around the back, popped the boot and pulled a knife to my throat. He was shaking, he was sweating. I could tell he had never been in contact of a crime this red-hot. So I said calmly, why don't you just let me out and take my car? You'd be able to make it to the next state over if you leave now. He thought about this for a few moment as he paced around the car smoking a cigarette butt.

He grabbed his head and yelled, F-U-C-K. As he looked into the sky. He stormed over and untied my legs and then asked me for $50 for petrol. I gave him a $50 and told him to buy himself something nice. He chuckled and in some fucked up way I felt sorry for him. After he took off I called the police and reported my car stolen. I told them the circumstances but refused to make a statement. They treated this as some kind of drug deal gone wrong and tried to put the blame on me.

It took all my will power not to explode and tell them the connection, after a few months passed that were as normal as I could make them. I was summoned to court where the prosecutor tried to play their story that I was some kind of underworld kingpin that was orchestrating big theft jobs with an army of meatied-up monkeys. I gave finally gave my story to the court and after a stressful few hours the magistrate came to the conclusion that I was guilty of having possession of stolen firearms and ammunition, but it was circumstantial, so I was given at 80 hours of community service. Time went on and I never heard from those homeless blocs again.

I finished my community service and continued to operate my restaurant for two years until I ultimately moved on from that location. It's been three years since the charges now and just a few weeks ago all of the local papers and new outlets covered my story. They didn't base anything off the findings of the court, they wrote their stories about what the police commissioner had to say about it, the same police commissioner that hated me because I refused to make statements, they said I was gang affiliated, made me out to be some kind of terrorist.

said I faked the robbery to make it look like I was a victim and they gave me a life ban from operating a venue. I was furious, I lost my job, I couldn't find accommodation to live in, I couldn't find another job. I was essentially homeless and had nowhere to go. My name was dragged through the mud and nobody could be held accountable. The newspapers got away with, say, it is alleged, the police commissioner got away with making that public statement on her assumptions. Pretty much my life is now completely fucked because of, here say, three entire year, years after the incident happened. I'm banned from venues, I was covered on a large news network. They used photos from my social media to make it look as bad as possible. I am extremely good at my

job and now I'm left living in a bizarre episode of Black Mirror where everyone thinks I'm a terrible hardened criminal. All because I let this one guy store his luggage behind my restaurant. Day 1,026 H. G.B. Ugh, choking, gasping for breath. Day 1,027 Ag, coughing, violently, blood rushing from my mouth, hot and sticky against my skin. Day 1 November 25th, 2004 it's the day after my high school graduation.

A mix of dread and relief fills me as I sit on the edge of my bed. I should feel like I've accomplished something, but instead, I feel like I'm standing at the edge of a cliff, staring into the unknown. I'm supposed to be an adult now, supposed to know what comes next. but all I want to do is cry. All I want is for the world to stop spinning. I hate this, this life, this work, this endless cycle of pretending. I feel isolated, invisible, like a shadow in my own skin.

I've always felt this way. It's like a disease in my chest, tight and suffocating. I want to stop aging. I want to stay young. But that's impossible. Time never stops, and I can't outrun it. I can't stand the thought of getting old. It's ugly.

It's terrifying. I slunk down onto the floor of my room, staring at the empty walls. I feel the pull of something darker, deeper inside me. My hand trembles as I reach into the corner of the room where I know the bottle is hidden, the cheap alcohol I stole from my brother, the stuff he and his delinquent friends drink. I take a sip. Then another. The liquid burns, but it's the only thing that numbs the pressure in my head.

I take another and another until the dizziness starts to swallow me whole. I can feel the world slipping away, a black void pulling me under. Each breath grows heavier, as though the very air is suffocating me. I'm drowning, drowning in my own mind. The room spins, my thoughts blur, and I lose consciousness. Day 2. November 25th, 2004 I wake up in a days. My throat is raw, and the sour smell of vomit clings to the carpet beneath me. My shirt is soaked with sweat, sticking to my skin.

The haze of alcohol still lingers in my blood. I check my phone. November 25th. Holy fuck. Holy fuck. The words echo in my head like a broken record. I gasp for air, choking on nothing, as if I'm drowning all over again. My chest is tight, a stabbing pain that shoots through my ribs with every panicked breath.

I reach for the bottle, fuck. It's empty. Fuck. I sit up, finally gaining some control over my breathing. I look at myself in the mirror. I'm a ghost. My face is pale, like all the color has been drained out of me. Dark bag sagged beneath my eyes.

I stare at my reflection, unable to comprehend what I'm seeing. Then, a smile slowly creeps across my face. It's not a smile of relief. It's something darker. A realization. I, Marcus Wright, had just, repeated time. Day 16. November 24th, 2004 I'm going insane.

I don't know what's worse, the fact that this has been going on for 16 days, or the fact that I can feel myself losing my grip on reality. The same words. The same faces. The same routines. Every. Single. Day.

I thought it would be a miracle, an escape from the monotony of life, but now it feels like a prison. The days stretch on forever, one after the other, each as hollow and empty as the last. There's no change. No growth. Just, more of the same. I've started hearing things. Whispers. Voices that weren't there before.

The walls feel like they're closing in on me, and I'm certain that someone, something, is watching me. I feel the pressure in my chest, like a hand clamped over my heart, suffocating me with every breath. Everything feels wrong. The world around me is shifting, warping, as though it's on the verge of breaking apart. I'm not sure what's real anymore. I'm not sure what I'm becoming. But I know one thing for certain, I can't escape. Not anymore.

Day 50, November 25, 2004. Sin. Sin. Sin. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. My face hurts.

It's a sharp, deep ache, like the muscles are being pulled too. tight, but I can't stop smiling. I don't want to stop smiling. My cheeks burn, my skin stretches, the muscles are sore as hell, but I can't stop. I can't. The voice, it won't stop. Kill. Kill. Kill. It whispers in my ear, cold and insistent. I try to ignore it, but it's there, always there, hammering into my skull, urging me to do things I can't even think about without feeling sick. I stare into the mirror, my eyes bloodshed. shot and wide. My reflection grins back at me, a smile too wide, too hollow. It's like my face isn't even mine anymore, like someone's pulling the strings. My hands shake, my vision blurs,

but I can't look away. I can't break eye contact. The voice is so loud now, so insistent, it fills the space between the beat of my heart. I can take this, I think. I can take this. But I'm not sure I can. My mind is slipping. The voice can keeps pushing. It gets louder every day. Every day, it gets harder to remember who I was, what my life was before this madness. I can't escape it, no matter what I do. And then there are them. The figures. I see them now. Silent shapes, moving in the corners of my vision, fading in and out of the shadows. They have no faces. No eyes. Just empty, faceless shapes that follow me everywhere. Every time I turn around, they're there.

watching, waiting. I wake up every day in the same place. No matter where I fall asleep, it's always the same spot. It's like I'm stuck in this loop, this endless, suffocating loop. And the worst part? I've started to forget what my life was like before all of this. I can barely remember what it felt like to be, me. Then there's my family. They're not, they're not the same. My mother, for example, she's not my mother anymore. Her eyes, eyes, they're black. Dark as night, as though everything that was once human in her has been swallowed whole by something else. Her voice, too, flat, emotionless, like she's reciting something she doesn't even understand. She's not my mother. She needs to be killed. Day 100 November 25,

2004. It's happened again. I killed my entire family. And I'm not sorry. They deserved it, or maybe they didn't. They weren't even them anymore. They were demons, their eyes void black, faces shifting grotesquely, twisting in human shapes. The voices in my head screamed louder than ever, demanding their blood. They told me what had to be done. I couldn't take their smug, hateful stares any longer, couldn't endure their venomous words. I used the knife I got for my sixteenth birthday, a sleek pocket blade with a dark green camel hilt, its six-inch stainless steel blade as cold and sharp as the void in my chest.

