Letters To My Future Husband

An app had been making the rounds online lately—one that let you text your future self. Right before the final paper of the SATs, I decided to jump on the bandwagon and fired off a message: [Future me, do I end up marrying Liam Tinsley?] The screen flickered, and a reply from an "Unknown Number" popped up almost instantly: [Yes. You had a big, grand wedding.] I clutched my phone and typed back fast: [And Mia Thompson was my maid of honor, right? She's my best friend!] The response came just as quickly: [She was. But she wasn't just the maid of honor, she slept with Liam on your wedding night.] My smile froze mid-expression. Then a second message hit: [Truth is, you didn't need to go through all that trouble tanking your scores just to match his. He bombed the math section on purpose—so he could end up in the same city as Mia, who was at the bottom of the class.] [He pushed you to turn down that top-tier university—not for your sake, but because he didn't want Mia to feel inferior next to your grades.] The pre-exam warning bell cut through the air. But I was frozen, my body ice-cold, unable to move. One last message slammed into my screen: [If you don't believe me, head straight to the motel behind the school after the test. You'll see the truth for yourself.]

When her cheating husband accuses Liza of being a cheater, Liza loses it all. All while knowing her husband's infidelity, the only hope she held onto was that he would come back to her leaving his cheating ways. When he demands a divorce, she gives in. Distraught by his accusations, she leaves the very home she had spent numerous nights waiting for him to come home. But an unfortunate accident lands her in the hospital. And the only way he would ever know her truth is the box Liza cherishes so much. In the box lie a series of letters she had written him. Note: This book is about growth and finding oneself.

On the seventh year after the breakup, I receive a package from Clarence Fraser. All 44 pounds of said package consist of the stacks of chat history I have with him in the past. Soon, Clarence's text appears on my phone screen. "Wanna meet up? I'd like to tell you something." I pause momentarily before responding with a "1". That number signifies rejection. Then, I turn my phone off. After wiping my sweat off with a towel, I pick up another crate of fruits and continue promoting them to the customers loudly, as though nothing has happened. It's been so many years, and I don't know why Clarence decides to text me all of a sudden. Similarly, he doesn't know that I've already become someone else's wife a long time ago.

My best friend and my husband, Lorenzo Bartoli, fought every time they met. Lorenzo was the Don of the family, while my best friend was his Consigliere. She always fiercely opposed his most ruthless, high-risk decisions. Tempers explode every single time. But there was one rule that they both agreed on without any hesitation. No one was allowed to touch me. Because of them, no one in the city dared to cross me. Until the fifth month of my pregnancy, when I went down to the basement vault to organize Lorenzo's guns for him. I opened the safe to see stacks of letters, hundreds of them, all unsent. I picked one up. The moment I opened the letter, cold dread overwhelmed me. The receiver of the letter wasn't me. [My dearest Sofia…] I quickly scanned downward to the final lines of the letter. [If I don't make it back alive, everything in the Swissie accounts goes to you. As for Vittoria, she's a good woman, but I have never loved her.] With trembling hands, I tore open the rest of the letters like a hysterical woman. Three hundred of them in total. Every single one was addressed to Sofia Finzi. Sofia was not a stranger. She was my best friend.

I am Jessica Myers. 30 years of age. I am an introverted type of person and spends most of my time at home, watching Netflix. I don't usually go out and I don't have a lot of friends. Despite my age, I still keep a diary with me and every time I want to share something to someone, I write it on my diary. Everyone might think I am boring, but this is the life I am comfortable to live with. I was bullied as a student which makes me have a hard time trusting other people. Like other , all I want is to be loved. I hope to meet someone who can make me feel special despite my characteristics and flaws. I am an ordinary woman who wants to be pursued by a guy, receiving flowers, going on dates in cinemas or simply walking in a park. My ideal man? I just want to meet someone who is nice and who can listen to my stories no matter how simple and boring they are. I don't think I am a difficult person to deal with but why is no one liking me? I am an NBSB and because of that, I have low self-confidence. I sometimes ask myself if I am capable to love and to be loved. I hope someday, like in fairy tales, my prince charming will come. I hope someone out there will see the beauty in me, maybe not physically but with my character. Don't get me wrong, I am happy with my life now, but I am sure I will be happier to be spending it with someone. Will I still get a happy ending like the characters in fairy tales? When can I experience the love I have always been hoping for?

Difficult to get along with the in-laws, constant arguments with the only brother-in-law, worsened by the man labeled as her husband... it's like having your head detached while your toes are being tickled, making Samanta Kiehl constantly cultivate patience. Until her sincere love is rewarded with a divorce letter. Her question always spins in her head. Is this luck or misfortune for her? But Samanta remains Samanta. She lets it all resonate in her life. She believes that payback will come. Someday, there will be a life and a new man whom she will tread with tranquility. But when? Isn't human patience supposed to have its limits?