Is 'Jill Ann: Upstairs' Based On A True Story?

Jack and Jill, best friends who grew up together in the Old George Orphanage in Omene from young ages. Similar histories, which was no histories at all. Neither knew who they were or where they'd come from before they had found each other at Old George. Thus they were nicknamed Jack and Jill, after their quick friendship with one another. However, the past has a way of showing itself when you least expect it.

Jillian Don was in a hot pursuit on that wet, stormy night with the bad boys on her tail. She had a gunshot wound and was gasping for air trying hard to keep running. She was about to give up when a car stop beside her. " Hey jill, let me help you " The man said urgently with shaky voice. " Who are you ? " Jillian asked him wanting to be sure he's not one of THEM. " I'm Jack mayor " She heard the man says before passing out on him.

When I'm washing Julian White's pants, I pull out a management fee invoice from one of the pockets. Surprisingly enough, the address is the unit on the floor above my apartment. The thing is, Julian's name is put down as the apartment owner. As I clutch the invoice, I feel my blood turning into ice. Suddenly, I recall the way Julian kept telling me he had overtime shifts to pull over the past six months. Because of that, he often came home past midnight. There were a few times when I realized that his car was still parked in its designated parking slot of the apartment block despite the fact that he had already "gone out". When I asked Julian for the reason, he answered, "The gas prices are very high right now. Taking the subway is more convenient, not to mention I get to save more money for our family's expenses." I used to feel happy about the fact that Julian cared so much about our family. But now, I finally realize that his so-called overtime shifts are just excuses for him to spend time in the unit upstairs. At that moment, I hear the sounds of a key being inserted into the front door's lock. Julian is home. When he notices the invoice in my hand, he takes it from me casually. "Maybe the staff placed it in the wrong mailbox." I nod with a smile. "It's nothing. I'm going to take out the trash first." After leaving the apartment, I head upstairs right away. Once I knock on the door, the woman who came to open the door for me is heavily pregnant. It seems that she's about to give birth.

To prevent me from being jealous of my stepmother's son, my dad implemented a "family point system". Washing dishes earned 1 point, and getting a perfect score on a test earned 10 points. Accumulating 1000 points meant you could make a wish come true. When my stepbrother broke a vase, Dad said it was a sign of good luck and awarded him 50 points. When I insisted on going to school with a fever, Dad said I was trying to garner sympathy and deducted 100 points. I scrambled to scrape together every point I could, all for that exorbitant Math Olympiad registration form. On the day I finally accumulated enough points, my stepbrother cried and said he wanted a pair of limited-edition sneakers. Dad immediately emptied my points. "We're family. Your points are your brother's points too." I looked at the torn-up application form and jumped from the 18th-floor balcony.

My husband, a lawyer, tells his true love to deny that she wrongly administered an IV and insist that her patient passed away due to a heart attack. He also instructs her to immediately cremate the patient. He does all of this to protect her. Not only does Marie Harding not have to spend a day behind bars, but she doesn't even have to compensate the patient. Once the dust has settled, my husband celebrates with her and congratulates her now that she's free of an annoying patient. What he doesn't know is that I'm that patient. I've died with his baby in my belly.