When I held it in my hand, it felt almost alive, humming with purpose. Cutting them was disturbingly easy. Their skin parted as if it were made of paper, the knife gliding through flesh with no resistance. The splatter was warm, almost comforting, painting the walls with streaks of crimson. They were worthless. Their screams didn't even sound real. More like distant echoes. Now it's my turn.

I think I have to end this nightmare, end me. If I go, I can escape the voices. They've taken over completely now. Their whispers are a constant, sinister lullaby, louder than my own thoughts, louder than reality. I pray this will work. I have to make it stop. But what if it doesn't? What if this hell follows me into death?

The blade in my hand is still warm, slick with their blood. It feels heavy, heavier than before. I take a deep breath and press the edge against my skin. This is the only way out. Day 500, November 25th, 2004. God told me I'm not good enough to die. He whispered it in my ear, a cruel mockery, as if I needed another reason to hate myself. He said I was meant to stay in this hellhole forever.

I can't breathe anymore. I'm lying on the cold, hard floor, choking on my own blood, barely alive after my latest failed attempt to end it all. The voices in my head chant the same words, over and over, end it. all. End it all. But I can't. I'm so sick of this pain. It gnaws at my chest like a ravenous animal. I can't cry. I can't feel anything but the numb, hollow ache that's swallowed me whole. Everything's changed. The streets are crawling with black-eyed demons now, buzzing and moaning as they shuffle through the shadows. They're different, though, malicious. They hate me. I can see it in the way they move, feel it in the way their empty eyes burn into my soul.

They want me dead, and honestly, I want it too. I can't even remember my own name anymore. Marcus? Was that it? It doesn't matter. Nothing matters in this God-Forsaken world. Day 1000, November 25, 2004 Smash. I woke up tied down.

My arms, my legs, they wouldn't move. The rope cut into my skin, rough and unforgiving. My parents stood over me, their faces twisted into grotesque grins, hammers clutched in their blood-stained hands. Oh fuck, I whispered, panic clawing at my throat. They got me. I couldn't move. I couldn't fight back.

Smash. My father's hammer slammed down on my face, crushing my teeth, driving them into the back of my throat. Blood poured from my mouth, warm and metallic, pooling on the bed beneath me. My vision blurred, black creeping in at the edges as I screamed through the agon. God damn it, just end this. I howled, my voice cracking, tears mixing with the blood on my face. But they didn't stop. They wouldn't stop. The hammer came down again and again until everything faded into darkness. Day November 25th, 1026, 2004. I woke up. I always wake up. They have me again.

It's been weeks of this, maybe longer. I've lost count. Time doesn't exist in this place. Every time I think it's over, I find myself back here, bound and helpless. My parents and brothers stand over me, their faces twisted into wide, in human grins, their eyes void black. This is what you deserve, they chant in a perfect, sickening harmony. Be grateful. They press a soaked rag over my face, the cold, damp fabric smothering me. Water pours down, flooding my nose, my mouth, drowning me.

My chest burns, every breath of futile gasp, until I finally go limp, my body surrendering to the void. Day 1027, November 25, 2004 the shadows crawl out from the walls, their jagged shapes writhing like snakes, their laughter echoing in my ears. They haunt me. Taunt me. They know I'm broken, and they revel in it. I'm sprawled out on the floor, arms and legs spayed, no strength left to fight.

I don't even want to. I don't deserve freedom. At least, that's what the voices keep telling me. I hear them before I see them, my parents. Their footsteps creak on the floorboards, slow and deliberate. Their faces split into those awful, two wide grins as they approach me, long, gleaming metal rods in their hands. This time, I pray it'll be the last.

The first rod pierces my chest, a sharp, searing pain that tears through me like fire. Blood gushes from my mouth, hot and sticky, coating my lips and chin as I cough and scream, my voice ragged and broken. Darkness wraps around me, pulling me under. And as I slip into the void, I whisper my final plea, please, let this be the last time I wake up. Boas Clemenson of Narsak, a town in Greenland, was enjoying New Year's Eve of 1989, going into 1990.

He was celebrating at home with his wife, Cecilia, and their two grown sons, Christian and Abel the four of them had dinner together, followed by sampling some of Boa's homemade beer. Boas knew his sons were eager to go out and party with their friends. so he didn't keep them. Christian went to his home, a housing complex in town. Abel went to meet up with some friends. Both promised to be home before midnight.

Boas and Cecilia watched TV and kept an eye on the clock as promised. Christian and Abel were home around ten minutes before midnight. Excited to call in the new year, the family lit candles in the house, all the candles they could find. Then they went into the snow outside to enjoy the neighborhood fireworks. Abel found a big rocket somewhere and proudly found. fired it up. For Boas, the party was only getting started, he poured champagne for everybody, his family, friends, and neighbors. He was a little bit tipsy in his youngest son, Abel, was amused by his silliness shortly before 1 a.m., Abel's friend Anok dropped by. After joking around and

singing songs about being happy, the youngsters start making tracks. Boas was touched by his son's positive attitude and wiped away the tears of gratitude Christian, Abel and Inak said goodbye, and left to go to Christians. A drunken Boas went to sleep at 3 a.m., looking forward to 1990. But that was not destined to be a happy year after all. As he stood in the kitchen, drinking his first coffee of the New Year, he saw two police officers walking towards his house. They seemed uncomfortable and awkward. He frowned as he opened the door and they asked him where his youngest son, Little Abel, was. Boas had no idea why they were looking for him. What did Abel Clementson do in the early morning hours of January 1st, 1990. On New Year's Eve, December 31,

1989, Abel ushered in the New Year with his family and neighbors. Just after midnight, his brother Christian fired an emergency flare, as is custom in Greenland on New Year's Eve, and everyone cheered. Then the two brothers went to Umbo, where residents were having a New Year's Eve party. With a little imagination, one can think that there was a radio in one corner, blaring with music by Madonna, Millie Vanilli, Rockset, perhaps Alice Cooper's poison played. When the brothers arrived, Abel ran into his friend, T. Earlier that day, Abel had had a disagreement with a female friend.

T. heard about this and was furious, he felt that Abel was way out of line. When he saw Abel at Umbo, he told him so. The friends argued and at one point, T pinned Abel up against a wall. He said that he did not want to be his friend anymore, in fact, he never wanted to see him again. T. left the party in Abel was deeply hurt. He felt alone and abandoned. He would be nothing without T. He felt that the end of their friendship was the end of the road for him. In the heat of the moment, Abel decided the only solution was to end his own life. He would kill himself in front of everyone at the party, that would be the only way to get back at T for ending their friendship.

Abel left Umbo in a rage. Christian and his friends assumed that they wouldn't see him again, that Abel had called it a night. If only that were true, In the early morning hours of January 1st, 1990, Abel Clemanson marched home, to the house where he lived with his parents. He fetched a semi-automatic rifle, which he kept in his room and filled the magazine with ammunition. Then he went straight back to Umbo. When he returned, he went upstairs to room number six on the first floor, where the party was still buzzing. The door was open, and he could see his brother, Christian Clemanson standing in the doorway. There were some more young people in the room behind him, drinking, laughing, partying.

