Short Emotional Realism Stories & Novels

I check on family businesses in the countryside with my girlfriend, Mildred McClure, in tow. At noon, we stop by my uncle, Barron Cortez's, place for a simple lunch. Just as we are getting ready to leave, his new wife, whom he married just six months ago, Hilda Ross, rushes out and demands that we settle the bill. "Elden, you two just had the Supreme Farmhouse Set Meal, which is 1,888.80 dollars, and your girlfriend picked three organic, pesticide-free tomatoes in the garden. That's 199.80 dollars. "With an 80% service charge, your total comes to 3,800 dollars." Mildred is stunned. "Elden, do we have to pay to eat at your uncle's place?" I start to feel embarrassed, and my expression darkens as I look at Hilda, my supposed aunt, who's barely any older than me. "I've grown up eating at my uncle's place and never paid a single penny. Besides, your prices are downright outrageous!" Hilda calmly whips out a price menu and righteously declares, "That's all ancient history. Now, we're running a farmhouse business where all prices are clearly marked, so everyone pays the same rate. "Barron said you're some big boss in the city. Surely you're not going to stiff us over a little bill, are you?" She steps in front of the gate to block the exit with her body and shoots me a contemptuous look. "Even family settles their accounts. If you don't pay up today, don't even dream about stepping through this door!" While Mildred panics, I laugh in disbelief before taking out my phone and dialing Barron's number. "Uncle Barron, Hilda wants to settle accounts between family, so don't you think it's time we settled our accounts too?"

The wedding had reached the part where the groom kissed the bride. I closed my eyes and leaned in to kiss Stella Stafford, only to end up with a mouthful of fur. Her assistant held up the camera and burst out laughing. "The almighty Mr. Rowe can't even tell if he's kissing a person or a dog?" I stared at the Husky in front of me, its tongue lolling out, and felt my stomach churn. I was about to lay into him when Stella stepped in to block me. "It was just a joke. No hard feelings." Laurent Reilly smirked smugly, his tone dripping with arrogance. "And guess what? This Husky happens to be a female, so why don't you just marry her instead? You're not good enough for Stella anyway." The employees erupted in laughter. Mortified, I kicked him square in the chest, sending him sprawling. The next second, Stella smashed a wine bottle over my head and demanded an apology. I wiped the mix of wine and blood from my face, then dialed an overseas number with a cold grin. "The wedding is short one bride. You in?"

I got a security job in an upscale neighborhood.  One day, I got a call from a resident.  “I think there’s been a break-in.”  I rushed to the scene. Instead of an intruder, I was greeted by a beautiful woman in barely anything.  She held me and pleaded, “I’m scared. Can you stay with me?”

I paid Curtis Robinett 200 thousand dollars a month to be a standby blood donor. My fiancée, Eden May, thought it was a waste of money. So she reassigned him to work part-time as her personal assistant instead. When Curtis accidentally submitted my marriage license appointment as a divorce filing for the 99th time, I kicked open Eden's office door. She didn't even look up. "We're in no rush to get married anyway," she said calmly. "Curtis is just careless. That's how he's always been." Later, in the emergency room, I called Eden while doctors rushed around me, my throat shredded from yelling. "Where's my emergency medical kit?" I rasped. "What did you do with it?" Curtis answered instead, his voice warm and smug. "You mean the expensive leather bag you kept in the cabinet? I swapped it out for a large party snack box. It holds everything just fine, and honestly, it looks a lot more cheerful. "Ms. May's brother and sister-in-law are both career soldiers. Your bag didn't really match that image, so I thought this would be more appropriate." My vision dimmed. My hands shook as I told Curtis to come donate blood. Eden laughed softly and cut in, "Stop pretending you're anemic just to get attention. If you're actually sick, deal with it. You're at the hospital; I think the doctors are fully capable of keeping you alive. Curtis is afraid of needles. He's not coming." Then, she hung up. She didn't appear until the surgical lights finally went dark. "Curtis had me bring you chocolate milk," she said. "It's good for recovery. It's not that he didn't want to help. He just faints at the sight of blood." She placed a settlement waiver on my bed. "I was the one who told him not to come. That 200-thousand-dollar monthly salary is his pay as my assistant. It has nothing to do with you. You didn't have to call the police for that. Sign this, and I'll go get the marriage license with you." I thought of what I had just seen in the operating room. Eden's brother, Harvey May, was bleeding out on the operating table, waiting for a lifesaving drug that never came. In the final moments of surgery, he could do nothing but lie there and die. I looked at her and said evenly, "You're the immediate family. It's not my place to sign that."

