Brook Farm Apush Novels & Stories

On Christmas Day, eight months pregnant, I struggled through the kitchen,cooking for my husband and his secretary. When I finally sat down, hoping to taste a piece of turkey I didn’t even get during Thanksgiving, my husband shoved me aside like I was nothing. He slid the turkey in front of his secretary instead. “Alison,you’re already so fat. Stop eating. Let Daisy have it—she deserves to enjoy your cooking.” Daisy，chewing on the turkey I had painstakingly prepared, had the audacity to mock me under the guise of playing truth or dare with my child. “So, what do you think your mom looks like?” “Mommy looks like a fat pig on a farm!” “Her stretch marks? They’re like disgusting worms crawling all over her. Even Santa would run for his life!” Their laughter erupted like daggers piercing me from all sides. Humiliation and rage burned through me as my dignity was stripped bare. I demanded an apology from that vile woman, but my husband—my husband!—turned his cold, cruel face toward me and said, “Get out of here.” Pregnant, exhausted, and humiliated, I stood there in shock. Then I snapped. I grabbed the Christmas cake and turkey and threw them in the trash. I walked out without looking back. This wretched family doesn’t deserve a second of my effort or a single ounce of my love!

During the mandatory freshman orientation camp, my skin had flared up with a severe allergic reaction, so I didn't use the plastic washbasin the school handed out. Instead, I opened my suitcase and took out the custom silver basin I had brought from home. My roommate, Louisa Carter, immediately made a snide remark, drawling, "You're really something, huh? Kids from broke families like us are lucky to have any basin at all." I didn't bother responding. I simply pulled out my facial essence to do a cold compress, but she immediately rushed over, slapped the bottle out of my hand, and jabbed a finger at my face. "Bet you get tens of thousands a month for living expenses. You have a sugar daddy, don't you? Don't you feel guilty making your folks work their fingers to the bone back on the farm? People like you don't deserve to be at our school. I'm reporting you to the student counselor." I laughed in disbelief and slapped her. … The next morning, the family photo I'd left on my desk had been slashed to ribbons. Across the back, carved in ink, were the words: 'Daughter of a homewrecker. Go to hell.' I went straight to the police. While officers pulled the dorm security footage, our student counselor and the university president rushed in. The moment the president saw the man whose face had been cut apart in my photo, his legs nearly buckled. He almost dropped to his knees.

The sight of her indecision was like a punch to the gut igniting a primal growl from deep within me, my inner wolf stirring, ready to fight for what was rightfully mine. I couldn't let her go, I couldn't let him have her, I couldn't let her chose. She was mine, and I was hers, and nothing would ever change that_Asher "Kiara, please," I pleaded, advancing another step towards her, "Don't do this to us. I'm not sure what's going on, but he's deceiving you. You belong with me, not him. You are my Kiara, and I love you deeply" ** Six months ago, Alpha Asher lost his beloved mate Kiara Anderson mysteriously and hasn't stop searching for her but despite everything he refused to give up hope that she was dead. Asher believes Kiara was still out there and waiting to be found and rescued by him. What happens when his half brother, and biggest rival Jonas returns home with a human girl whom he claims to be his chosen mate. Alpha Asher immediately recognizes his brother's mate, Lisa as his beloved Kiara, only problem is, Kiara Anderson isn't Kiara at all but Lisa Bonnet, a simple farm girl who just happens to looks identical to his Kiara. But would Asher accept so easily that Lisa Bonnet, his brother mate is indeed Lisa Bonnet or would he fight to prove to Jonas and everyone else that she is indeed his beloved mate, Kiara Anderson. Read to find out more.

By the fifth year since the return of the real heir, Danny, to the family, I had gotten used to the plain oatmeal on the table. The second I asked for a bigger portion or more protein, Danny would express his envy toward me, his eyes downcast. “Rhys sure enjoys such a hearty meal, unlike me. Growing up in an orphanage, I was hungry all the time. I wince at the sight of meat. I don’t deserve to eat.” My parents shed tears of heartache while accusing me of rubbing it in Danny’s face. Later, whenever I dressed up to go out, Danny would let out a wry smile. “Rhys is so put together. That’s so not me. I grew up in the countryside, feeding livestock. Even all the designer clothes in the world can’t hide the fact that I was a farm hand.” My fiancée, Kyra, would always be there to hold my hand. She said, “It’s not your fault, Rhys. Don’t put this on yourself.” On the day of our engagement, Danny stared at the ring on my finger, his face brooding. “You have occupied my place for twenty years. Your fiancée and the life of luxury were never meant to be yours. Don’t you ever wake up in the middle of the night, feeling the weight on your conscience?” All eyes were on me, their silent judgment cutting into me. With years of pent-up emotions breaking free, I pulled a punch. My parents smashed the cake onto my head. Kyra, on the other hand, took out a handkerchief to wipe away Danny’s tears. That very night, I left a formal writing to cut all legal and personal ties with them.