Christian saw his brother's face and realized something wasn't right. Abel had completely changed, he looked like he was possessed. Before Christian could do anything, Abel lifted the gun, aimed, then fired the first shot, aimed at his own brother's head. The bullet hit Christian in the face and he immediately dropped to the floor. There was chaos as the other partygoers looked on with shock and horror. Abel could not hear anything, he felt like he was floating on a cloud. Mechanically, he carried on his rampage, pulled the trigger again and fired randomly into the

room. On the first floor, spread over two rooms, he shot three women and four men. When he was done, Abel simply turned around and walked downstairs, not looking back at the carnage. As he reached the downstairs lounge he saw another woman, whom he didn't know. Without hesitation, he shot her two. All up, Abel Clemanson had fired eleven rounds. He had planned to end the shooting by killing himself, but he couldn't go through with it, he didn't have the strength. Once he was outside Umbo, on the street, he could hear again. He knew he had done something terrible and he fell to the ground. After a while, he dragged himself upright and walked home in the blistering weather.

Once he got home he went straight to sleep. At the scene in Umbo, five young people lay dead. Two young women were seriously injured with gunshot wounds to their heads. There was only one victim who was still conscious, it was the gunman's brother, 22-year-old Christian Clemenson. The only reason he survived was because he remained on the floor and pretended to be dead. When Abel was gone, he managed to get up and run to the local hospital. Hospital staff informed police of the situation.

One of the nurses on duty heard what Christian said and realized that her son had said that he was going to Umbo that night. Sadly, it turned out that her son was one of the victims killed that night. At 11 a.m. on New Year's Day 1990, Abel Cleminson was arrested at his parents' home. He confessed to the murders. The seven victims ranged in age between 18 and 34. In March 1991, Abel Clemenson was sentenced to indefinite detention at a psychiatric institution in Hirstivester, Denmark.

In December 2015, Abel was granted weekend release. That means he can leave the psychiatric facility. You ever have one of those nights where everything feels too perfect, like the calm before a storm? That was New Year's Eve 1989 in Narsack, Greenland. Boas Clemanson was living that perfect night with his wife Cecilia and their two grown sons, Christian and Abel. They had dinner, some laughs, and even cracked open some of Boas' as famously strong homemade beer. The mood? Pure warmth.

The kind that makes you think nothing could possibly go wrong. Christian and Abel were itching to get out and ring in a new decade with friends, and Boas didn't stop them. He knew the drill. Boys will be boys, even if they're grown men. Christian headed off to his place in the housing complex, and Abel went to link up with his own crew. Both promised to be back before midnight, and sure enough, they walked through the door just ten minutes before the big countdown. That's when things got festive.

Candles, every single one they could find, were lit up, filling the house with a warm flickering glow. Then it was outside, into the snow, to a in the snow, to a single one. enjoy the neighborhood fireworks show. At one point, Abel even found a huge rocket and fired it off, proud like a kid showing off a science project. Boas was feeling the buzz, tipsy from champagne, hugging neighbors, telling everyone how much he loved them. Abel couldn't stop laughing at his dad's happy drunken silliness.

Then, around 1 a.m., Abel's friend Anok stopped by. They sang dumb songs and laughed about nothing in particular. Just good vibes all around. After a bit, Abel, Christian, and Inak decided to head to Christian's place for more partying. Boas, slightly swaying, finally called it a night around 3 a.m. He went to sleep with a big grin on his face, excited for what 1990 might bring. But 1990. It had other plans.

Next morning, as Boas stood in a kitchen sipping his first cup of New Year coffee, two cops came walking up to the house. They didn't look like they were there to spread good cheer. He opened the door, and one of them asked, Where's your youngest son, Little Abel? Boas was confused. Why the hell would the police be looking for Abel? Let's rewind a little. After the family celebration, Christian and Abel made their way to a party at a place called Umbo, a kind of residential community space where a bunch of local youth had gathered to ring in the new year. Think loud music, bad dancing, probably Madonna or Millie Vanilli blasting from a cheap stereo in the corner. Maybe even some Alice Cooper for the rebels.

At Unbow, Abel ran into his friend, Tee. Earlier that day, Abel had gotten into it with a girl, one of those teenage spats that mean everything in the moment but probably nothing a week later. T had heard about it and wasn't happy. He pulled Abel aside and gave him the kind of dressing down that cuts deeper than it should. At one point, T pinned Abel up against a wall and said, We're not friends anymore. I never want to see you again.

T. left the party, but his word stayed behind. Abel was gutted. Heartbroken. To him, T. wasn't just a buddy, he was the buddy. His anchor. And now that anchor was gone. Abel spiraled. In his pain, he convinced himself that the only way to respond,

the only way to get back at tea, was to end his life in front of everyone. A final act that would make them all remember. He stormed out of Umbo, furious, hurt, unstable. Christian and the others thought he was just heading home to sleep it off. If only. Instead, Abel marched back to his house. He went to his room and pulled out a semi-automatic rifle he kept there. Yeah, you read that right.

He loaded the magazine with cold, determined hands and made his way back to Unbow like a ghost on a mission. Upstairs, Room 6 was still alive with music and laughter. Abel reached the door and saw Christian standing right there. That was his big brother, the guy who always had his back. But something had switched off inside Abel. Whatever light had been there was gone. He raised the gun.

Christian's eyes went wide. Before he could move, Abel pulled the trigger. Christian dropped like a puppet with its strings cut. Panic erupted. People screamed. Abel didn't hear any of it. In his mind, it was quiet. Too quiet.

He stepped inside and kept shooting. Three women. Four men. Room to room. Bullets flying. Screams turning to silence. It was chaos wrapped in snow and fireworks and broken. and dreams. Then he walked downstairs, as calmly as if he were going to fetch a snack.

There was a woman there, someone he didn't even know. She looked at him, probably confused. He shot her two. Eleven shots total. That's all it took. Eleven bullets. But when it came time for able to pull the trigger on himself, he couldn't. The fire was gone. The fury had fizzled. He walked out into the snow, the gun still warm in his hands. He could hear again. He knew what he'd done. He dropped to the ground, numb. Eventually, he picked himself up and stumbled home like a ghost trying to remember how to live.

When he got there, he crawled into bed and went to sleep like nothing had happened. But back at Umbo, the scene was pure horror. Five young people were dead. Two young women had been shot in the head and clobes. clung to life by threats. The only one still conscious was Christian. Bleeding from his face, barely breathing, he stayed completely still, pretending to be dead until he was sure Abel had left.

Then, somehow, he got up and made it to the local hospital. The police were called. Nurses ran around in disbelief. One nurse's face went pale when she heard Christian say, Unbow, that was where her son had gone that night. Turns out, he was one of the victims. By 11 a.m., the police showed up at the Clementson House and arrested Abel. He didn't resist.

Didn't run. Just admitted it. I did it, he said. Just like that. Seven victims in total. Young people. Lives that hadn't even started yet. They were between 18 and 34.

In March 1991, the courts decided Abel wasn't just a criminal, he was deeply disturbed. They sentenced him to indefinite detention at a psychiatric facility in Hurstavester, Denmark. No end date. Just locked away until, or if, someone decided he was no longer a threat. Years went by. Decades, even. The world kept turning, and people forgot. But the town of Narsak never really did. Every New Year's after that, the fireworks felt a little dimmer. The laughter a little more cautious. Then in December 2015, a new shock, Abel was granted weekend release. He could leave the facility. Walk free, even if only temporarily. Some people were outraged. Others confused. But the law is the law.

