Mary Pakusch
Fiction shaped by the life we experience
and the relationships we foster
The Heart of my writing
I’ve been drawn to storytelling since I was a child. My father and I would invent stories about the places we visited and the people we met, and those moments taught me to pay close attention to human relationships — the small gestures, the unspoken tensions, the emotional undercurrents. As I grew older, I began putting those observations on paper, discovering how they shaped the kind of layered, intimate fiction I love to write.
I write women’s psychological fiction that is family‑driven and emotionally nuanced. My stories explore the complexities of real relationships and family trauma as characters confront themes of loss and survival, secrets and truth, resentment and love. Readers can expect an intimate, layered experience as these characters navigate high‑stakes moments that test their bonds and reveal who they truly are.
I Didn’t Know I Would Love You
I Didn’t Know I Would Love You is a memoir about an unexpected love that grew inside the walls of a nursing home. What began as a simple visit to a man I barely knew became a deep connection that carried us through illness, loss, and profound change. It’s the story of how devotion formed in hardship and led us to build a life together.
Knotted Secrets
Two sisters board a cruise ship to celebrate their adulthood and their freedom after years in foster care. They don’t expect their trauma to come crashing back—the accident that killed their parents, and the night their little brother vanished without a trace. When they discover relatives from their past on board, everything begins to unravel. Long‑hidden secrets, lies, and manipulations rise to the surface, threatening to destroy them. As the knot holding them together begins to fray, they learn the true cost of silence.
The Labyrinth Pendant
After surviving a sudden cardiac arrest, a young woman discovers that the stranger who saved her life is actually the half‑brother she never knew she had. As more episodes follow, she notices an uncanny link between her survival and a labyrinth pendant her father gave her before he died. What begins as a mystery of fate becomes a journey toward family, truth, and the realization that her strength has never come from the pendant—it has always come from within.
Review Knotted Secrets:
Tangled Lives: Sarah’s Journey
Sarah has finally created a life away from the mother whose expectations once suffocated her. But when cancer strikes, her siblings insist she return home, forcing her to confront the past she thought she’d escaped. Through caregiving, conflict, and a final chance at understanding, Sarah learns that healing doesn’t always come easily — but it can come in time.
Sneak Peek
Knotted Secrets
The sun drops below the horizon and the ship rocks gently. Whitecaps flash across the sea. By the time we reach the dining room, the waves are larger, lapping against the hull like a relentless drumbeat echoing through the night. As we enter the grand dining room, I grab Sammy’s arm to steady myself. Then we go our separate ways.
Raya waits impatiently, dressed in a used prom gown she found at a secondhand shop back home. I had forgotten it’s “formal night” on the cruise. Everyone is expected to dress up. Looking down, I’m embarrassed by my sleeveless, knee‑length sundress and the slap‑slap of my flip‑flops against the floor as I cross the room.
The dining room glows with chandeliers and silverware polished to a mirror shine. The waiters glide between tables like they’ve rehearsed it.
Seeing how beautiful Raya looks reminds me of that last night with Mom. She wore a deep plum dress, the one she always chose for special occasions. She said it made her feel like royalty. I almost forgot until now. She would’ve hated my sundress. But she would’ve loved that I’m still protecting Raya and telling the truth the best way I can.
A candle flickers between us, its light catching on Raya’s earrings — tiny pearls that used to belong to Mom. She doesn’t wear them often. Tonight, she chose them.
My sister’s eyes shine with unshed tears. Eyeing my poor choice of clothing as I sit, she asks, “Did I see you come in with Sammy?”
Glancing back toward the entrance, I realize Raya has an unobstructed view. I can’t lie. “Yes.” Her eyes drop to her lap, so I add, “There’s a good reason. I’m going to explain what I can.”
“Hello, Miss Raya!” the waiter says, tilting his head with a grin. “I mean, Miss Leona! I get the two of you confused. I can’t believe you’re not twins!”
I force a polite smile and take the menu he offers. We’ve been mistaken for twins since grade school. Usually, it doesn’t matter. But tonight, it feels like I’m wearing a face she trusts — and I’m not sure I deserve that.
The waiter hurries off with our orders. Raya leans back in her chair, arms crossed. “It feels like you and Sammy are sneaking around behind my back. Why?”
This is my moment of truth. I have to tell her something. I take a sip of water to steady myself. “I guess we have.”
A tear slips down her cheek. “But why? He’s my brother, too.”
I finger the edges of the diary inside my bag, then set the bag on the floor. She’s not ready for all of it.
“Today, we talked to Uncle Liam. Sammy needed answers. So did I.”
Raya tilts her head. “I can understand why Sammy is confused. But what do you have to do with it?”
A large wave crashes just below the window. We both gasp. The ship lists just enough to make my stomach flip, then steadies again. A flash of lightning flickers in the distance.
Raya’s eyes are still on me, waiting.
Elbows on the table, I lean toward her. “I don’t think the crash was an accident.” My stomach flips again as Raya’s eyes widen. “I think someone wanted it to happen.”
Her face pales. She whispers, “You think they were murdered.”
I slowly nod. The surf‑and‑turf dinner the waiter places in front of me smells delicious, but the thought of murder turns my stomach.
Raya pokes at her salad but doesn’t lift her fork. “Murdered?” she repeats, as if trying to reshape the word until it fits into her version of our family.
Her shoulders tense beneath the straps of the prom dress. I want to reach across the table and take her hand, but I’m not sure if I’ve given her too little — or too much.
In slow motion, Raya sets down her fork and lifts the napkin from her lap. She rises, tear‑glossed eyes behind a tight smile, then glides away in her gown like a ghost, lost and searching for a place to belong. The scent of her perfume — faint and familiar — lingers after she’s gone.
The lightning that once hovered at the edge of the horizon is closer now — cracking through the dark like a warning.
It’s going to be a stormy night.
New Ideas