When my wife, Katherine Johnson, and her childhood sweetheart, Zack Wilson, were on an overseas vacation, they somehow went missing. All they left for me was a newborn baby born of their affair. 20 years later, I make a post about my son, Wade, passing the exam and joining the police force. Unexpectedly, Katherine and Zack return to the country and decide to sue me. At the prosecutor's stand, Zack sports a slicked-back hairstyle and can be seen wearing a smart-looking suit. The things he says, however, are very rude. "Many years ago, Katherine and I got married after she got a divorce. She then gave birth to a son for me. Harry, who was jealous of our happiness, stole Wade from us! "We've been looking for Wade over the past 20 years, and yet Harry refuses to return him to us! As Wade's biological parents, we have the right to demand him back!" Katherine glares at me angrily as well. "Harry, did you steal Wade simply because you're infertile?" The court hearing is streamed live on various platforms. The viewers are enraged, to say the least. They begin bashing me in the comment section. "To think that he actually stole someone else's kid just because he doesn't have any kids of his own!" "He's the reason that kid was separated from his actual family! What a disgusting, vile man! He must return the custody to the kid's biological parents!" But when Wade does get summoned to the court, everyone is left shell-shocked.

I had not asked my mother for money in three months. She thought I had finally learned to be a good, obedient son and, in a rare act of mercy, sent me a message. "I already had Calvin pay the registration fee. Learn to be more sensible from now on. Stop thinking about scamming money from the family. "I know your dad is having a hard time right now, but since you chose to stay with me, you need to be on the same side as me." When she said this, she did not yet know that I had already transferred my in-state residency out. No one believed that I, Miles Hart, who appeared on the surface to be the young master of a wealthy family, had a closet filled entirely with clothes bought before my parents’ divorce. For three full years, there was not a single new piece of clothing. Every dollar I spent privately had to be submitted through an internal approval system, with a written application and justification. Even fees for school activities required screenshots of official notices and formal quotations. All expenses had to pass the review of my stepfather, Calvin Pierce. Just because my mother constantly suspected I was siding with my father and was afraid I would secretly funnel money to him. A month ago, I needed $500 for a math competition registration fee. Calvin rejected the request again and again. "There isn't enough justification. "Why do you have to participate in this competition? "Wait until the end of the month for unified approval." By the time approval finally came through, the registration window had already closed. Mom did not know that I had endured these three years for only one reason: an in-state residency, which would make college admissions easier. Now, I was officially recommended for admission to a top university. This family was no longer a place I needed to stay in.

At the company team-building event, I got called out by my colleague Samantha Rowler for not removing my price tag—she accused me of being a "freebie chaser." "Oh wow, Carla, you drive a BMW 5 Series. Are you seriously planning to return your clothes within seven days too?" she sneered. I tucked the tag back in and ignored her snide remark. But after the event, as soon as I got home, my phone started blowing up. My chat apps were going insane. A friend had sent me a link: [Luxury-Car Executive Turns Out to Be a Return Addict!] Someone had filmed me leaving the price tag on and posted it to a short-video platform. I opened the comment section and was met with a barrage of insults. [Can't afford to live, huh? Tag warrior.] [Is this car a sugar-daddy gift? Those who know, know.] [OMG, does this woman have some kind of illness? Which brand is this so I can avoid it!] I immediately knew Samantha was behind it. I messaged her to delete the video. Instead, the next second, she blocked me—and pinned a comment to the top of the thread: [You can know a person's face but never their heart!] I was about to post a statement to clarify, my finger hovering over the send button, when I noticed the video's likes had already shot past ten thousand. I laughed. If they wanted a scene, fine—let's make it bigger. I quickly posted a new update: [The outfit is really nice. I'll wear it again next time.] The netizens erupted. The insults doubled, the heat skyrocketed, and the post shot straight to number one trending. I just put my phone down and went to sleep.

