Are There Any Books Similar To 'The German Child'?

Die Schatten meiner Vergangenheit Vor einem Jahr wurde Angels Leben in einer einzigen Nacht zerstört. Nachdem ihre Eltern brutal ermordet wurden, musste sie fliehen, ihre Identität aufgeben und alles zurücklassen, was sie jemals geliebt hatte. Unter einem neuen Namen versucht sie in einer fremden Stadt ein normales Leben aufzubauen. Doch die Vergangenheit lässt sich nicht so leicht begraben. Jede Nacht wird sie von Albträumen verfolgt, und die Angst, entdeckt zu werden, begleitet jeden ihrer Schritte. Als ein geheimnisvoller und gefährlich attraktiver Mann ihren Weg kreuzt, gerät ihre mühsam aufgebaute Welt ins Wanken. Seine kalten Blicke scheinen mehr über sie zu wissen, als er sollte, und schon bald erkennt Angel, dass ihre Flucht möglicherweise nie wirklich beendet war. Während dunkle Geheimnisse ans Licht kommen und alte Feinde näher rücken, muss Angel entscheiden, wem sie vertrauen kann. Doch in einer Welt voller Verrat, Macht und Blut kann die falsche Entscheidung tödlich sein. Manche Vergangenheiten bleiben begraben. Andere kommen zurück, um alles zu zerstören.

There is a War being fought that stretches beyond eternity. Waging that War are men and angels and demons and creatures and beings beyond time and space. Thrust into this conflict is a foundling boy who knows nothing of this War but is integral to tipping the balance toward whomever can control him. As a child, Hunter’s world is attacked, and, along with a few faithful retainers and allies, his mother escapes with him, while his father, using his own life as forfeit, stays behind to ensure those he loves escape. Mother and child are pursued. Their retainers are killed while protecting them until they are able to get out from under the net thrown by their enemies. Now, far, far away, not knowing the fate of her husband or people and with no way of getting back, she has only herself to raise and protect her son. This is the story of what comes after, of a boy alone, having raised himself, by himself, for half his life. Then the powers that inform and rule that world become aware of him, of his power, his potential. In their ignorance and conceit, they awaken the true nature of the child, and a war, of unimaginable proportions to shake the heavens, comes to their doorstep, and the boy they thought to use, and later kill, is the only thing that can save them.

After reuniting with my birth family, my wealthy biological father tossed me a black card and laid down one rule: I could spend as much as I wanted, but I was never to call him Dad—that title belonged only to his adoptive daughter. Clutching the black card, I cautiously bought myself a two-dollar-fifty ice cream cone. Just as I was happily licking the sweet ice cream, the adoptive daughter dropped to her knees before me. "Alice, are you mocking me because I can't even afford something that costs two-fifty in the future?" My brother immediately slapped me twice. "You have money now, but you can't split love. Natalie is my one and only sister!" Then my father splashed boiling water onto my face. "No disgraceful wretch deserves to be a Gervais." To punish me, they sent me off to Rimala, forced to work as a child laborer in the mines. Ten years later, I walked into a grand banquet hall with an ice cream in hand and came face-to-face with my brother, Ansel Gervais, dressed in a hand-tailored suit. "All these years and you're still a disgrace," he sneered, but I couldn't be bothered to argue. "Let go. My dad's waiting for me—and if I'm any later, the ice cream's going to melt." He looked down at me with contempt. "Dad? Who gave you permission to call him that? Natalie will forever be the only Gervais girl—no one can take that away from her!" I rolled my eyes. Who said I was talking about that cheap excuse for a father? I was talking about my adoptive father—the oil tycoon with an incurable sweet tooth. I was in a hurry to let him taste some ice cream.

I couldn’t speak until I was eight years old. Everyone in the Sterling family called me dumb. Even my mother would secretly wipe away tears, convinced she had given birth to an autistic daughter. Whenever my father looked at me, his eyes were filled with nothing but disappointment. However, for the sake of the family’s reputation, he could never bring himself to send me away to a special education school. Then came the day someone from a prominent hedge fund company arrived to acquire our family company, Sterling Group. He was so arrogant that he chewed out everyone in the boardroom until all of them hung their heads low. The room full of corporate executives fell silent, too terrified to speak. Meanwhile, I stood there in the corner, listening to the whole thing until I felt sleepy and fed up. Taking a step forward, I spoke the very first words of my life.

My adopted daughter, Phoebe Marsh, possessed an evil ability. Whenever she got hurt, the pain would also be inflicted directly on my biological daughter, Maisie Shaw. She deliberately hurt herself, covering her body with wounds and bruises. Then, she would turn around with cold eyes, watching Maisie writhe on the floor in agony until she passed out from the pain. With no medical solution available, I broke down and held Maisie close, begging my husband, Brandon Shaw, to send Phoebe away. However, he would erupt in fury. "It's obviously Maisie who's been faking illness for attention, and you're making up this ridiculous story to get rid of Phoebe. She's just a fragile, helpless child. How can you be so vicious?" After that, Phoebe escalated her self-harm even more viciously. Meanwhile, Maisie spent every day curled up in the corner of her bed, refusing to let anyone touch her. On Maisie's birthday, Phoebe threw herself from the fifth floor. Just as Maisie was blowing out her candles and making a wish, she suddenly began bleeding from all her facial orifices, and she died instantly. Yet, Phoebe only suffered minor scrapes. I died from overwhelming grief shortly after. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to Phoebe's first day in our home. Maisie was playing with her Legos when she suddenly clutched her ankle and started crying. This time, I grabbed the broom from behind the door and swung it toward Maisie, shouting, "I'll beat you up for faking illness and seeking attention!"

As I was watching a movie in the cinema, a rude child kept kicking the back of my seat. He even took off his shoe and extended his foot next to my face. I turned around and chastised him to take his seat, but he stabbed me in my neck with a sharp needle. Feeling the pain, I reached out and wiped the blood from my neck. His mother chuckled. “It’s fine, he’s just fooling around with my sewing needle. It’s just a harmless jab. It’s not like it has poison on it. Be a good sport about it.” I threw the popcorn bucket onto the floor and aimed my phone’s flashlight at the rude child. I roared, “The child’s holding a discarded needle that was used on an AIDS patient in the hospital! There’s an AIDs patient’s blood on it!”