Emotional Realism Short Stories & Novels

To ensure the launch of the company's new game, I worked overtime for a week straight. I practically lived at the company. But on the day of the celebration, I received a punishment notice from the new VP. "A certain someone has been working overtime until past midnight for over a week. This is a waste of the company's electricity. This notification is to inform him that he needs to pay this month's electricity bill for the company." The superior whom I worked with ever since this company was founded suddenly became arrogant as well. "A certain someone really needs to know their place. You're already 35. It's not like the company can't run without you. You're the one who relies on this company now." I laughed angrily. Had he forgotten what I did for a living? I submitted my resignation on that very same day. I'd like to see who would be the desperate party in the end. They could forget about ever being listed if this was how they treated their loyal employees.

Not even halfway through the Thanksgiving holidays, my boss, Bill Griffin, calls me back to work. He demands I cold-call customers for sales and promises generous overtime pay. Eager to give my son a better learning environment, I seize every chance to earn more money and agree without hesitation. But once the holiday ends, the management posts a notice. "An employee has generated an excessive phone bill working overtime during the Thanksgiving holidays and incurred company losses. Please reimburse the phone bill immediately." Bill, whom I had worked alongside since graduating from college, swiftly turns on me. "Some people in their 30s are about to be laid off. Having a job at all is a blessing, yet they don't know how to appreciate the opportunities the company gives them." Refusing to bow to the absurd demands and open threats, I hand in my resignation that very same day. A company that discards its employees the moment the job is done isn't worth a second of my time. They will learn the hard way who holds the leverage.

When the conglomerate's heir parachutes into our company, he conveniently brings along a "poor student" he's been sponsoring for years. That afternoon, they turn the entire office upside down. The young heir, Matthew Zohart, has no idea how to handle problems. All he knows how to do is smooth things over. He lets Gracie Fowler blow through my team's entire bonus and just stands there as she throws a tantrum in the open office. "I'm the future daughter-in-law chosen by the Zohart family!" she shrieks. "What are you people, anyway? Just a bunch of office drones!" Enraged, I rip off my work badge and turn to walk out. The very next second, Matthew drops down and grabs my leg. "You can't leave! I don't know how to do anything! If the team leader who actually gets things done quits, won't my family's company collapse?"

Mom, Dad, and Jesse—my younger sister—went out to sea on a trip, but they were caught in a tsunami, and all three perished in the accident. I was left all alone—just as I was about to start university—burdened with nothing but a mountain of debt. In the end, everything I had saved for my university tuition, along with the house Mom and Dad had left me, was taken by debt collectors. I was then forced to work in a shady factory, laboring 16 hours a day, sleeping in a shabby ten-person dorm, and surviving on nothing but thin, flavorless broth. I finally cleared the last of the debt when I accidentally discovered that Jesse—who was supposed to be dead—had appeared on television and become a famous dancer. Mom and Dad even gave an interview about her success. It turned out they had taken out a massive loan and faked their deaths to flee to Pravia for Jesse's dance studies, leaving the entire debt for me to deal with just as I was supposed to start university. I went to confront them, demanding the truth, but they threw me out like trash. I was then hit and killed by a speeding truck at the side of the road. "How could Lorraine be such a nuisance, not even having the decency to die far away from our doorstep?" I have been given another chance, reborn on the day they faked their deaths.

My boss has started dating, and his girlfriend is already acting hostile toward me at the first meeting. She looks me up and down and says passive-aggressively, "You're Theodore's secretary, the one he's been taking special care of?" I'm left speechless for a moment, staring at her in disbelief. I am Theodore Grant's secretary—that part is true. When I graduated, my dad deliberately arranged for me to work under Theodore to learn company management. For over a year, I have been working overtime late into the night every day, handling stacks of documents that never seem to end. Everyone says that I'm the hardest-working workhorse in the company. So, why have I gone from being a workhorse to some kind of side piece the moment my boss gets a girlfriend?