And that's it. That's the end, for now. A beautiful night turned night A boy with a broken heart and a gun. Eleven shots that changed everything. The lesson? You never really know what's going on in someone else's mind. The quietest people often carry the loudest storms. So yeah, maybe check on your friends. Especially the ones who say they're fine.

And hold your family tight. Because sometimes, the new year doesn't bring new beginnings. Sometimes, it brings blood on the snow. The end. Part 1. On a chilly, rainy evening, Emma suddenly woke up to a loud banging noise. It sounded like someone was pounding on the door. With her heart racing, she tiptoed to the hallway.

Shadows danced eerily on the walls as the wind howled outside. Reaching the door, she hesitated. Grabbing her phone, she called the police, her voice shaking. Someone's banging on my door, she whispered urgently. I don't know who it is, and I'm home alone. The police assured her that a patrol was on its way, but every minute felt like an hour. The banging abruptly stopped, leaving an eerie silence. She peaked through the peephole but saw no one.

Fear gripped her as she wondered if the person had managed to get inside. Suddenly, she heard footsteps upstairs. The floorboards creaked under the weight of someone moving around. Her breath caught in her throat. The police should be here soon, but could she wait that long? Emma decided to take matters into her own hands. She grabbed a heavy candlestick from the mantle and crept up the stairs. At the top, she noticed a door slightly ajar.

She pushed it open slowly and saw a shadowy figure in the corner of the room. Just as she was about to scream, the figure lunged forward. She felt a cold hand grab her arm, and, Part 2, Emma's heart pounded as the figure pulled her closer. Struggling, she swung the candlestick, hitting the intruder's arm. The grip loosened, and she broke free, dashing towards the stairs. As she reached the bottom, she heard the front door crash open. Two police officers burst in, guns drawn.

Emma, are you okay? One of them shouted. She pointed upstairs, breathless, someone's up there. The officers moved quickly, heading upstairs. Emma could hear the commotion as they apprehended the intruder. Moments later, they escorted a disheveled man in handcuffs down the stairs. He's been breaking into homes around. the area, one officer explained. You were lucky to call when you did.

Relief washed over Emma, but she couldn't shake the lingering fear. The officer handed her a card. If you remember anything else or need someone to talk to, call us. That night, Emma barely slept, every sound making her jump. The next day, she decided to stay with a friend for a while, trying to find some sense of safety. As days turned into weeks, Emma slowly began to feel more secure. But every now and then, she would hear a creak or a whisper of the wind and remember that terrifying

night. She knew she had to be vigilant because you, as I wait in line at the methadone clinic, I can't help but think how did I end up with the rest of these addicts? On this particular day, we are all 20-something-year-old girls waiting outside to get our pills in this wretched old town of Comoka, which is located right outside of London, Ontario. I had injured my back my junior year in high school and I decided to play through the pain. My doctor prescribed me percassettes, then when that stopped working he prescribed me fentanyl. I didn't want to hurt my chances of getting an athletic scholarship, so that's why I opted for the pain pills versus resting or quitting the sport altogether.

By the time I made it to the university, I was so skinny that I became almost unrecognizable to my parents. The ironic part is that I got kicked out of the university because I was so hooked on the opioids that I got straight Fs, which meant my athletic scholarship was null and void. After getting kicked out of the university, I went back home to live with my parents, where eventually they kicked me out of their house for stealing anything possible, that wasn't bolted down, so I could get my opioid fix. The doctor, I was seeing since high school dropped me as one of his patients,

so I couldn't get prescriptions through him anymore, which meant that I had to turn to the streets to get what I wanted. As I continue to stand in line on this cool autumn day, I look around and see other females like me who are completely down and out, but at least all of us are trying to kick the habit through the methadone treatment. The girl in front of me turns around for a few moments and I say, How long have you been getting methadone? Three months.

The girl responds, who is as skinny and run down looking as I am. You're probably like me, in that you never thought you would be standing in a line like this. Yeah, I got hooked because of an injury I had. Me too. It's crazy, isn't it? I responded. I didn't want to stop playing rugby and my doctor was willing to prescribe me pain pills. Wow.

Me too, but my sport was field hockey. I responded. The girl behind me, chimes in and says, yeah. Me as well, where my wrist wouldn't get better from playing tennis, so my doctor prescribed me percocets, which would mask the pain. I couldn't stop looking at the girl behind me, because she kind of looked familiar, but I couldn't pinpoint where I knew her from. As I looked at the other girls in line, I couldn't help but notice that besides all of us

being skinny and looking burnt out, none of us looked like we were multi-generational losers. Our clothes looked like we were trying to be suburbanites versus biker chicks, however our anorexic appearances wouldn't jive in an affluent housing development. The drugs have tainted my memory, but for some reason every girl that is in line with me looks faintly familiar. Where did you's go to school? I say both to the girl behind me and the girl in front of me. Saunders, the girl behind me says in an unenthusiastic tone.

The girl in front of me reluctantly says, yeah, me too, I've noticed a couple of other girls in line who went to Saunders as well. The girl behind me chimes in. Something inside of me starts churning, as I too graduated from Saunders, which was odd but not out of the realm of possibilities since over 2,000 kids go to that school in any given year. Who was your doctors? I asked the both of them.

Dr. Chang. The girl in front of me says, Me too. Both the girl behind me and I say simultaneously. He was a really nice doctor, I graduated with his son. I said to invoke more questions and hopefully gather more information. Oh, I graduated with his son as well in 2016. The girl behind me says,

I graduated in 2018 with Peter, who is Dr. Chang's youngest son. I respond. Yes, Jeffrey Chong was 2016. I almost went to the prom with him, but the guy, who I had the biggest crush on since the ninth grade, asked me to go with him instead, so I broke Jeffrey's heart. The girl behind me says, while slightly. Giggling. Wow, that's strange because Peter and I were good friends until he asked me out on a date

in my junior year, then things got awkward between the two of us and I kind of ignored him after that. I responded. I graduated in 2017 and Jeffrey asked me out and I turned him down as well. The girl in front of me responded. It didn't take long until the girl two spots in front of me said, I graduated in 2013 and I almost had to put a restraining order on Yong Chong to stop his advances on me. I still started going down my spine when I realized that the day I turned from being a normal

person to being a zombie-like addict was when I turned down Peter's advances towards me. I was somewhat pretty and used to being hit on, but to Peter, I must have really broke his heart. I was so focused on sports and flirting with any guy who would give me attention, that I didn't even care to notice how depressed Peter got for me turning him down. Prior to Peter asking me out, I had went to Dr. Chong with a sprained ankle or a sore neck and he would always say to me, because you can move this way or that way, it's probably nothing serious, so I would just give it a couple of days and it would go away.

But I remember specifically hurting my back about a week after, I had turned Peter's advances down, then Dr. Chong prescribed me the percassettes. I remember one of my drug rehab therapists saying, who prescribes a high school kid opioids, which at the time I brushed off, but now I think there was something more sinister going on with Dr. Chong prescribing me the opioids. I remember a few months ago, when I was trying to turn a trick on York Street, when I saw Dr. Chong was stoked at a red light. He rolled his window down and smiled and waved at me, where it looked like he had felt a sense

of accomplishment just by looking at me. As I continued to look at the girls in line with me, I realized that I'm the only one who has pieced together that Dr. Chong intentionally got all of us addicted to opioids for breaking one of his son's hearts. That was how they received an email, asking for a rescue for him the email is, ill, written and asked, 00-0-0 in exchange for the child's life but, what happens and when they share it with the,

police it turns out that it is almost a, tracing. On Sunday, November 6th, 2000-11A, expected mother called the police left. Your child in the car for a couple of minutes, but when I returned it was no longer. There he said that it was a second a moment.

