F Scott Fitzgerald

All the relatives knew I had a "backward cousin." For my birthday, she gave me a grocery-store pound cake. When I ran a marathon, she presented me with a pair of worn-out canvas sneakers. At my graduate school acceptance party, she even sent a funeral wreath of white lilies with a sash that read "In Sympathy," wishing me an early departure to the afterlife. In my previous life, I slapped her so hard she tumbled down the porch steps. My brother took her side and plotted revenge, falsely reporting to the university that I had cheated on my SATs. My admission was revoked. "You're so modern. You know how things work," he sneered. "Plenty of people take a gap year. Just apply again." My father also defended her, cutting off all my financial support. "You've had so much schooling. You're so educated," he said coldly. "Support yourself." Alone in a city eighteen hundred miles from home, I fought to survive. I called my brother and my father again and again—only to be blocked. I delivered food while renting a room and studying to reapply. At my lowest, my hands were raw and cracked from frostbite, scrambling for delivery shifts at four in the morning just to earn a small bonus. Worn down by the cold and exhaustion, I suffered cardiac arrest at twenty-three and collapsed in a snowdrift in that unfamiliar city. No one ever came to claim me. This time, I chose to let it go and accepted the wreath with a gracious smile. To fully integrate myself into this family. After all, what is a moment of pride compared to a lifetime's inheritance?

On the night of our wedding, Simone Laurent did not inject the promised capital into the Holt family's company. Instead, she had someone carry in a crate of scratch-off tickets. She undid the top buttons of her blouse, her eyes lazy with amusement. "Here are 2,000,000 dollars' worth of scratch-offs. Whatever you scratch off, that is what you get. Be good, Spencer, and maybe next time I will give you something real." I knew what she was doing. She punished me because yesterday I had ruined her evening, and I had thrown a glass of red wine all over her assistant, the one in the see-through shirt. I did not cry this time. I did not make a scene. My fingers found an ultra-thin condom in her pocket that was not my size, and I simply wiped my hand clean and said nothing. The surprise in her eyes lasted half a second before it softened into a satisfied smile. She wrapped her arms around me from behind, warm breath spilling against my ear. "That is right. Now you are starting to act like a husband who knows his place." She pulled out an unlimited black card and pressed it to my chest, the plastic cold through my shirt. "Take it. This should be more than enough for your family's company." I managed a stiff smile, pulled the card free, and handed it back. "I do not need it." She did not know this. During the days she spent breaking me in, my father had already been cornered by debt collectors on a rooftop and forced past the edge. Dead men did not need money.

Son of a wealthy southern plantation owner, Vince Hart, is a well known womanizer. When he is caught in a compromising position with his lover he is forced to make a choice- leave Vivian's reputation ruined or marry her. He chooses marriage, and for a while he and Vivian enjoy marital bliss, but dark clouds are gathering on the horizon as the Civil War is brewing. Called to serve, Vince goes off to war and adventure, leaving his wife and unborn child home alone. What will he return to, if anything?

Everyone said I was a fool, and not because I wasn't successful. I was one of the best attorneys in the country. No, they called me a fool because I spoiled my stay-at-home husband, Jonathan Shayman, rotten. He never had to cook. He never had to pick up our daughter. He never had to attend parent-teacher conferences. On top of that, I gave him five grand per month as his allowance. My daughter would always look at me with a blank expression and ask solemnly, "Mom, besides being handsome, what does Dad even bring to the table? Did someone put a spell on you?" I always told her she didn't appreciate her father or understand how hard it was to be a stay-at-home husband. After all, Jonathan had willingly left a prestigious law firm to become a full-time homemaker for my sake 10 years ago. He had even driven hundreds of miles on freezing winter nights to deliver gifts to my clients. He loved me enough to give up everything, so I believed I should do the same for him. However, Jonathan broke his promise on our daughter's birthday yet again. So, I took her to an amusement park by myself. When I got near the carousel, I saw Jonathan supporting one of my clients, Sandra Wood. He carefully draped his jacket over her shoulders and helped her onto the carousel. "Sandy, you're a lot better than the witch waiting for me at home. Besides, she gives me five grand every month without me having to lift a finger. I stay out all night partying, and she still thinks I'm out there maintaining client relationships for her." Sandra leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Then, squeeze even more money out of her for me. We'll have an even better time together." My daughter's eyes were already red with tears. I stared at the two of them. For the first time since forever, I had nothing to say against the naysayers. A cold breeze swept past me, and I felt chilled to the bone.

On the night of the SAT exam, my childhood sweetheart, Walter Sterling, eagerly coaxed me into sleeping with him. At the height of passion, his wild and unrestrained motions hurt me. Later, thanks to a ten-points difference on the exam score, we ended up in a four-year-long-distance relationship. Walter spent all his allowance on flight tickets to see me. Whenever we got together, he would physically live out the words, “absence made the heart grow fonder.” On his birthday, I bought a flight ticket and carried a cake to surprise him. But when I entered his rental apartment, I saw him and a strange girl intensely doing the deed. The cake in my hand fell to the floor with a thud. Then, I ran out crying. Walter’s expression changed dramatically. He chased after me like a madman. To keep me, he deleted all her contact information in front of me and even dropped out of school. My heart softened, and I forgave him. After we got married, he treated me even better than before. The improvement was so drastic that I was constantly on cloud nine. But when I became pregnant, I once again saw the girl he had completely cut ties with. She was his new secretary.

Zach Shaw and I had been in a long-distance relationship for four years when his study partner, Amy Lewis, appeared in the frame during our video call. Amy pursed her lips together and said, "Megan, Zach still hasn't finished today's homework yet." I froze. I had just wanted to say we would only talk for ten minutes when Amy cut in again. "By the way, I filtered out the celebrity gossip you sent him today. He gets distracted as soon as he sees it, and he's only half as effective then." She tilted her head and then said in an innocent tone. "You won't blame me for meddling, will you?" Zach looked down and flipped through his book without saying anything. I was once again stunned. I thought of the sunset photos, the street food stalls, and the pictures of new dresses I had sent him, the ones he had never answered. She had cleared them all away. A heavy weight settled in my chest. Zach finally raised his hand. "Amy helps me sort my messages. It's a good thing." Amy leaned closer to the screen and lowered her voice. "I heard you only scored 1,200 on the SAT, but Zach scored 1,400..." She paused, as if she was figuring out her words. "He always says he wants to go to grad school in the same city as you, but your scores are so far apart. He has to lower his standards for you." Then, she stepped back to Zach's side and patted his shoulder. "Work hard. I'm here with you." Zach looked up and nodded at her. His expression was soft and natural, as if they had already gotten used to standing next to each other. My throat tightened, and I felt my chest slowly becoming tighter and tighter. "Get some rest, then," I said as I forced myself to keep my pride and ended the call. My phone screen still showed the last message I had sent him. [It's raining today. Remember to wear something warm.] There was no reply. Just like the past four years. So, he had not been absent at all. I was the absent one.