Is 'My Brother Jack' A Novel Based On A True Story?

"Have you ever found yourself in your brother's in law bed?" Justina just had one wish, and that was for her best friend to fall in love with her but what happens when he proposed she married him? Delighted, Justina agreed only to realize three months into their marriage she was being used a pawn to protect his dirty secret. Hurt and in disbelief, ends up committing a great offense with no one other than her brother in law. Trying to get away from him, discovers her husband had impregnated another woman and gave in to her lusts, never expecting to fall in love once again, but then again, she was betrayed. Getting an anonymous warning about Alexander, she had no choice but to run away, with her unborn child, faking her death but then a few years later, this same anonymous sender told her to return back if she wanted to know all answers to pending questions. Who was this anonymous sender and what did Alexander do to hurt her? What if Justina discovers everything she knew her whole life was a lie and she was actually living a second chance life?

My younger brother, Ian Green, was caught for robbery, but my mother forced me to take the blame for him. I refused, so my mother took a knife and attempted suicide. She knew that I was filial and would not want her to suffer any harm, so I gave in. However, my mother had no idea that I also took responsibility for a murder he committed. After I was sentenced to death, she went insane looking for me.

My parents always said the world had no sympathy for the weak. So from the moment my younger brother and I could walk, they put us through what they called the 'Strong Child Program.' At five years old, we had to run five kilometers every day. If we could not finish, we were not allowed to eat. At seven, my brother broke his arm. My parents refused to let the doctors use anesthesia, saying enduring pain was a lesson every strong person had to learn. At nine, I burned with a 104℉ fever. Instead of taking me to the hospital, they wiped my body with ice water and forced me to endure it because 'sick children grow stronger immunity.' Then, on the first day of summer vacation, my father announced this year's special training: We were going to learn to swim in the Roaring Spine River. No life jackets. No safety gear. "You only learn after choking on water a few times," my father said. But my brother choked over a hundred times and still could not swim. I desperately swam toward him, trying to pull him back to shore, but somehow the distance between us only kept growing. I called my father, screaming for help, begging him to call emergency services. But after listening to me, he only snorted coldly. "Who learns swimming without swallowing some water? "Your brother isn't made of paper. "Stop yelling and focus on learning to swim." But by then, my brother had already been swept away by the current…

During a livestream of my brother, Douglas Wilcox's heart transplant surgery, I, the lead surgeon, turn tail and flee with my tail between my legs halfway through the surgery. Because of that, Douglas ends up dying on the operating table, and I become a murderer. My mom kneels on the floor with tears streaming down her cheeks. She questions me, "You're the only one capable of performing this surgery in the entire country! Why did you run away? "We've been waiting for 20 long years for a suitable heart that can save Douglas' life! You're the one who killed him!" In the face of the growing public outlash and the pressure exerted by the health department, the police built a case on this incident and decided to investigate me. On the day I'm whisked away by the police, the enraged onlookers and the reporters have me surrounded. "Dr. Wilcox, although you're just an adopted daughter, the Wilcox family still loves and pampers you to no end. Why did you do this? "People without medical ethics like you are murderers! You deserve to get skinned alive!" I just look at the camera with a stony expression. "Someone else is the actual murderer here. The truth and the proof that all of you badly want are already revealed in the livestream."

You could ask me if I’m in love with my brother’s best friend, and I’d tell you with a straight face, absolutely fucking not. Kane Wilder has been ruining my life since I was six years old. He cut off my pigtail, threw me into pools fully clothed, broke two of my fingers “practicing karate,” and scared away every guy who’s ever looked in my direction. He’s loud, reckless, impossible to control, and somehow always manages to drag me into his chaos. Unfortunately, he’s also been there for every scraped knee, every bad day, and every moment that mattered. We’ve spent years pretending we’re nothing more than enemies who happen to share the same last name by association. He’s my brother’s best friend, and I’ve spent my entire life reminding myself that he’s completely off-limits. Then one night at a college party changes everything. Suddenly, the teasing feels different. The stolen glances last a little too long. Every argument ends with us standing a little too close, and every touch leaves me questioning fifteen years of certainty. Falling for Kane Wilder was never part of the plan. Especially when loving him could cost me my brother, my family, and the only friendship that’s survived every fight we’ve ever had. Some lines are meant to be crossed. I just never thought he’d be the one asking me to cross them.

To punish me for losing my autistic younger brother, Ezra Clement, Mom locks me inside a custom-made steel box. The box is about 20 inches wide and is welded in place in the deepest corner in our basement. "There's a walkie-talkie inside. You'll stay in there until you admit that you deliberately left Ezra beside the human traffickers' van." She locks the lid, plunging me into darkness. For the first three days, I cry and beg through the walkie-talkie, trying to tell Mom that I only let go of Ezra's hand to lure the traffickers away from him. One of the traffickers has slashed me across the back, and the wound keeps bleeding and festering. But Mom refuses to listen to anything I have to say. All I hear are her furious accusations. "Evelyn, you're just jealous of Ezra. A vicious sister like you deserves to be locked in there until you die." On the fourth day, torrential rain floods the basement. Muddy water rises past my knees, soaking the knife wound on my back in filthy water. The pain is so unbearable that I claw at the metal walls until all ten of my fingernails tear and break. I desperately press the talk button. But all I hear from the other end is Mom's gentle voice coaxing Ezra to sleep. To prevent me from disturbing him, she powers it off. When the water that is mingled with the blood from my mangled fingers rises above my head and floods into my nose, I stop struggling. Mom has no idea that on the back of our family photo, I have written down my plan to work hard, earn money, and pay for Ezra's treatment. Helplessly, I think, "Mom, I confess. In my next life, I will never be your daughter again."