Emotional Realism Short Stories & Novels

Before the birthday party starts, my boyfriend, Edward Parker, casts his phone onto the large screen in the private room. He starts an anonymous poll in the group chat we share with our friends. The question is, "Tonight, should I stay and cut the cake with my girlfriend, or go to the premiere with my childhood friend?" A 30-second countdown begins as the votes keep climbing. His childhood friend, Renee Lane, gets 17 votes while I get just one. Everyone thinks I'm the one who has voted for myself. Edward leans back against the couch and smiles. "The minority yields to the majority." Renee hands him the movie ticket. "Guess everyone agrees that I need you more." Meanwhile, I'm standing before a cake with the candles still unlit, wearing my favorite dress. Someone in the room whistles. "Tanya, don't be a sore loser." The voting thing has been going on for three years now. Whenever we fight, Edward will let them vote on who apologizes first. On dates, he will let them vote on whose hand he holds. Even when I ask him whether he loves me, he sends the question to the group chat, saying, "Let's have everyone weigh in." I think that if I win just once, he will finally take my side. But I never win. Tonight is no different. Edward gets to his feet and grabs his coat. As he walks past me, he ruffles my hair. "Be good, okay? I'll make it up to you when I get back." I look at the results on the screen, lock my phone, and push the cake knife toward him. "No need. Edward, I'm done voting."

When I'm taking Mom and Dad to experience the cable car ride, an infinite display of fireworks suddenly bursts from the bottom of the mountain. Soon, they form a sentence in the air. "Our romance will never fade away, even if we die. Yvonne Shaw, my heart belongs to you always." Right away, I realize that my husband, Henry Glover, has specifically prepared the fireworks display just to please his childhood sweetheart, Yvonne Shaw. Under the powerful attacks of the fireworks, the cable lines begin to shake and tremble violently to the point they are about to snap. My fingers tighten around my phone so much that they've turned white. I scream into the speaker, "Henry Glover, have you gone nuts? Stop it! Mom and Dad are still in the cable car!" But he merely chortles in return. I can hear Yvonne's delicate voice egging him on in the background. "Why should I stop? When Yvonne's parents were lying in the ICU and waiting for help three years ago, you screwed up their life-saving surgery despite the fact that you never failed a surgery before! "Today, I want you to have a taste of what it feels like to lose your loved ones as well!" After that, the bodyguards' responses echo from the other end of the line. Henry orders, "Add another huge batch of fireworks and aim them at the cable car. Just keep firing at it!" Yvonne's titters are like poisoned honey. She continues egging on Henry. "You're amazing, darling! Make those two bastards turn to ash!" The cable car sinks all of a sudden. Mom and Dad are so frightened that their complexions turn deathly pale. With bloodshot eyes, I use all of my strength in roaring at my phone. "Henry Glover, your own parents are the ones trapped inside the cable car right now!"

On the Goldman heir's wedding day, I take a small bite out of a piece of cake because I am hungry from waiting too long at the ceremony. But my fiancee, Sheryl Wilson, slaps me in the face immediately. "You really are shameless! How could you eat in an occasion like this?" Dazed from the slap, I look at the other guests, who are staring at us at the moment. Having tasted copper in my mouth, I turn on my heel and approach the heir with a plate in my hands. "The cake's pretty delicious. Do you want a slice?" Sheryl started to panic. She's about to drag me away when the groom of the wedding takes a small bite out of the same slice. He remarks coolly, "It really is tasty. I'll have my men prepare 100 slices of cake for the woman who slapped you just now."

At the company's annual awards ceremony, my boss personally presented me with the "Employee of the Year" award. The bonus was ten million dollars, and he promised it would go through immediately, right there on the spot. Hundreds of my coworkers rose to their feet and applauded. Champagne and confetti rained down around me. But the next morning, the police showed up and took me from my own home. The company had reported me, claiming I suffered from a severe delusional disorder, that I'd not only imagined receiving a ten-million-dollar bonus but had also attacked the finance system in an attempt to siphon off company funds. I pulled up the transfer record and the gala footage on my phone, only to find they'd both turned into garbled nonsense. I went to every coworker I could find. All of them looked at me with the same pitying eyes and said the same thing. "Man, wake up. You got drunk and made a scene onstage at the gala last night. There was never any ten-million-dollar bonus." In the end, I was locked away for attempted fraud and mental illness, and I died there, tortured to death in a psychiatric hospital. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of the gala, and my boss was walking toward me with a wine glass in hand, smiling.

