The Ugly Truth

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A life destroyed by a single phone call. So many innocent years have passed by unknowing to the dark past and terrible, yet inevitable, future. Everyday before this had been almost the same routine robotically repeated: waking in the morning to straighten her kinky, unruly hair and shoveling her breakfast inside her well lip-glossed lips. After her daily dose of school and friends, she comes home to her mother ready to greet her after finishing up the latest creation for the upcoming art show. Her father, however, was usually absent when she got home. With the amount of time her father spends at his job, it seems like he lives there. Although few, there were days when not even her mother would be home and a bright, yellow sticky note would be placed on the stainless steel refrigerator telling her where her mom was and when she would be back. With everything so perfectly in order, her world seemed to be utopian. She had no reason to be unhappy if it weren’t for the ignored sense of superficial love that left her feeling empty and on some level, in question of her security. Unfortunately, she felt as if those feelings weren’t allowed in this house of bliss she called home. So every night she locked them away in her carefully hidden journal before bed, temporarily suppressing every ounce of uncertainty and masking it with her signature accessory, her unforgettable smile. She was known for the beaming expression twinkling for anyone to see, all of which were just as skeptical as she was of her seemingly unblemished life. Today, though, no one suspected her wide grin to be false. She had achieved one of her many life-long goals of representing her high school as valedictorian. She could barely contain her urge to run home and tell her... ... middle of paper ... ... Stranger still, who was Samson Maslov? Before she had any more time to ponder these burning questions, adrenaline took over. She had to get out of there. She shuddered at the image of the “bad men” the voice had spoken of on their way to abduct her as they did her parents. She was frustrated with herself for not listening more intently and strained to remember what the old woman had said. After some thought, things the mystery woman had said earlier began to slowly appear in her memory. I do not blame you, young Lily … forgive me for not being in your life…bring justice to my daughter’s death… she tried to be the best mother she could… sorry you didn’t know sooner… Be safe… They just kept flooding in, and even through the fear of the men she had to escape, she had to pause to take in her startling realization. Had that truly been her grandmother?