Of nothing but that when he returned there was. Disappeared however the police in, how much began to investigate realized, what history was not like her. I was counting and it seems that this, worried mother had made, Many, Secrets Julia Biryukova was born on 10, March 1981 in Russia and his childhood. The information we have is enough.

Confusing some sources say that there, family was from Ukraine and that for that. Reason after birth moved there, according to his own testimony he suffered bad, treatment by both parents and in. A large number of occasions as punishment was subjected to shock therapy. In psychiatric hospitals of this, part of the story there is no kind, of document there is nothing to demonstrate, that what this woman tells is real, but it is still worth having it. Present in 1994 when I was 12 years old, she and her mother moved to Washington, United States and from here, though, abuses were behind starting a, again complicated stage for her,

different language country to make new. Friends all affected him a lot, but, it seems that in the end it ends up adapting. That is when we reached the age of 15. Years at that time Julia studied, in Bellevue High School and apparently, everything was doing well had a group of. Friends got good grades and one day he took, the car to his mother to fill the, deposit and the gas station met A, 21-year-old boy named Solomon Metal. Walla Solomon was born on April 15, 1975 in Pakistan and almost instantly. They connected in fact a few minutes. He invited her that same weekend to go, to a party and she accepted the party goes. They know each other a little more and a few. Days begin to leave like all. Relationships at the beginning this was whined. In Stern and when the girl

graduated in, 1999 begins to work in the business of Solomon's pairs of Cafeteria, called King Street cafe located in BVW. They work together, everything is going well and I know. They buy a small apartment very close. Of work but then the first problem and just when, Julia has just graduated from the police, receive a disturbing call and it is that several witnesses have seen them fight in. A gas station shouts the hand are missing respect and police. The spirits have to intervene. They talk to them and recommend couple therapy which supposedly, time ends up, passes and occurs. Another striking event and is that in 2001, Julia gets nationality and there, according to her Solomon's parents, they begin to press to marry. With his son Solomon, he doesn't have the

papers. And if you don't get married to her, deport and begin to press, ask him to marry him to tell him that, it has to be immediately since not. They deport him and finally the girl ends, accepting and on February 10th, 2003 is the couple with enunciation in a ceremony, very simple and with few guests of. Fact is so simple that some, Fentes indicate that they married in the, Solomon's parents' kitchen the. Time continues and another occurs. Event that makes families break, his beautiful relationship and is that, Julia is supposedly Catholic but the Walla metal family is Muslim until, there is no problem here they accept. Both beliefs get along but, after marrying Solomon tells, all that has become, Christianity

that goes to the church that reads, the Bible that have the help and parents, of the subject are angry with her, what Solomon has become, Christianity but Julia denies it. All year 2007 Julie informed everyone that he was waiting for his first child. This news excited everyone to, family family to neighbors but just. After saying this the business, familiar began to fall until that moment. There was no competition but now in the dinner in front of them had just opened another, cafeteria with better prices and yours. As is logical, I didn't have so many. Customers the numbers were going down, but he saw the positive part and it is. That year they were were going to be parents and in December I welcome the little mile everything is fine is in the

little apartment continue with the same I work fighting for ski but Julia think that they are small now there are three do not have much space and marriage comes the brilliant idea of renting your little house and buy another much bigger in Kirklawn but that's not all and is that new house is very expensive and therefore not they can pay it so they occur to them asking for a loan the business is not going well pay the previous house mortgage they have to pay another mortgage now also a loan is very clear that the couple is not thinking good but for them everything was good ideas and with the passing of the months realize who have made a serious mistake seek tenant for the previous house but for misfortune they do not find it and for more than work they don't get more money

business does not trace lose customers invoices accumulate debts too and at the beginning of 2009 julia finds out that is pregnant again according to some sources this baby is not planned and according to others i was but we will see that the first point it seems the most successful and that is that from the minute one this woman seemed very disgusted did not look happy with the pregnancy with the situation and debts. Little by little they kept accumulating were about to lose both houses and four. This at the end of 2009 sell the house. Great and returned to the little on this. Change to Julia affected him a lot to. She was a change of status or rather, a change of appearance no longer. They appeared to have a lot of money to be people. Important now they

were the same before but then Solomon. He noticed that something rare past Julia showed. Very strange behaviors and, advised to see a specialist who of, immediately diagnosed with him and by, he sent her antidepressants so much, but she, I didn't want to take them that it was fine, perfectly and that simply, I needed a few days but the days, they pass and the woman goes worse. Obsess with cleaning and began to obsessively clean each, centimeter of his house did not care about the, time the day the plans that had that, house should be impeccable cleaned, crampus cramp or crates, cushions everything in the house should be, perfect and many times the, operation several times this problem reached the point where solomon myel and julia herself no longer they slept in the beds but rather in the soil since julia dirty it everything ate on the street in restaurants in the rear garden and the kitchen of the casa could not use julia saw germs in every corner and solomon it was felling but not only him but also the neighbors since julia many nights spent aspiring the whole house aspirated at eleven at night at one morning at five did not care about the time if i wanted to clean dot two the work

can that's and for today. Of June 19th, 2009 the neighbors, they called the police and Julia looks, forced to pay a fine of, $300 but she didn't care, focused on the issue of cleaning and, according to Solomon, he completely abandoned the. Family left the job to clean. He stopped caring for his daughter stopped, worry about pregnancy just wanted, clean, clean and six of. September 2009 the family gave the, welcome to Little Sky chooses metal. Walla in December 2009 when Sky. The family had trip. Visiting a target climbed their Cadillac. Scales started the engine and left. To make some purchases the temperature. Exterior was more or less minus three GR did. A tremendous cold but oh like this according to them. Little Sky fell asleep and four. So much decided to leave it there they

leave the. Car score the doors they get into the Target and start buying but. Then a couple who went for him. Parking found the empty car and with. The child inside looking for parents ask, help arrives more people all check the car try to open it and see that. Parents are nowhere to call. Police when agents arrive, they enter the target and call four, megaphone to the owners of the Cadillac, scales that is parked out and proceed to accuse them of recklessness. Reckless but what happens here that the Walla metal family for an excuse, stupid and they say that the child alone has been without surveillance 20 minutes. Witnesses say that is not true that they have been waiting for a long time, calling them looking for them and that time. It wasn't 20 minutes so the police, check the surveillance

cameras and discover that the child was only for more. Fifty-five minutes the accusation for reckless recklessness of a head and the marriage was forced to fulfill a probation year 40 hours of, community service and complete a ten week course on parenting. Some sources say that in this, occasion little male was with the parents that she was in the car that he went down that he entered the target but that the little sky stayed alone but others. Fuentes say that mile this time.

It wasn't with his family however, as social services he was at. Both of this and between the end of 2009, early 2010 visited the family, up to seven times the subject Little to, little was getting out of control and Julia was going, evil to worse, but the drop of filled the, Vesso arrived on the day of his 29th birthday, March 10th, 2010 when the woman, being alone at home with their two children, he sent the following message to his, husband please please ask you with, all my heart that you see me to find, a peaceful way to die cannot, live another day and cause more, suffering from you to mile and sky I'm, Dead inside anyway and I have.

