Beneath The Surface: A Family's Secret

Beneath The Surface: A Family's Secret

JESSICA KIRK

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My life was a laundry cycle of servitude. A straight-A student, yet at home, I was just the maid, my younger brother Kevin' s muddy jersey a constant reminder. My parents, Karen and Rick, lived through his fleeting athletic glories, barely acknowledging my existence. Then came the Spring Break survivalist trip to the Nevada desert, Kevin's latest TikTok obsession, eagerly championed by my parents. I warned them about the aggressive wildlife, the missing hikers, but my mother's hand found my cheek, silencing me. Deep in the desert, our SUV got stuck, and as darkness fell, a chilling tap on my window turned our ill-fated adventure into a nightmare. A starving mountain lion shattered the glass, its claws tearing into my arm. But the real terror wasn't the beast; it was the cold calculation in my mother's eyes. With a sickening shove, Karen pushed me out of the car, right into the lion's path. The door slammed shut, the lock clicked, and my last sight was their taillights speeding away, leaving me for dead in the dark. Their relief was palpable, and I died knowing they abandoned me without a second thought. I was consumed by the grit of the sand, the tearing pain, the animal' s hot breath, but most of all, the chilling indifference of my own family. How could they? How could my own mother make such a conscious, fatal decision to discard me? Why was I always the problem they needed to eliminate, the buzzkill they had to silence? Then, the familiar smell of bleach filled my lungs. I gasped, eyes flying open, standing in the laundry room, Kevin' s muddy jersey in my hand. I was back, and this time, the cold, hard block settling in my chest wasn't sorrow or fear, but a thirst for revenge. Not this time. This time, they would pay.

Introduction

My life was a laundry cycle of servitude.

A straight-A student, yet at home, I was just the maid, my younger brother Kevin' s muddy jersey a constant reminder.

My parents, Karen and Rick, lived through his fleeting athletic glories, barely acknowledging my existence.

Then came the Spring Break survivalist trip to the Nevada desert, Kevin's latest TikTok obsession, eagerly championed by my parents.

I warned them about the aggressive wildlife, the missing hikers, but my mother's hand found my cheek, silencing me.

Deep in the desert, our SUV got stuck, and as darkness fell, a chilling tap on my window turned our ill-fated adventure into a nightmare.

A starving mountain lion shattered the glass, its claws tearing into my arm.

But the real terror wasn't the beast; it was the cold calculation in my mother's eyes.

With a sickening shove, Karen pushed me out of the car, right into the lion's path.

The door slammed shut, the lock clicked, and my last sight was their taillights speeding away, leaving me for dead in the dark.

Their relief was palpable, and I died knowing they abandoned me without a second thought.

I was consumed by the grit of the sand, the tearing pain, the animal' s hot breath, but most of all, the chilling indifference of my own family.

How could they? How could my own mother make such a conscious, fatal decision to discard me?

Why was I always the problem they needed to eliminate, the buzzkill they had to silence?

Then, the familiar smell of bleach filled my lungs.

I gasped, eyes flying open, standing in the laundry room, Kevin' s muddy jersey in my hand.

I was back, and this time, the cold, hard block settling in my chest wasn't sorrow or fear, but a thirst for revenge.

Not this time. This time, they would pay.

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Other books by JESSICA KIRK

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Helena's Revenge: A Marriage Unraveled

Helena's Revenge: A Marriage Unraveled

Modern

5.0

For forty years, I stood by Carroll Baxter's side, building his legacy from a junior state representative to a man whose name echoed with respect. I was Helena Cook, the elegant, intelligent wife, the perfect partner. Then, one afternoon, I saw him in a cheap cafe downtown, sharing a luridly green smoothie with a young woman, Kandy Mays. His face was lit with a joy I hadn't seen in twenty years. It wasn't just a fling; it was an emotional desertion. He was a man in his seventies, obsessed with an heir, and I knew he was looking for a new life in her. I didn't make a scene. I walked away, my heels clicking a steady rhythm that betrayed none of the chaos inside me. He thought I was a fragile art history professor he could discard with a small settlement. He was wrong. That evening, I made his favorite meal. When he came home late, the food was cold. He wanted to talk, to deliver the final blow. I pulled a folder from my desk and looked him straight in the eye. "I have cancer, Carroll. Pancreatic. Six months, maybe less." His face drained of color. It wasn't love or concern; it was the sudden destruction of his plan. A dying wife couldn't be divorced. He was trapped. The weight of his public image, of his carefully constructed reputation, was a cage he had built for himself. He retreated to his study, the click of the lock echoing in the silent room. The next morning, my nephew Jared called. "He kicked her out, Aunt Helena. She was crying her eyes out on the sidewalk."

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