In a bid to assess rare resources, our expedition team ventures into an uninhabited desert, only to be suddenly faced with a heat wave that reaches 158 degrees Fahrenheit. Becoming so dehydrated that I'm close to fainting, I hurriedly open my backpack to dig out the electrolyte drink I prepared beforehand. The bottle is already about to touch my lips when I realize it's half filled with urine. I turn my head, just in time to see my husband's childhood sweetheart guzzling the electrolyte drink. Just as I'm about to lose my temper, my husband yanks on my sleeve. "Don't be mad. I was the one who gave your electrolyte drink to Maddy because she's nearly dehydrated. In the meantime, you'd better just make do and drink this, okay?" By then, black spots are dancing in my vision. Squeezing the bottle of urine, I hiss through gritted teeth, "I'm already dehydrated, but instead of letting me rehydrate quickly, you're telling me to drink this. Are you trying to kill me?" Immediately, a displeased look crosses his face. "Stop talking nonsense. Maddy isn't like you and doesn't train her body every day. She absolutely can't handle such high temperatures. Isn't it only right that she gets the electrolyte drink? "Besides, urine can rehydrate you, too. Why are you still making a fuss at this point?" Realizing that he cannot be reasoned with, I decide to send out a distress signal and seek help before I fully lose consciousness. "Severely dehydrated and near death. Expedition operations suspended. Immediate rescue required. Also reporting the presence of a robber within the team—please contact authorities as soon as possible."

After I help my boyfriend register his company and successfully land his first deal, he finally decides to make our relationship public. But his junior from college, who's always had this weird hostility toward me for no reason, beats me to it by sliding into the seat next to him. She leans against my boyfriend's chest, her voice smug and satisfied. "Didn't you say you'd wait until the company officially launched? So why the rush now?" My boyfriend says nothing. Instead, he hands her a share certificate and announces to the entire room that she's the company's largest shareholder. The room explodes. Everyone starts whistling and cheering them on. The junior takes the opportunity to kick me while I'm down, throwing insults my way. My boyfriend doesn't just fail to stop her. He actually joins in with his own snide remarks. "Sure, you helped me set up the company and brought in our first client, but she's the one who can actually take us somewhere." I don't get angry. I graciously acknowledge the junior's new position. I want to see how far they would get without me, their biggest asset and most valuable connection.

My daughter Stella was dying—kidneys shot, barely hanging on. She needed a transplant. Fast. But my wife, Kylie—the hospital director—stole the donor kidney meant for Stella and handed it off to her old flame's kid instead. That boy lived. They celebrated. Played happy family while my daughter was bleeding out hope. That same day, I called Kylie. Told her Stella didn't have much time. All she said was, "That ungrateful brat's faking it again? Lying? If she wants to die, let her." Stella didn't make it. Her body gave out in the worst way. And when Kylie finally saw her—really saw her—she broke.

After my sister, Mona Ramsey, and I graduated from college, our family went bankrupt. Our father gave us two options: One was to marry into the Whites through an alliance. The other was to take over the company and clean up the mess. In my previous life, Mona wanted the rich socialite lifestyle and chose to marry into the Whites. She ended up being brutally tortured by her husband, leaving her disfigured and disabled. I, on the other hand, relied on my talent for business to bring the company back from the brink. For a while, I was riding high and had everything going for me. Mona grew insanely jealous of me. At the company's IPO launch event, she stormed into the venue carrying gasoline and set me on fire. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment when our father gave us the choice. This time, Mona rushed to stand in front of me. "Dad, let Laura marry into the Whites," she said. "She's been spoiled since she was little. She can't handle a hard life. I'll stay with you and face everything that's coming." I couldn't help laughing. Oh, my silly little sister! Staying would be far more miserable than marrying into the Whites.

After my son’s surgery, I stayed overnight at the hospital. While keeping watch, I scrolled through my phone and came across a post. [What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?] An anonymous user replied. [I used the senior who sponsored me as a stepping stone.] [My sponsor was rich and clueless. He paid for my entire college education, and after I graduated, I slept with his wife. She even had my child.] [The best part is that he treats my son like his own. He works himself to exhaustion just to set that kid up for life.] [By the way, his family just received three million from the relocation compensation. My lover will be here soon. She’ll pretend we need it for a school district apartment and trick him into giving it to us.] [Once the cash is in hand and the villa is bought, I’ll have my son acknowledge me as his real father and then throw my sponsor out of the house.] A blurry photo of a little boy was attached. My heart skipped a beat. On his wrist was the safety charm I had given my son. Just then, my wife pushed open the hospital room door. “Honey, Xeno is starting elementary school soon. Let’s take your mom’s compensation money from the relocation and use it to buy a place in a good school district.”