Dead status for a long time I don't. You will miss and Miley and Sky have the best dad in the world so I know. You will be fine when this occurs Solomon. Call the police to see that message end. With everything that has been happening thinks, that Juliet can commit madness, remove your life-hirting children. Doing both are so afraid, who asks a patrol to go immediate, to your home and in a few minutes several. Agents are planted there but in, Julia presence the woman denies it. Everything says that he sent the message, but that this message was not true.

He wanted to take his life was not sad. I only wanted to get the attention that a person admits something so, quietly makes no sense, with which the police take her to, hospital to make an evaluation. Psychiatric and while this happens, Solomon gets fed up, goes to court and asks for the, divorce something that begins a terrible battle, but at this point, we will return later after being. Revised and Overlake Bellevue is sent, Seattle and once there they do the, global operation evaluation this. It is a simple test to see if a brain, adult works correctly, and,

score is 100 to 100 the one is a very bad state very deteriorated and 100. It is a very good condition and Zuli in particular took a score of 15 which gave, understand that it was a danger to itself. Say men for the people who were. With it with this score cannot. Take care of their children with which the, submit to treatment for a time, and they get 40 to reach 40 with that. Score allow you to return home.

But Solomon does not agree this. Woman is still unstable, dangerous and, therefore with her brother she takes her to, A Washington hospital where the woman access to stay for a while follows, though. Treatment is improving everything is very well, but outside the hospital it turns out that. The family embark on the little house, in which they were living and Solomon, makes the bags and leaves with the children to. His mother's house is not exaggerating when, I say under oath that Julia, it mattered more to keep and countertop.

Clean to feed our daughter, though. Child was ignored and became a reason for great concern when. He was discharged on July 10, 2010. He received the divorce papers and there. The woman started the Solomon War requested, like children because Juliet doesn't. I was trained to take care of them but the decay woman who was lying that. I was perfectly healthy rope that. I could do that I loved children and, he began accusing Solomon of being.

Violent and abusive said it was. Controller a bad father a bad person and among other things declared what. Next now my fear is for my young children and now Solomon is. Doing with my little children the same. That made me physically abuse them and try to control them said, This man Vene from the Muslim environment, it was a controller by nature, he said that, hit them with spoons with all kinds, of objects that humiliated them that, insulted and after that time, that left Sky in the car the subject, he returned more aggressive, with killing

her and that on several occasions, he said he had to sell his body to pay invoices with these accusations. Justice investigated everything and while, everything was reviewed to Solomon, prohibited approaching their two children and the, complete custody passed to Julia. The The investigation ended in August of that same year and it was shown that Solomon No, did nothing wrong with this man was innocent, and therefore once again demanded the, children's custody this time claiming that Julia had problems suffering, depression sent to him a message, strange that had an obsessive disorder, compulsive that children do not, worried he presented all the tests, but the next month the status of, Washington failed in favor of

Julia, though. Custody was still his, but only, time could see children without, embargo that occasionally, became ever since Julia No, fulfilled the established did not allow him, calls did not allow visits and fed up. That man insisted, constantly denounced him for accusing, your eldest daughter once again justice. Investigate everything while this happens. Solomon couldn't see the children, throughout 2011 Solmon Lucha, to see their children and finally on the two, November gets an audience with the judge for 13 hours discussed everything, the subject and finally granted Solomon two days a week to see them. Every Wednesday and every Saturday, I could be with them and it seems that.

Julia agreed only two, days a week and also pay. Maintenance but 24 hours later Julia, he thought about Solomon and asks him, to retire that I told the children that, they are yours that you do not need to pay, maintenance that Arizona leaves with them, and Solomon tells him that he will not do it that. He wants his children that he wants,

recover them what wants to be with them, and Julia continues are calling her lawyer. He asks for help, he says that he is forced to, accept the agreement that is not of. A agreement actually wants everything. He stopped Solomon moved away from her from. Children, but justice has already, determined, and next Wednesday, Solomon will see the little ones.

However, Julia would not be so. Easy early Sunday 6. November the little sky rose very. Sick had cold sweat fever. I was trembling and Julia very worried. The children went up to the car and started the. Engine was in the direction of the hospital of, overlake, but on the way there he saw that he, car did not have gasoline so, a park in a gutter that made costs, up and spent a few minutes thinking,

What was I going to do left the mobile inn? House did not have to call and when the return he saw that little sky had, asleep so it occurred to him to grab, mile and leave together to the nearest gas station both go down. They walk 50 minutes go the gas station and they ask the person in charge of a drum of gasoline but this says that in that moment they do not have them available and the woman goes to a public phone and calls. Your friend Sidney Sidney arrives collects them and together they go to the car but once. There they see that sky is not by any.

Heart is not in the chair is not. Next to the card there are no brands of any, type anywhere and at that time, Julia decides to call the police thing. What happens at 99-50 minutes of the, tomorrow at first glance the agents. They notice the following to start, no door or forced window end. According to the woman the door that was, next to the child he left her open is not. Open tore but it was without. Kitha, woman tells the agents who were leaving, to the Overlake Hospital and according to these,

Overlake was quite far there was, another hospital closer to go to. Overlake makes no sense and in. Third place makes no sense that, If that was sick I left it alone and, He left with Mile, the most logical thing is that, Stay next to the car and ask for help. I shout to stop other vehicles to do. Signs to walk 50 minutes, no,

It makes the slightest sense, but by itself. Perhaps they decide to believe it and the first. Suspicious was Father Solomon three. Agents go to this man's house and, once there they ask him about his son is, then when they discover the whole subject, of the custody that the woman has, problems that he wanted to take away from his children who do not want you to see them not allows it and that the next

Wednesday supposedly this man i could see them again everything sounds very strange very suspicious but the police get to work to find the child they check a ray of 20 blocks from the car van door to the door check garages areas residential parks and also use tracking dogs but nine that night they still have nothing so they decide interrogate julia since they think it is the only person who can have information asked what that, where it went how much fiery had Sky, and inevitably begin to prick, indirectly accuse her and the woman noticing this asked for a lawyer, which put an end to the interrogation of the Monday, November 7th, police, investigate everything further and discover. The following points first of all the car was parked in a gutter that I was on slope and the

child's door, the little Sky already knew, walk with which he stood up and, he opened the door, he had to open up. Even if this happened there would be a, try another car would see this, notified and if someone took to small another car would have it too seen and secondly it is reviewed by complete julia's car and discovered that did have in fact gasoline deposit was full had no no problem with which the excuse of stopping no sense with this information the police are directs the woman's house and what they do not only register it but also ask the whole environment family neighboring friends and it turns out that none of them saw children in a long time the last time a neighbor he saw them on october 15th and told The police that this woman did not use, getting them out of the house were always, locked up did not go to the park to give.