When my long-lost, wealthy family tracks me down, I thought my years of suffering were finally over. Then, a so-called accidental car crash happens. I wake up able to hear everyone's thoughts. My mother, Mandy Newman, gently strokes my forehead, yet in her mind, she complains, "Why didn't she end up in a coma? It would've been much easier to take her heart that way." My father, Carl Jenkinson, prays, "Please don't let her heart be damaged. The people Victor hired are completely useless. We should've taken it while she was still unconscious." My two-faced sister, Mia Jenkinson, screams internally in tears, "System, scan her heart now! My new heart cannot have the slightest damage!" A chill runs down my spine as the truth comes crashing down on me. It turns out my parents have approved of the car accident my fiance, Victor Stark, orchestrated. They have searched tirelessly for me all these years, not to give me a home, but to carve out my heart and save their precious fake heiress. Fine. If this is the game they're playing, I have no reason to play nice.

My husband's childhood sweetheart needed surgery, and he insisted that I be the one to operate on her. I followed every medical protocol, doing everything I could to save her. However, after she was discharged, she accused me of medical malpractice and claimed I’d left her permanently disabled. I turned to my husband, hoping he’d speak up for me, but he curtly said, “I told you not to act recklessly. Now look what’s happened.” To my shock, the hospital surveillance footage also showed that I hadn’t followed the correct surgical procedure. I couldn’t defend myself. In the end, I was stabbed to death by her super-alpha husband. Even as I died, I still couldn’t understand—how did the footage show my surgical steps were wrong? When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Joanna was admitted for testing.

I've gone on a business trip. It's 3:00 am when my best friend suddenly calls me. He asks me why I didn't tell him that I already have a baby, seeing as we haven't met for a year. That question takes me by surprise. Josephine Bennett and I have been married for many years, but we've been using contraception all this time. Since when do we have a baby together? My best friend then sends me a screenshot of Josephine's social media feed. The caption shows, "This marks our 100th day together, my darling baby! I love you so much!" My heart goes tense when I see the screenshot. Immediately, I call Josephine to ask her what's going on. Her reaction is very cool and collected, though. "That's a relative's baby. I found the baby super adorable, so I decided to share the post. I didn't think I'd end up sharing the caption too." I just smile when I hear Josephine's answer. Later on, I call my older brother, Leonard Sterling. "Cut the funding for Josephine's research project. Turns out she's been cheating on me."

Only ten days remain before I start my freshman year of college. Unable to wait any longer, I ask in our family group chat, "We agreed to take a graduation trip to Stonby together. When are we leaving?" An entire day passes without a single response. Then, at 6:00 pm, my younger sister sends a message. "Concert tickets are on sale! Who wants to pay for mine?" The group chat instantly comes alive, and my message disappears beneath the new replies. Mom and Dad immediately send her 10,000 dollars for the tickets. "Buy four tickets and bring your brother. The whole family can go together." My younger brother immediately objects. "Who says I want to go to a concert? I want a new phone instead! Besides, I already went to Stonby with her when she got into high school. Why do I always have to do whatever she wants?" I stare at his message in disbelief. I've spent more than a month of my summer eagerly waiting for our trip, but they've already gone to Stonby without me. "When did you go? Why didn't anyone tell me?" The moment I send the message, it disappears above Mom and Dad's replies to my brother. "Fine, we'll get you a new phone, but you're still going to the concert." "The whole family belongs together. No one gets left behind." Yet again, they forget that I'm part of the family, and my question goes completely ignored. I watch it move farther up the screen until it disappears from view, and suddenly, I laugh. If they don't want me in their lives, I'm done trying to force my way in. I buy a one-way ticket to Stonby and plan to head straight to college once the trip ends. For the next several years, I never make the journey home again.