Since I was running late to pick up my son, Kyrie Stone, from school, I did not have time to change out of my work clothes from the construction site inspection. Right at the preschool entrance, I ran into one of his classmates' parents. The man, Adam O'Neil, looked me up and down and asked, "You're Kyrie Stone's father, right?" I nodded politely, about to introduce myself. However, he suddenly scowled and snapped, "No wonder he acts so poorly behaved at school. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree!" I frowned immediately. "What nonsense are you talking about?" He scoffed, getting even more aggressive. "Nonsense? Kyrie shows up to school wearing weird clothes and brings all these ridiculous toys. It's distracting my daughter, Sarah, so much that her grades are slipping." I was speechless, wondering how Sarah O'Neil's declining grades were Kyrie's fault. When I stayed silent, Adam got even bolder. "Just look at those dusty clothes you're wearing. Do you even have the money to send Kyrie to an elite preschool like this, or are you just some laborer trying to keep up appearances?" I thought Adam was insane. After all, Kyrie was attending our family-owned preschool. How was that trying to keep up appearances?

The first time I attended my girlfriend Joyce's friend gathering, after a few rounds of drinks, her male best friend pulled her onto his lap. With a cigarette dangling between his fingers, he grinned. "Call me daddy!" Instead of getting offended, Joyce leaned into him, helpless but indulgent, and said, "Daddy." I froze, scowling, but she waved me off without a care. "It's just a joke! Lucius always never cared for the rules, and everyone knows we have a father-daughter vibe, okay? Don't get it all twisted, Henry! Aren't you a man?" Lucius became even more provocative, throwing a smoke ring at me. "Yo, son-in-law! Aren't you going to bow to me? Come on, kneel and offer me a drink, and your dad's got your back!" Everyone at the table burst into laughter as they waited to see me lose my temper and make a scene. I just smiled, meeting Joyce's impatient gaze with an excited expression. "That's great! I like the way you think, so why don't you call me daddy too?"

I am in such a rush to pick up my daughter, Ava Pennington, from school that I don't have time to change out of my work attire. At the kindergarten gates, I run into the mother of one of her classmates, Candice Austin. She sizes me up from head to toe and says, "You must be Ava Pennington's mom." I politely nod. Just as I am about to say hello, her expression suddenly sours. "It's no wonder your daughter dresses so skimpily at school. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?" I am so mad that I nearly forgot to respond. "What nonsense are you talking about?" Candice clicks her tongue and grows even more aggressive. "Nonsense? Your daughter wears skirts to school every day. She's distracting my son so much that his grades have slipped." Her words leave me utterly speechless. How is her son's failing grades somehow Ava's fault? When I don't respond, she gets bolder. "Look at you dressed from head to toe in cheap junk; how can you afford to send your daughter to this elite kindergarten? You must have pulled some shady strings to sneak her in through the back door, didn't you?" Has she lost her mind? Since when does Ava need strings to attend the school I built?

I was always flying for work, so I left the whole renovation thing to my husband, Daxton Pruitt. This time, my flight got scrapped last minute, so I swung by the house to check in. The second I stepped inside, some woman named Mona Scambley, who claimed she was the designer, chucked a stack of invoices at me. Couples' lingerie display case: $15,000. High-end waterbed: $40,000. One glance at that pile of overpriced tacky nonsense made me nauseous. My brows pulled tight. "Ms. Scambley, this is a private house, not some couples' motel. What is all this?" Her face flipped in a heartbeat. She jabbed a finger at me. "The owner gave those orders. You're just the site supervisor. Disobey me again, and I'll have Mr. Pruitt fire you!" Then she spun around and called Daxton right there. I laughed, cold and low, about to ask what kind of clown show designer he'd hired—until I heard his voice. Gentle. Doting. "This is Mona and my love nest. We'll do whatever we want. Don't like it? Get out." I smiled, snatched the list from Mona, and nodded. "Sure." One week later, that overpriced waterbed showed up—Daxton, very much not smiling.

At the company’s year-end party, management tried to cut costs by using junk as raffle items. The prize box was filled with bottle caps, instant noodle wrappers, toothpaste boxes, and other trash. Everyone was only allowed to pick one item and scan the QR code on it. Whether you won anything depended entirely on luck. I casually picked up a bottle cap and unexpectedly won a car worth 500,000 dollars. As soon as the vice president found out, he rejected my win and demanded that I hand over the prize. “The company spent 20 dollars to get these raffle items from a recycler. Any prizes won have to be recorded in the books as company assets. They belong to the company.” My boss reprimanded me as well, “Have you lost your mind because you’ve been poor? Do you think you could have won without the company? You don’t know how to be grateful, and now, you’re trying to take company property. Stop causing a scene!” I did not argue and calmly handed over the bottle cap. Then, I turned around and called one of our clients. My boss had forgotten one thing: I was the company’s top salesperson. If he insisted on crossing me, I would make him lose five million.