Walks these children never showed, but if the family did not know anything about, they meant that on the day of the, seen before the judge the children were, alone for 13 hours two children, small without being supervised alone, inside a house for 13 hours this, it was absolute negligence and what he calls. The attention is that since 15 of, October nobody had seen them with what, which sky could disappear after that. Day maybe he did not reach the car maybe. No one took it but the police do not. I had evidence that publicly, they asked for witnesses and many drivers. They reported having seen that car there, parked but that within this no, there was no small child the pressure, slowly fell on Julia and if the woman did not say something soon would accuse her, formally and that was when his

daughter Mile told police that, Little Sky was with them that. They got up early that the three rose to car that went with his mother and that. Going Sky was not however. History could be manipulated and the police did not finish it, believe they asked Julia to submit to the polygraph test but the woman. However, Solomon was denied. At the moment a test was done but this, as was so nervous it turned out, inconclusive and still said that in the future is to submit many more what, the police asked to give it and, listening to these words the police, asked a little about his ex-wife and Solomon told all about his problems, their obsessions, their concerns there, fears your tastes and commented that US, favorite was law and order that the,

Police caught his attention. Since the night before the disappearance, Sky issued a very, similar to this case in that program A. Couple called the police because there, small son disappeared they left him in, the car and a few minutes the child. The entire program was no longer there, revolved around this, but in the end, it turns out that parents killed him for, accident and hid the body with this. Information they thoroughly investigate the, Julia's social networks and realize that in all these there are only photos of, little male and Sky there is not a. In fact on Facebook there are 99 photos in the, that goes mile and in just one appears Sky, but that's not all and they also see that Julia is registered in many, pages to find a partner and in all. They say she is a girl's mother in. No page mentioned Sky and this is. A large red flag was clear that the woman had done something to the child, but the police could not prove it with,

which Solomon's family created a internet page asking justice for little Sky and asking the people who had any track, they will contact them that is how. They received an email asking for a rescue. For him the email was badly written and, they asked for 2000 in exchange for the life of, small but what happens and when they share with the police it turns out that it is, almost a tracing of a rescue email that a family in the area received a year before and said email was published in all, newspapers so the person who, he sent that or tried to spend a joke or he tried to divert Julia's attention to.

A group of kidnappers everything seemed, aimed to the second option. but the police had no evidence they could not, accuse her formally and alone, could make noise created groups of, search in the church distributed posters, appeared on the radio on television and made so much noise that Julia put, nervous so he sent an email to a ABC reporter in which they could read the following words my ex-husband. It is a Pakistani Muslim sadistic. This is too difficult for my lawyer has forbidden me to talk about the investigation ongoing accusations. Of my ex-husband have no basis. Solomon is a liar was also. I miss social services intervened, and he took the custody of mail to Julia.

The little girl temporarily was a house of, welcome, and meanwhile Solomon moved, papers and finally stayed with, the custody are many theories are what, he could go to Little Sky and 94. Some hypotheses point to Julia, they point out that the child was kidnapped from. Truth saw the empty car, saw the child inside he opened the door and, led but the vast majority suggest that Julia has something to do perhaps the, small disappeared weeks before there are, People who think that Julia gave him the child to his father and that he went to. Ukraine also believes that he killed him and, he set up the scene to take revenge on Solomon, so that this man would not see any more.

Child believed that Julia never loved Sky, and that for that reason I did not upload photos with. That's why when Solomon had the opportunity to see him decided to end, he but unfortunately there is no evidence of, none of this and today are only one hypothesis over the years. Solomon did not give up continued looking for, your child distributing posters by moving, the networks appearing the radio and Julia. For his part, he redirected his life in 2014. He knew a subject named Alan Morgan and, this subject began to leave as a, wide criminal history but this. It seems that Julia didn't care and that same year they married and stayed, pregnant in December 2014 denounced, to her husband for ill, treatment and the justice imposed

an order of de facto removal with time he, ended in prison but being separated, and with the restraining order, exchanged up to 70 calls and, woman went to. to prison to see him using. False names once again everything returned to. Be toxic, but this time justice does not. I would make it easy and as soon as he gave, light social services took away from. His son saw that the woman was not suitable, to be a mother and therefore they took. His son and gave the custody to the, Julia Julia's mother and her husband alone. They could see the child in the presence of another person and on several occasions what. The services come to comply. Social ones put a complaint the woman has. What to get away from the child put the. Potta denounce it again and

the last. What do we know is that in 2021 this woman was arrested by theft and that, today he still does not want to talk about him. Little Sky no matter how much they ask. Deny speaking says that he knows nothing that, has no information that does not remember. Nothing and therefore this case is not yet, has closed so now is your turn. What do you think of the case and what do you think? He went to Sky Metal Walla. I was told to write this out in therapy. They said it was good for the process. I thought maybe sharing it would help it feel less like a nightmare and more like reality. The woods in South Texas were my home and my home sounded like the finger-picking of an acoustic guitar.

As an adult there's part of me that misses the constant smell and taste of dirt and grass. As a kid I never noticed it. There was a lot I didn't notice. How much I didn't mind the tiny thorns as I walked barefooted over roots. As an adult my steps through nature are much more hesitant, even in shoes. I always knew my way back home as a kid, it felt like the woods knew how to keep me safe. I thought that was because of the angel in them. My mother told me that everyone had an angel looking out for them. Angels would be there in our most challenging moments. She was smart enough

though to tell a six-year-old like me at the time, that I shouldn't rely on them for everything. God gave us common sense for a reason, so we better use it when we can. Was one thing she liked to say a lot, especially when we did something stupid. I say we, but during this time, I was just an only child. It wasn't until a year later I got a sister. Before I got my sister, I got a dog. Before my dad would leave for work during the summer, he got me a blonde Jack Russell Terrier to keep me company. I named him Charlie.

Today, I look back and like to think that Charlie was my angel. I was always happier at the end of the summer. The air was getting cooler, rain would come and make the woods pretty with shiny mud and puddles. My birthday was at the end of August and my dad would be back for a few weeks. A week before my birthday dad would be here. I remember my mother got off the phone that morning sending me out to play. Go on, get out the house for the morning, you can come back and play your games when your daddy is here. Daddy's coming back.

I asked. That's right, Sally at the motel six said he stopped last night. Probably didn't want to wake us up so late. She told me. Now go play with Charlie, he'll honk his horn for you like always when he gets here. I dressed myself, tied my shoes, and went off the porch with Charlie into our woods. They were never scary to me. We never had any predators since there was a fence my dad built marking our property line.

I have never been in the woods at night, though. Today, I made it my mission to try and teach Charlie how to fetch. Getting him to chase the stick was easy, I just didn't know how to get him to bring it back, or even pick it up. It was when the stick I was throwing led to all of this. I wanted it to go far, I wanted to see how fast Charlie could go. I wound my whole body to launch it like I was Hercules. The stick whipped through the air and crashed against a tree where it landed and disturbed a sleeping

rabbit. That little critter felt only a small fraction of my might and knew to start running. Unfortunately it now had the interests of my loyal hound. Charlie took off after it, faster than I ever saw him move. Charlie! I yelled out before I started to keep up. He was much faster than me, he had twice as many legs. My own two could barely keep me up as I tripped over a tree root. raising my hands hoping to stop myself, but I was going so fast into another tree.

Tree bark hooked in my cheeks and tore away small patches of skin. It stunned a lot, but I was too out of breath to register the pain. Then I heard Charlie barking. He rarely barks. I picked myself up and started my run again, hopping off on foot and onto the other as my chest burned. I followed the barks until I reached our fence. Charlie's barks were over and beyond our territory. I had to cross into enemy lines.

The fence wasn't that hard to climb, however it was hard to climb down. I let myself drop into sticks and grass, where I said my first swear to myself. Shit, it slipped out as I looked at my hands. Charlie's barks reminded me of my mission. I rose up to my feet, cautiously looking around. In the distance I saw a small structure. I made my way over to see Charlie standing by it, just barking. Charlie!