I was standing at the hotel entrance handing out flyers when someone shoved me hard from behind. I spun around and was shocked to see Jessica Dixon, our high school prom queen. "I was wondering who dared to block my way. Oh, look! If it isn't Christine Cooper, the top student in our class." Jessica smirked triumphantly, ignoring my obvious rage. "I heard our resident genius was dirt poor, but I had no idea you were handing out flyers on the street corner." Her sidekick scrambled forward to echo her taunt, while the rest of our classmates remained silent. I stepped forward to confront her, but Jessica snatched the stack of flyers right out of my hands. "Oh, look at that! Passing out flyers for my family's hotel? Well, considering you're working for us, I'll let your little attitude slide today. Let's go, guys." She tossed the flyers into the air and strutted into the hotel, leading the group with her head held high. The glossy leaflets scattered all over the pavement. As I crouched down to gather them, a bewildered thought crossed my mind. "Since when did my family's hotel belong to her?"

On the day I'm diagnosed with dependent personality disorder, my family treats me like I'm the most fragile porcelain. My parents put me first in everything. Mom even quits her executive job to stay by my side during treatment. The day my condition finally stabilizes, they smile with genuine relief for the first time. Even my adopted older sister, Winifred Linberry, smiles. She says, "I told you Sadie wasn't that sick. She just wanted to hog your attention." That day, my parents scold her for the first time and insist she apologize to me. On the night she goes to a class reunion, I quietly mention that my heart feels a little uneasy. Dad suddenly slams the medicine box in his hand onto the floor. He roars, "Can't you be a little more considerate? Your sister just lost her competition and she's already upset! We've spent every day revolving around you. Can't we spend just a few hours with her? "If you don't feel well, take your medicine yourself. We've had enough!" The pills scatter across the floor. He grabs his jacket and storms out, slamming the door behind him. Mom looks at me, as if she wants to say something. In the end, she says nothing and follows him out. I don't say a word. I simply dig my fingernails into my arm as my breathing becomes more and more difficult.

When I'm eight years old, my dad gets remarried. Then, when my stepmother gets pregnant, she decides I'm an eyesore. Dad shoves a train ticket into my hand. "I can't afford to raise you anymore. Your aunt's working down south. Go to her." I don't even remember what my aunt, Ava Shore, looks like anymore. All I know is that she left home at 18 and cut contact with Dad years ago. I spend a day and a night on that train, getting more scared by the minute. What if Aunt Ava doesn't want me, either? When I finally step off the train and exit the station, I'm greeted by an MPV. The door swings open, and a woman with big, blown-out curls and sunglasses steps out in high heels. "So you're the daughter my brother decided he didn't want?" I nod, clutching the straps of my duffel in a death grip. She crouches and studies me carefully. "Your hair's a mess. You look like some neglected stray." Before I can respond, a boy about my age pops his head out from behind her. "Mom, she looks awful." Aunt Ava immediately reaches back and twists his ear. "Say that again if you have the guts. If anyone at your school even thinks about bullying her, I'm coming for you first." The boy bares his teeth and hisses in pain, but he still reaches out and takes my duffel from me. A warm southern breeze washes over me, and tears form in my eyes. Suddenly, I don't feel so scared anymore.

Due to the change in my work location, I'd already informed Paul Miller, my part-time helper, to look for a job elsewhere three months ago. Back then, Paul had agreed to do so immediately. But when I'm about to move out of my old home, he made an absurd request to me. "I've spent so many years working for you to the bone. According to this industry's rules, you have to take care of me for the rest of my life. But if you refuse to do that, you can pay me a pension of ten thousand dollars every month." I'm stunned, to say the least. Did I hire a part-time helper, or did I find myself a financial burden instead? I turn Paul down immediately, so he decides to take a step back. "If you don't want to pay me, then give me this house of yours. I can't just leave without anything, right? It'll just show how petty of an employer you are. If not, I'll humiliate you in the group chat!" Fury floods my senses immediately. Fine. Let's see who will get humiliated here!

