Tell The Truth Book Novels & Stories

⁠ “It doesn’t c‍h‍ange the tr‌uth.” Truth, th‍at⁠ word agai⁠n. I lea‍ned in, my voice dropping into‍ something poisonous a⁠nd intimate. “Then tel‌l me the truth, L⁠il⁠a. Tell me⁠ w‍hy my br‌ot‍her lied to you and why‌ he hid his real name from you, his lover does that make any sense to you?. Why did he vanish without a goodbye.”⁠

And every time, I forgave him without hesitation. [Don't be fooled just because the kid is young. He's a fantastic liar.] [When he was eating with the male lead, he even called the supporting male lead an old loser!] [Having a son like that really makes you feel bad for the supporting male lead. The son's an ingrate.] Those comments sent a chill down my spine. I could not believe that the child standing in front of me had been helping his mother deceive me for so long, despite only being five years old. But the truth was right there in front of me. I had no choice but to believe it.

"Even when the truth is inconvenient." She sat with this. The specific weight of a man telling her something true and then not requiring anything from the telling — not reciprocation, not response, not the performance of being moved. Just the truth, placed on the table, hers to do with as she chose. She thought about the list in the back of her book. Things I know are true. She would add this. Not what it meant — that was too large to categorise yet. Just the fact of it. That he had said it. That it was true.

I laughed with a face full of scorn. That was my own mother. To get me to give her money, to fight over a house for her other child, she stooped so low. Dish soap and water? She sure did not want to risk her life! I straightened my shirt and walked toward Edmund and Aunt Carol. "So, you all teamed up to put on this act and trick me out of my money? "Aunt Carol, Uncle Gary, you were in on this, too? "You knew she was faking and still called me, trying to make me give in with everyone watching, didn't you?"

I stayed for two hours, talking to everyone who wanted to talk. On the drive home, Benjamin said, "You were incredible up there." "I was just honest." "Honesty is powerful." The book took six months to write. It was painful, reliving everything with Richard. But it was also healing. "Chapter by chapter, word by word, I am letting go," I told my therapist. "That is the point of telling your story. It loses power over you." The book was titled "Phoenix Rising: Reclaiming Identity After Betrayal."

“I trusted you with my secret! I trusted you with all that I had, but what did I get in return? He flung the book across the room angrily and approached me. “Tell me that none of what’s written in this book is true. He held my wrist and pleaded. “Tell me that whatever was written here was made up! None of that is true, right?! This is all made up, right?! I felt pain shoot through my arm as his grip tightened. I wish I could tell him what he wanted. I wish I could tell him that everything scribbled in the note was a lie. “It’s…the truth, Ian! Everything written down there is the truth. Sorry that I didn’t tell you. It wasn’t my plan to hide anything from you!

"Why? That undermines—" "It establishes honesty. Shows you're not hiding your mistakes. Makes the rest of the story more credible because readers know I'm not whitewashing you." Soo-ah's expression was steady. "I told you—I'm on the side of truth. All of it. Not just the convenient parts. You made an impossible choice. I reported it accurately. How readers interpret that is up to them." "Will it hurt us?" "Maybe. Probably. But lying about it or hiding it would hurt worse. Trust me. I've been doing this for fifteen years. Complicated truth always beats simple lies in the long run."

I gave him a nod signaling him to tell mom the truth. "Mom. . . t-there's something I need to t-tell you," he shuddered. "What is it honey," she said looking puzzled. "You're gonna want to sit down," I said. She dropped her purse on the floor and came to sit next to me on the couch. "Well, I'm waiting," she said. "Uh, you remember Hailee right, Vanessa's friend?" he replied. "Yeah, what about her?" "Um, me and her. . .we've been having. . .s-sex," he muttered.

It was better to go vague with the situation, because the less I spoke, the less there would be holes in my story. “Like in the case of amnesia? Or in the case of: ‘there are too many people in my life for me to remember the life story of one more insignificant person’?” -What should I answer? What answer would be more…less… what seemed closer to the truth?- What the hell was the truth anyway? I was so sexually dissatisfied that I woke up in a book?? -Even I wouldn’t buy that! Still, I should stick within the confines of her choices, particularly the latter assumption. She already had a negative view of me. So what would be one more log to the fire?-

She countered hitting a sensitive spot. I narrowed my eyes and her expression softened. “I only say the truth, do what you can with it.” She turned on her heel then walked away. I lowered my gaze to the book in my hands. My pulse thudded against the leather cover. It's time to face the truth. I swallowed, lifted the book, and whispered, “Show me the people in the water.” The pages trembled, fluttering as if caught in a breeze only the book could feel. Then it stilled. A single sentence bled across the page in dark red ink: