My Uncle Died ,His Lover Threatened My Family

It was the day after New Year's when my uncle Jack burst into our place and slapped me across the face, shouting about my disheveled hair.

Fed up with our long-standing feuds, I impulsively got a haircut that night—defying his superstitious beliefs that starting the year with drastic changes brings bad luck to him.

Ironically, he died in a mishap the very next day, and Jack's wife, Linda came knocking for a million bucks.

"We're talking about a life here! You owe me a million!"

I laughed coldly and retorted without missing a beat, "Alright then, I'll just get a hair transplant and bring him back!"

Bring back my dear uncle Jack!

***

The day after New Year's had me wrapping up an all-nighter on a project.

Mom asked me to attend to the guests, but no sooner had I shown up than Jack, citing my unkempt hair, smacked me hard twice.

"You little punk, always loafing around at home! Consider that slap a favor from your folks."

It took me a moment to catch my breath.

He was sprawled on our sofa like he owned the place, feet up on the coffee table, mumbling away.

"Got dough for a car but not a dime to lend? I've been saying all I need is a bit of seed money. Too stingy to help, sis?"

Catching sight of me, he spat disdainfully, "Can't you see your elders here? Get moving and pour me a drink! Standing there like a deer in headlights. Did my sister really raise a dimwit? Ha!"

Jack was pushing forty and only tied the knot last year—no lady wanted a gambler and a brute like him.

I had taken too many hits from him growing up, just because I was a stubborn kid.

I might have been scared as a child, but now?

Clenching my teeth, I stood up, lunged at him, and pinned his arm. He struggled, but at twenty, I was strong enough to squash him like a bug.

"Which hand did you hit me with?"

"This one?"

His eyes widened with fear. I growled, "Then I'll just cripple it!"

He shrieked in pain, crying out for my mom to intervene.

She hurried over, stopping a nasty fight.

"Son, don't stoop to his level. He's just set in his ways."

They wanted peace during the festivities, but I wasn't in a forgiving mood.

I smirked, a mischievous plan forming. "Oh, so you think my hair's messy? Fine, I'll go get it cut right now!"

Jack's eyes bulged, nearly gasping for air, "What? Don't you know that starting the year with drastic changes brings bad luck to me?"

I snorted in contempt.

Jack's anger boiled over, and he lunged toward me, ready to strike again. But I wasn't about to let history repeat itself.

As he raised his hand, I reacted swiftly, kicking him solidly and knocking him flat on the ground.

He lay there, too winded to even curse.

I wasn't about to let him off the hook so easily.

He strangled my dog when I was seven. At the age of ten, he had buried me in a sandbox, leaving me missing overnight.

At fifteen, his kick sent me sprawling into shattered glass, scarring my hand with a long, painful mark.

Jack, it's time to settle these old and new scores.