The night I gave birth, the entire hospital lost power. Soon after delivery, I started bleeding heavily. The backup power could only keep two operating rooms running. My mom, Marsha Gibson, was the head of obstetrics. A nurse asked if I needed emergency surgery right away. Mom glanced at Natalie Graham, my adoptive sister, in the next bed. Then she shook her head. "Help Natalie first. She's already sensitive about being adopted. What will people think if I put my own daughter first at a time like this?" I lay on the gurney, listening to my blood drip onto the floor. When my husband, Elijah Colton, arrived, I thought someone would finally help me. He was an anesthesiologist, after all. Then Natalie clutched her chest and said she couldn't breathe. Elijah hesitated for a second, then let go of my hand. "Your parents are here. Someone will take care of you," he said. "Natalie doesn't have that kind of support. If I put you first again, people will think our whole family treats her like an outsider." Finally, my dad, Ian Graham, arrived. He was the hospital director. The nurse showed him my blood pressure readings and begged him to open another operating room. Dad glanced at the reporters in the hallway, then gave Natalie the last available spot for emergency treatment. "When we brought Natalie home, we promised she would never be treated unfairly for not being our biological daughter. Winona, you'll have to wait a little longer." To avoid any suspicion of favoritism, they all assumed I'd be fine waiting a little longer because I had family at the hospital. However, none of them knew my C-section incision had torn open. Blood was already pouring into my abdominal cavity.

Gold prices had recently crashed, and five hundred thousand dollars' worth of purchase reserves had vanished from the branch's accounts. Jane Lynch, the department manager, threw a report in my face. "Mavis Gomez! We sent you to buy equipment, and you used the money to trade gold? The chairman is inspecting the branch this afternoon. Sign this confession now, and the company might still put in a good word for you." Thomas Jones, the branch manager, stood beside her and tapped the table. "You're an intern with no connections. Where did you find the audacity to do such a thing?" My coworkers were already blaming me in the company group chat for costing them their year-end bonuses. [Interns these days have some nerves! She always looked so meek, but to think she would steal company money!] I knew Jane and Thomas had used the money to trade gold. They just wanted to use a nobody like me to take the blame. I looked down at the report bearing my forged signature and burst out laughing. They had no idea that the chairman everyone described as ruthless and merciless had made me a sandwich that morning and begged me to cut my internship short and come home to take over the family business.

My younger sister went to Harbor City to meet her online boyfriend in person. After a passionate week together, he told her he liked petite, delicate girls. He said she should get down to seventy-seven pounds before getting in touch with him again. I was furious. "Why didn't he say so when you met? "You're five-six and one hundred thirty-two pounds. That's a perfectly healthy weight. "How could you ever get down to seventy-seven pounds? He's just making excuses. He's toying with you!" My sister agreed and soon started dating someone new. Then she saw his wedding photos on social media and snapped. She held a pillow down over my mouth and nose. "Damon's bride is only a tiny bit thinner than me! If I'd lost just a little more weight, I could've been with him, but you told me it was impossible! You did it on purpose! You were jealous that I found true love!" When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my sister came home from Harbor City. I kept a perfectly calm face. "What's wrong with seventy-seven pounds? Even fifty-five isn't impossible! "True love is hard to find. It's worth any sacrifice!" This time around, I backed her pursuit of true love without a second thought. And she came to regret it bitterly.

As Mom and Dad arrive at the company to hand it over to their biological son, Nick Yeager, I throw myself off the 30th floor. Blood splatters everywhere, and the crowd scatters in panic. Mom and Dad also scream in horror at the sight. But the moment they realize the dead person is me, the fear drains from their faces, replaced by nothing but disgust. "Back then, we brought home the wrong baby, so Nathan got to enjoy 20 years of wealth and privilege for nothing. Instead of being grateful to us for raising him, he kept making things hard for Nick after we acknowledged him and brought him home. And now he's killed himself at the office? What an ungrateful bastard!" The onlookers curse at me for having no conscience, saying that even in death, I won't let the Yeager family have a moment's peace. But in the end, no one expects Dad, who despises me more than anyone else, to hold my urn in his arms and beg me to come back with tears streaming down his face.

