Flame of Vengeance: A Gift for My Uncle's Family

When I went home for Christmas this year, something outrageous happened. My uncle's family actually tried to push me into marrying my lame cousin.

"If you marry into the Slaton Family, it'll bring us closer together," they said.

I laughed it off, awkwardly. "You’re kidding, right? Blood relatives within three generations can't get married."

But then my grandmother dropped a bombshell that left me completely stunned.

"I picked you up and raised you to be Ken's wife."

——

This year, I was a senior, with just half a year left until graduation. Growing up, my family was really poor. They spent everything they had to keep me in school. For years, I even had to borrow tuition money from my uncle’s family.

It wasn’t just the tuition either—they covered all sorts of expenses: fees, living costs, everything. My uncle runs a business in the county and has made a lot of money over the years. He didn’t usually pay much attention to us, but every now and then, he'd call to see if I needed money. I had always been so grateful for that and my parents constantly remind me not to forget my uncle's generosity when I have a successful future.

Since college took me far from home, I rarely went back. Even during summer break, I stayed near campus, working odd jobs. I usually only went home for Christmas. This year, on the second day of Christmas, I visited my uncle’s house. What I didn’t expect was them asking me to marry Kennith Slaton.

Kennith, my cousin, was eight years older than me and was nearly 30 now.

When Kennith was a kid, he fell out of a tree while playing around and it left him with a limp. Because of that, he hadn't been able to find a partner and my uncle’s family was really worried about it. But I never thought they’d try to solve the problem by pushing me into marrying him.

Then my grandmother hit me with something I never saw coming, she claimed I wasn’t even my parents’ biological child. I was sure it was just a lie they made up to get me to marry Kennith. My parents had always treated me and my brother the same, if not showing me even more love.

But when I didn’t believe her, my grandmother launched into this story about my past. She said my parents were married for years without having a child and my dad nearly divorced my mom because he thought she couldn’t conceive. After they went to the hospital, though, they found out the issue was with my dad. To smooth things over between them, my grandmother supposedly picked me up from the hospital and handed me over to my parents. Later, with some treatment, my mom got pregnant and had my brother.

I still couldn’t believe what she was saying, so I decided I needed to go home and talk to my parents directly. But as I was getting ready to leave, my aunt stepped in, asking me not to rush off. She reminded me that I rarely come home and should stay the night with them, especially since I usually only visit during Christmas.

I figured she was right, so I agreed to stay until tomorrow.

When my uncle built his house, he made sure to save a room just for me. It always gave me a sense of belonging whenever I stayed over.

But tonight, everything took a terrifying turn. I was sound asleep when suddenly, a strong hand clamped over my mouth. I jolted awake to see my cousin, Kennith, standing over me.

I tried to scream, but no sound came out. I struggled to break free, but he pinned me down with his entire body. Tears started streaming down my face. My attempts to fight back felt so weak against his strength.

It didn’t take long before my resistance faded completely. That was when he started tearing at my clothes, his face twisted into a cruel, leering grin.

"Carrie, just go along with this and I'll take care of you for the rest of your life," he murmured.

But I wasn’t about to just give in. Desperately, I bit down on the hand covering my mouth. He yelped in pain and pulled back, cursing at me.

"You little bitch, you’ll pay for that!" he snarled.

I didn’t hesitate—I rolled off the bed and dashed for the door. But as I reached for the handle, panic set in. The door was locked.

It was clear I had been set up. The whole reason they insisted I stay overnight was to let Kennith get to me. Before I could fully process what was happening, Kennith yanked my hair from behind and threw me onto the bed. The pain shot through my scalp, like he had ripped it right off.

“Where do you think you’re going? I’m telling you, tonight, you’re mine,” he sneered, moving closer.

Ignoring the pain, I slammed my head into his nose as hard as I could. I hit him square in the face. He staggered back, clutching his nose as blood poured down his face.

Not wasting a second, I kicked him hard in his bad leg and he crumpled to the ground.

“You little bitch, you’re gonna pay for that! When I catch you, I’ll strip you naked and hang you up!” he snarled.

Seeing him down, I didn’t stop. I hit him three more times, grabbed a stool and smashed it over his head. The stool shattered with a loud crack and Kennith slumped to the floor, knocked out cold.

Just then, I heard the sound of the door unlocking from the outside. I knew they weren’t coming to help me—they were coming to trap me. Without thinking, I scrambled onto the windowsill, kicked the window open and jumped out.

I hit the ground running, tears streaming down my face, sprinting like my life depended on it. And in a way, it did. I ran all the way home, crying the entire time.

The frantic knocking at the door woke everyone up. When my family heard what had happened, my father’s anger exploded. He threw his teacup to the ground and pointed at my mother, his voice trembling with rage.

“Are the Slaton Family all monsters? How could they do something like this?”

My mother, always the quiet one, didn’t dare say anything at first. But after my father finished his rant, she finally spoke up, her voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe there’s been some kind of mistake?”

“No mistake,” I shot back. “They locked me in that room. It was intentional.”

Without a word, my brother grabbed a stick and headed for the door, but my father pulled him back.

“Where do you think you’re going? If anyone’s dealing with this, it’ll be me.”

As the tension built, I could see things spiraling out of control. “Enough! Fighting won’t solve anything. We need to think this through. We should call the police.”

At the mention of the police, my mother’s face went pale. She shook her head, panic setting in. “No, you can’t call the police! If you do, Kennith’s life will be ruined. He’s the only son the Slatons have.”

My father scoffed. “They brought this on themselves. We’re calling the police tomorrow, no question.”

