Kurt Cobain Daughter

To transfer my sister, Suri Voss, who was 13 years younger than I was, to a new school district, I took 7 days of annual leave and went back to my hometown. I pulled strings, delivered gifts, called in favors, and finally forced a spot for her in the best middle school in the city. At last, when I could pause long enough to catch my breath, I told Mom, who was heading out to buy groceries, that I wanted grilled pork ribs for dinner. Suri walked over with a cold expression, then threw a full glass of icy water straight onto my head and pointed at my face as she exploded. "You country leech, mooching off our family for years, eating our food and living in our house whenever you feel like it. I let all that slide. Now you want to steal my mom too? Do you have any shame at all?! "Listen carefully, Mom only has one child. She will only ever love me!" I stood there, stunned. Suri had no idea I was Mom’s biological daughter, too. All this time, she had treated me as some freeloading relative. I looked toward the doorway, where Mom was changing her shoes to go out. She seemed not to have heard a single word of Suri’s disrespect. She merely said casually, "Suri doesn’t like ribs. Let’s have grilled shrimp instead." She had forgotten that I’ve been severely allergic to seafood since childhood. I lowered my head and let out a quiet, self-mocking laugh. Unbeknownst to them, if I could secure Suri a place in that school, I could just as easily make sure she lost it.

After the SAT, my daughter turned into something I didn't recognize. She repeatedly stabbed her grandmother, who had raised her, until the old woman bled to death. She pushed her little brother from the tenth floor and killed him on the spot. My wife and I tried to talk her down, our voices shaking, but she only laughed. "Grandma and Caleb were too good to me. That's why they had to die! And you two worked so hard to raise me. You paid for my education and gave me everything. You were too good to me, so you have to die!" Then she set us on fire. I closed my eyes in despair. When I opened them again, I was back one week before my daughter's SAT. This time, I installed a hidden camera in her bedroom. I didn't care what it took. I was going to find out why she killed us. When my wife and I watched the footage later, neither of us could say a word.

Just before the new school term started, my daughter's parent group chat, which had been quiet for ages, suddenly announced that the first parent-teacher meeting of the semester would be held that night. The rule was: both parents had to attend. A long string of "Got it" followed. I was about to reply when I noticed someone had beaten me to it. A guy with a family photo as his profile picture sent a voice message. "I'm Emma Sullivan's dad. We'll be there!" I froze. I clicked into the member list and checked repeatedly. My daughter's name was Emma Sullivan. He said he was Emma's dad. Then who the hell was I? I immediately called my wife. Before I could say a word, I heard her cheerful voice. "Honey, my best friend just asked me to dinner tonight. I'm bringing our daughter. Just make something at home yourself, and get some sleep early." My heart skipped a beat. Her best friend's husband was my good friend. He had just posted a family vacation photo from the Maldives on his social media. There was no way she was meeting her for dinner that night. I paused for a second, then smiled and said, "Sounds good." I hung up, called a car, and headed straight to my daughter's school. Let's find out exactly who my daughter's other father was.

Five years after my death, my daughter, Emma, dialed Xander Green’s number. She cautiously asked, "Do you like my mom?" She was trying to get an answer to the question I once wrote in my diary. "Xander, do you like me?" Unexpectedly, the voice on the other end sneered, "Did your mom put you up to this? Using her own daughter like a pawn? What an unfaithful woman! She’s already with your dad, yet still trying to rekindle things with me?"

After creating a social media account for my newborn daughter, Natalie Graham, I made her first post. "Welcome to the world, Nattie." Three minutes later, a notification pops up. "Mom, I miss you." I frown. It has to be one of my friends messing with me. Then, another comment appears. "Mom, why did you die when I was one month old? Aunt Wanda said it was because I was naughty. She said you jumped off a roof because you hated me. "I'm five now, and I've been really, really good. Aunt Wanda said I had to fall down the stairs one more time for Dad to come home. Will I get to see you too, Mom?" My mind goes blank. My fingers tremble so badly I can barely type. Wanda Levine is my husband Zane Graham's secretary. The first time he mentioned her was while he was peeling an orange for me. "Wanda was one of the students my family sponsored," he casually starts. "She's done well for herself. After graduating, she earned a spot in the executive office." The room is perfectly warm, yet a chill runs straight through me. Without thinking, I quickly fire off a reply. "Don't go anywhere near the stairs!" Her response leaves me speechless.

My wife just had a baby with her lover, and she brought both father and daughter straight into our home. As her husband, I was expected to wait on her during her confinement. However, I didn’t throw a tantrum this time. Instead, I tied on an apron, cooked for her, and even helped that man carry his luggage into the master bedroom. From that day on, I became the biggest joke in our social circle. I was a grown man turned servant, catering to a freeloading pretty boy and changing diapers for my own illegitimate daughter. Kim loved flaunting my obedience to her friends. “Dylan loves me so much, he’ll do anything as long as I don’t divorce him.” Her lover mocked me at every turn, treating me like a servant and making me wash the sheets he and my wife used. Everyone assumed I was hopelessly in love with Kim, having endured eighteen years of humiliation for a chance at her heart. However, I knew the truth. I was waiting for the day the child turned eighteen. Then, thirty percent of Kim’s Foster Group stock would finally be mine.