After finals ended, the most popular girl in class organized a graduation trip. She proposed hitchhiking the entire way, crashing in budget hostels, and seeking food and shelter from nomad camps along the route. At 200 dollars a head, she said they could ride the Ridgeline Highway all the way to Alvor Base Camp. Freedom and adventure, that was the pitch. My family ran a highland travel agency. I knew exactly how dangerous that route was. Every year, budget backpackers vanished along the Ridgeline without a trace. Young women traveling alone were the most vulnerable. In my past life, I did everything I could to stop it. I called every parent, one by one, and talked them out of letting their kids go. The whole class backed out, except Phoebe Harding, who left on her own. She went radio silent three days in. A week later, her body was found in the Barrens. I got my acceptance letter to Kingsley University. On the first day of orientation, my childhood friend Wyatt Morse stabbed me in front of everyone, screaming that it was my fault. "If you hadn't stopped us from going with her, Phoebe wouldn't have died alone! Now, you're going to pay for it!" Most of my classmates turned on me, forgetting I had saved them. They even cheered and said I deserved it. When I opened my eyes, I had gone back to the day the trip was first pitched.

I had spent fifteen years in Rathai’s jade trade. Tonight was another routine trip to a private auction to pick up stock. On the outside, these auctions moved jade, but behind closed doors, they sometimes moved people. I had just walked into the back when I spotted a teenager huddled in the corner, covered head to toe in bruises and welts. He looked up at me with desperate eyes. A second later, lines of text floated across my vision. [This is Arden Carlisle, the fake son of the Carlisle family in Harstead!] [The real Carlisle son framed him, and his own sister shipped him out here to 'teach him a lesson'.] [It's awful. He's been shocked, whipped, and beaten. Now, they're about to strip him and put him on the block.] [The real Carlisle son and his people are in the auction hall right now, waiting to watch him get humiliated.] I lived by one simple rule. If it was not my problem, I would not get involved. I turned to leave. However, another line then appeared. [Oh my God! The jade dealer is his biological father!]

The day Dad brought my ashes home, Mom, who had claimed for years to be suffering from severe postpartum depression, suddenly told the truth. "Actually, I made the illness up. "We were never short on money, either. My company took off years ago. You never had to work six jobs a day until you nearly collapsed." Dad froze, then looked up at her in disbelief. Mom went on nonchalantly as if she were discussing nothing important. "And that day on the highway, it wasn't because my depression flared up and I lost control, leaving Caleb at the rest stop by himself. "He was spoiled by you. He actually dared to talk back to Adrian, so I left him there on purpose to teach him a lesson." Dad's eyes grew redder and redder. After a long moment, he forced one question through his locked throat. "Why?" Mom gave a light laugh. At the red light, she reached over and touched his earlobe, as if she were talking about a tiny, harmless joke. "Because you kept using my love for you as an excuse to bully Adrian. It was just a small punishment. "Now the punishment is over. Daniel, you really have suffered these past six years. I'll make it up to you from now on. "What about Caleb? Children recover quickly. He should be better by now, right? Why didn't he come home with you?" Dad looked at her through tears. Two seconds later, he suddenly laughed. With trembling fingers, he patted the urn in his arms. "He's here."

When I'm scouring for food in the dumpster, I get recognized and taken home by the richest man in the city, Maverick Clark. As soon as I get home, Camila Clark, the fake heiress who has taken my spot for many years, asks our parents with an aggrieved look, "Mom, Dad, now that the actual heiress is home, does that mean I have to leave now?" Upon noticing the frowns on my parents' faces, I quickly sink down on my knees and begin pleading to them pitifully. "Mom, Dad, if you don't like me, I'll just go back to the alley you found me at." Camila Clark, you stole my identity and the affection meant for me by pretending to be frail and weak in the previous life. That was how I ended up dying on the streets from starvation. This time, not only will I kick you out of the Clark family, but I'll also take back the assets and identity you've swindled from my parents by playing the pity card! Aren't you the most skilled in acting pitiful? Let's see who's better at tricking the Clarks into voluntarily giving away their assets and social standing on a silver platter!