During the SAT exam, My sister and I both had an emergency at the same time. Overwhelmed by stress, I suffered a heart attack and was on the brink of death. Yet my mom, who was working as an invigilator that day, rushed to tend to my sister—who only had a stomach ache—without a second thought. I begged her to save me. But she kicked me away fiercely. “Can’t you pick the right time to put on a show for attention? If you ruin your sister’s grades, I’ll beat you to death, you beast!” Later, I failed to respond to resuscitation and died in the hospital. Mom collapsed overnight.

My sister pulled a knife during a robbery attempt, and we got into a brutal fight. My mom, an auxiliary police officer, arrived at the scene but totally ignored my injury. As I lay in a pool of blood, begging for help, she just cradled my sister and yelled at me, "You're so desperate for attention that you'd hurt your sister? How did I raise a heartless monster like you?" She branded me as the aggressor, ignored my pleas, and rushed my sister, who had mere scratches, to the hospital. I was left alone to die miserably in that deserted alley. When the news of my death arrived, my mother dismissed it as another one of my lies, pointing at my body and demanding I get up to apologize to my sister.

My son spiked a sudden high fever, scorching like a flame under my touch. I frantically dialed 911 for help, but the dispatcher on the line kept repeating questions, dragging it out. By the time the ambulance siren finally wailed in the distance, my son had already grown cold and still in my arms. Less than a year later, my husband and I split up amid endless grief and finger-pointing. I dragged on like an empty shell until one day I got an e-invite to his wedding. The moment I clicked the voice message, my blood ran cold. The bride's voice echoed exactly like that sluggish dispatcher from back then. In a breakdown, I bolted out of the house and got caught in the path of a speeding subway train, plunging me into darkness. When I opened my eyes again, my son's cries pierced the air from the next room, his forehead blazing hot against my palm. My husband thrust the phone toward me. "Quick, call 911! I'll grab a cold compress." My hands trembled as I dialed, and a chillingly familiar voice answered, "Hello, 911 emergency services."

My younger brother, Samuel, gave me a call and asked me to go to his university. However, his unusually serious tone took me aback. I rushed over to his counselling office, only to see him, his fellow counselors, and a female junior whom I had coincidentally helped in the last semester. The female junior, Sally, was covering her slightly protruding belly. She abruptly dropped to her knees before me in front of the counselors. “Honey, I know this unexpected pregnancy has put a lot of pressure on you. But you can’t just abandon me and our baby!” she choked back with tears. Then, she reached out to grab the hem of my clothes. However, I stepped back and left. Sally’s cries turned sharp and shrill. “You heartless jerk! How could you behave like this?! If I’d known that you’d pretend not to know me the second it was over, I would’ve never gone to a hotel with you!” One of the counselors looked furious, and he seemed furious beyond measure. “Kid, being young is no excuse. A man needs to take responsibility!” A crowd began to gather outside the office. Their pointing fingers and contemptuous stares nearly overwhelmed me. In the middle of the chaos, Samuel casually leaned against the wall and spoke with a drawl. “Chris, aren’t you going to stay and see your unborn baby?”

After my best friend, Penny Hallmark, found herself a wealthy man, she suddenly became a different person. I had done nothing more than glance at her husband, Martin Rembrandt, yet she slapped me hard across the face. “I treated you as my closest friend, but you dared seduce Martin right in front of me. He’s Chris’s brother! Have you no shame at all?” Her accusation brought tears to my eyes, but Penny resorted to locking me inside a reservoir. “What are you playing at anyway? Fine. Let me give you something to really cry about!” I nearly drowned, and she uploaded photos of me soaked to the skin, claiming online that I was behaving indecently. I became the target of cyberbullying, my boyfriend, Christopher Rembrandt, proposed a breakup, and in utter despair, I decided to end my life. Yet my best friend mocked me coldly. “Do you really think I don’t know your little tricks? You’re just pretending to be pitiful to gain sympathy, aren’t you? “That won’t do at all, Rose. Let me give you a hand!” She pulled out my breathing tube, and only when my life completely slipped away did she smile in satisfaction. “Good. Now I can enjoy both Chris and Martin’s affection.” When I opened my eyes again, I had transmigrated into the body of Chris’s mother, who had just passed away. Given a second chance at life, I was determined to make Penny pay. After all, the man she loved most was nothing more than a hopeless mama’s boy.