I yelled at him before running up and hugging him. He looked at me and looked over at the shed he's been barking at, letting out little whimpers. What is it? I asked him, but I knew better than to expect him to finally reveal he was maybe a talking dog. I put him down and just said stay. For the first time he listened.

I slowly approached the door of the shed, pressing my ear against it, and listening. It looked new, it was made of metal too. There was a bike lock on it. I could open the door and I was able to do so just enough that I could even squeeze through. Before doing so I looked back at Charlie. Let me know if you see any bad guys, I poked my head through first. The only light was what creaked through the door. It smelled odd, almost kind sour, like when Charlie peed on the couch.

There wasn't much inside except for her. The light that landed on her body made her look as though her skin was made of marble. Her hair was a fiery gold that draped down her back and over her shoulders. She was blindfolded and her hands were bound to a bar attached to the shed by chains. On her back were her wings. They were black and pressed flat against her skin like a drawing. She wasn't wearing anything except for a crown made of sticks and thorns. She was very pretty though, pretty like my mom, except different parts of her face had dried

blood. I couldn't tell if she was sleeping because of the blindfold, so I got closer and pressed my hand to her shoulder. A few gentle nudges and she started moving around. Her head rose but swayed off balance as she tried to keep it up. Her mouth opened, but words I didn't understand started to come out with more drops of blood. They almost sounded like words I knew, but they were just wrong. Miss?

I said softly. Looking at her, she was pretty, had wings, and spoke oddly. Are you an angel? Her head began to sway up and down very slowly. Do you need help? My mom said angels help us. She also told me, they don't speak to a. us like how we speak to each other. Her head kept swaying up and down, her face entered the

light. I raced home with all sorts of questions floating through my head. Mostly all about angels. Why don't they wear clothes? Do they eat? Sleep. How do they see with blindfolds? Mom always said that God gave them everything they needed, but it seemed like they needed help this time. Maybe Charlie was an angel sent by God to leave me to her. Once I got over the fence, I just had to run from it and home would be in sight soon. Even though my home was small, it was easy to spot. It was built on stilts and painted blue. I could tell I was coming from behind as I couldn't see the porch.

Charlie kept up with me, but as we got up the steps he hopped on a chair and waited for me as I went inside. My mom called out my name as I went to the underside of the sink. What are you doing, sweetie? She said, the stench of cigarettes entering into the room before she did. I'm looking for chain scissors, I said as if that was a real term. I could feel her confused stare before correcting me. You mean bolt cutters? What the hell for?

She then got closer and noticed my battle wounds. Oh Jesus, hun your face. Get out from under there, go sit at the table. She grabbed me by the arm and lifted me up. I knew better than to fight back, but I still argued. But Mama, there's an angel behind the fence and dash, before I could finish she cut me off with anger. Boy, what do you mean behind the fence?

Charlie was chasing a rabbit and he went back there. That doesn't mean you do. She said, if you weren't already scratched up, and your daddy wasn't coming back, I'd whoop you. I keep quiet. She got out a first aid kit, I held her cigarette as she put the medicine and bandage on my face. Once she finished we heard the horn.

I hopped off the table and ran out the door. Charlie was barking excitedly behind me. My dad stepped out of the truck preparing himself for my assault of a hug. I embraced myself into him, taking in the scent of smoke, diesel, and dirt. His bare claw of a hand brushed through my hair. Hey little man, let me get a look at you, he spoke and sounded like a cowboy. He managed to pry me out of the hug to see my face. His gaze of awe quickly hardened into one of concern.

However, he didn't do it for me, his eyes locked in on mom. What the hell did you do to my boy? He said in a stern but polite town. I didn't do anything to your boy but put the bandage on him. How about you ask him? Mom said with a bit of attitude. Dad looked back at me. Sounds like you got a story to tell me.

Dad said, taking a seat on the steps of the semi, pulling me up on his knee. I was teaching Charlie how to lay fetch, and we spooked a rabbit, and then Charlie went chasing it, and I had to rescue Charlie, and he went over the fence, and I couldn't leave him so I and then we found the angel, Dash. Your son scraped himself going over the fence, my mom interrupted. I heard that Marlene. I also heard you say, let him tell it. My mom was about to say something again before my dad cut her off.

Don't interrupt my boy again. Now go on, tell me more about the angel. She needs help, so I came back to get bolt cutters, to rescue her. I said, That's mighty brave of you, Dash. She's real, Daddy. She had wings on her back and hair lest. on her back and hair like the sun. I tried to explain. His eyes widened a bit. Probably because

I interrupted him, but I wanted to save her. I believe you boy, he looked at my mother, who definitely didn't believe me, or was too mad about the fence. If she's really an angel she can wait, I'll go save her myself. Joe Dash, Mom said, but was quickly cut off. After I spent some time with you all first. I missed you so much. He picked me up and sent me flying. The sensation of being lifted to the house was like a dream. Dad knew all the secrets to turning me into a superhero. He set me down and told me to get a movie going while he talked to Mom. She came up the porch and Dad rushed me inside, closing the door.

I could still hear. I didn't like to listen when they were by themselves, nor did I like them without me. They didn't seem as happy when I wasn't in the room. Even at so young I understood how much I kept them together. I almost forgot about the angel for most of the afternoon. We ended up watching the Last Crusades since I got a DVD set for Indiana Jones last Christmas. We finished the evening with a game of Yotsie, my mom's favorite. Dad took me to bed and my angel nightlight gave me the reminder but also an idea.

Dad, you should take Charlie with you, what? He said standing in my doorway as he was about to leave. He knows where the angel is. I explained. I see. I see. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten. Get some rest, son.

We told each other good night and I love you. I had trouble sleeping, I wasn't sure if Dad really believed me until it was late. I couldn't smell my mom's cigarettes anymore, that usually meant she was asleep. I heard noise in the kitchen and the front door. Even if it was real quiet, this house was too small to hide anything. It must have been Dad going to help the angel. I heard him whistle past my window calling Charlie. I used his brief waning whistle as a lullaby.

I wish I could remember the dream. I like to think it was about the angel. My dreams didn't understand that they were supposed to appear in my sleep. My alarm clock that morning was marital troubles expressed through verbal abuse. I don't remember much of what was said. Nothing came clear until I opened the door and tones got quieter. Just start making some damn pancakes. Dad said.

I stepped into the little hall, past the little living room, into the little dining space. Well, have a seat there little man. Mom is making pancakes. The room was silent, it was missing something. I looked over at the open door to a quiet screen door. Usually when I'm up Charlie is right there with his paw on the glass looking in. Mom, where's Charlie? I asked.

I couldn't see her, but as soon as I asked I heard the metal clink of a zippo. Ask your father, she said softly. I turned my head to him. He looked really tired. I didn't have to speak and neither did he. However, he went ahead and lied and I went ahead believing it. He's with the angel. He began.

I went to go save her, and she offered to take Charlie with her back to heaven to get him some wings. It took me years to learn his lies to me were also spoken slowly and clearly, as if he was checking his own false facts. You're going to get a flying dog soon, he said with excitement and it made me giggle. Okay, was all that I could say with a smile. We ate breakfast and I learned what Soon meant. Soon wasn't the next day, it wasn't the next month, or Christmas. Soon didn't come next year, or at any future birthdays. Soon came almost 20 years later for me to see Charlie and the Angel again.

I did go back to the shed a few days later. Maybe she didn't know where I lived. However it was empty. No proof she was ever there. All I found from that memory was the bike lock used to keep the door closed tossed aside by a tree. It was open and the digits were my birthday. Thank you.