After some discussion, we all agreed—calling the police was the right move. We also decided to cut off all contact with the Slatons and pretend they didn’t exist. My mother, though reluctant, knew it had to be done. Kennith’s actions had destroyed any hope of maintaining a relationship between our families.

I spent the whole night tossing and turning, haunted by the image of Kennith’s twisted face. Every time I closed my eyes, I could feel the cold sweat breaking out on my skin. When morning finally came, I was exhausted but still wide awake.

As I lay there trying to gather the energy to get up, I suddenly heard a commotion outside my room. Curious and a bit on edge, I quickly threw on some clothes and rushed out. To my surprise, two police officers—one male, one female—were standing in our living room, looking serious in their uniforms.

My dad, who was already up, turned to me with a confused expression. “Did you call the police?”

I shook my head, equally baffled and then looked over at my brother, who seemed just as surprised.

The male officer spoke up, his tone authoritative. “Who here is Carrie Chidsey?”

“I am,” I said, trying to steady my voice.

The female officer stepped forward, her expression unreadable. “We received a report last night. Carrie is suspected of intentionally injuring someone. We need you to come with us to the station.”

My mind raced—intentionally injuring someone? It had to be about Kennith. The memory of hitting him with that stool last night came rushing back. Was this really happening? The nerve of him, turning this around on me after what he tried to do.

Before I could say anything, my dad intervened, his voice rising in disbelief. “This has to be a mistake! My daughter was nearly assaulted last night. She was just defending herself!”

The male officer gave a slight nod. “We’ll need to investigate the situation. Please come with us so we can get to the bottom of this.”

So there I was, going from being the victim to being treated like a criminal. At the police station, I told them everything, leaving no detail out. I could only hope that they’d see the truth in my story and that justice would finally be served.

After the police questioned me and looked into everything, they couldn’t find any solid evidence that I had been assaulted. Meanwhile, Kennith’s injuries were confirmed by the hospital, so it seemed like I was the one at fault. Officer Lana Brister, the one who took me in, seemed to believe my story, but without proof, there wasn’t much she could do.

It was surreal. Here I was, the one who was attacked, yet I ended up locked up like I had done something wrong. During my time in the detention center, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I kept replaying the whole thing in my head, trying to figure out what I could’ve done differently. It hit me that I couldn’t afford to be soft or hesitate when dealing with people like Kennith. I needed to protect myself and gather evidence at all costs because otherwise, I would end up in a mess like this.

The thought of being convicted for something I didn’t start was terrifying. If they charged me with intentional injury, I could be looking at up to three years in prison. That was the harsh reality and it weighed heavily on me. I racked my brain, trying to remember every detail, every moment from that night, hoping I could find something to help my case. But without any concrete proof, it felt like I was stuck in an impossible situation.

That week in the detention center dragged on, each day feeling longer than the last. I searched for a way out, but nothing seemed to add up in my favor. I was running out of time and the fear of what might come next was overwhelming.

One day, Officer Brister showed up out of the blue.

"Carrie, you're free to go," she said.

I felt a wave of relief. "Did you find any evidence that I was attacked?"

She sighed and shook her head. "No, but Kennith dropped the charges."

My stomach flipped. Why would he suddenly let me off the hook?

As I stepped out of the detention center, I saw my younger brother waiting for me on his motorcycle, grinning like an idiot.

He's five years younger than me and still in high school. Growing up, our parents were always working, so I basically raised him. We had always been super close, maybe even more so than with our parents.

He came to pick me up and we headed home.

When we got there, my parents were already waiting. The moment they saw me, their faces were a mix of relief and worry.

"Carrie’s back! Go wash up, the food’s probably cold by now," my mom said, waving a sage stick around me like she was trying to clear away the bad vibes.

There was this old tradition in my hometown where if you had been somewhere unclean, you would use a sage stick to ward off bad luck. Seeing the looks on my parents’ faces, I knew things were far from okay.

At the dinner table, my mom finally spoke up. "Carrie, why don’t you just marry Kennith?"

I felt my frustration boil over. It was clear they were trying to use me as leverage. They weren’t going to let this go easily.

"If this is what it takes to avoid them pressing charges," I said, my voice steady but my anger barely contained.

My dad didn’t say a word, just puffed on his cigarette, lost in thought. My mom put down her spoon and sighed heavily.

"I’d rather go to jail than marry him," I said resolutely.

My mom, knowing how stubborn I could be, started to cry. "Carrie, don’t talk like that. You’re still young. If you end up in jail, your whole life will be ruined."

"He and I are relatives, so we can’t even get a marriage certificate. What are you thinking?" I said, frustration and disbelief in my voice.

My dad, clearly fuming, crushed the cigarette butt under his heel. "Tomorrow, we’re applying for adoption withdrawal," he said, confirming Grandma’s earlier claim. It was true—I really wasn’t my parents' biological daughter.

Dallas, my younger brother, stood up abruptly and made for the door.

My dad’s voice cut through the tension. "Dallas, where are you going?"

Dallas stopped in his tracks, his body trembling with anger. "Carrie can’t marry him. I’m going to have it out with his family."

My dad’s face darkened and he slammed his hand on the table. "You better not. If you want your sister to avoid more trouble, just keep quiet."

The house fell silent except for my dad’s heavy sighs and my mom’s quiet weeping.

Desperate and feeling trapped, I finally spoke up. "Okay, I’ll marry him," I said, my voice tight with resignation. Without waiting for their reaction, I stormed out of the room, leaving my family in stunned silence.