Ever since my mom gave birth to her second child, everything in the household is tied to drawing lots. Everyone has to draw lots in order to decide whose favorite food will be served for each meal. We have to draw lots to see who among us gets a hug from our parents. Every time, I end up drawing the short end of the stick, so everyone automatically assumes that my younger sister, Anabelle Madden, gets the better lot. She easily reaps my parents' love without having to do anything at all. Whenever I feel like crying because of the injustice, Mom will scold me instantly. "I bought the lottery box because I was worried that you might feel upset about this. I'm doing this just to be fair to both of you. "If you want something, you have to be the one deciding who gets what. Your father and I won't interfere with your decision at all. Since you can't draw the better lot, that just means you have bad luck." Hence, I keep practicing my lot-drawing skills every day, hoping that I can eventually draw the better lot in order to obtain my parents' love. But for ten years, I never get to draw the better lot. Not even once. On my birthday, Anabelle wants to go to the amusement park, so Mom tells us to draw lots once again. I secretly glue two short lots together before giving it to Mom in an attempt to get her to stay with me. Instead, she slaps me and berates me for being a disobedient child who cheats in lot-drawing. Then, she leaves the house with Anabelle. When I fall to the floor, I feel the short sticks piercing through my neck.

When my ex-husband, Hanson Rowse, got remarried, I jumped into the ocean with our ten-year-old daughter, Tess Rowse, in my arms. The police called Hanson and my parents. The wedding reception was cut short, and they all rushed over. My soul hung in the air above it all, watching as Tess was pulled from the water. The sight of her hit like a blade to the chest. At the hospital, my parents looked at her with nothing but cold indifference. My brother, Edward Wells, didn't hesitate. He stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face. "You're just like your mother! Always causing trouble and pulling cheap stunts like this just to get attention." Hanson's fists clenched. He scanned the area, and when he couldn't see me anywhere, anger spilled into his eyes. "Where's Melody? She picked my wedding day to pull this stunt, and now she won't even show her face? If she really wanted to die, why leave behind this burden?" At his words, Tess suddenly moved. She stumbled toward the window, climbed up, and before anyone could react, she jumped. The room went dead silent for a heartbeat. Then, the screaming started. What they didn't know was this: the first thing Tess and I learned at that reform school was obedience.

My sister, Anna Hawkins, and I are twins, but I'm slightly heavier than her when we were born. Anna has always been weak and sickly since young, whereas I'm always active and healthy. When Anna was four years old, she was diagnosed with leukemia. Mom blamed me for stealing Anna's nutrients when I got born, so I needed to return the nutrients to her. When I got my blood extracted for the first time, a thick syringe was used on me. I was so scared when I saw it. Mom told me not to be scared. She gave me a magical pen, stating that whatever wish I wrote down with the pen would come true. I wrote, "It won't hurt." When the syringe was plunged into my arm again, Mom bought me a sweet lollipop. The pain never struck me again afterward. When I was five years old, I drew a strawberry cake on the paper while getting 1000cc blood withdrawn from me. That week, Anna could sit up in bed and play on her own. When I turned seven years old, I wrote down my wish that I'd like to go on a vacation. The next day, I was sent into the operating theater for the doctors to collect my hematopoietic cells. For the first time ever, Anna's cheeks became rosy. When I was eight years old, I wrote that I wanted to become the top student of my grade. But a day before my exams, my bone marrow was drawn from me. Anna finally got discharged by the hospital. She got to wear new dresses that I never got to wear. In the year I turn nine years old, my body is heavily depleted. With a trembling hand, I can only write down a line in messy handwriting. "I hope… that I won't become Mom's daughter in my next life."

My mom decides to implement an income-based rationing system. Everything at home is delegated to everyone based on their income. At a holiday dinner, I decide to grab myself an extra helping of pasta. As soon as I fill up my plate, my mom snatches it from my hands. "Hold on. Just look at the spread on the table. The sea bass is already worth 180 dollars. The scallops are worth 200, whereas the lobster goes for 300 dollars. "You only earn 3,000 dollars per month. If you want a second serving, you must pay up first. I'll charge you based on the family rate. It'll be three dollars, thank you very much." My mom sticks out three fingers while smiling at me.

My superior loved tricking me into wearing tight-fitting pencil skirts to serve wine to sleazy clients while sticking close to them. Then, she would hint that I was single and a valid target while she excitedly waited for the clients to make a move on me. It was all in the name of checking the integrity of the clients and whether they were worthy business partners or not. The moment a client fell for it, she would rush over with righteous anger and throw wine in their faces. Then, she would lecture me with a voice heavy with anguish. “Do you lack money so much that you’d throw your dignity away just for better results?” She would trample all over my dignity to set up her image as a refined, noble woman. This time, she even prepared a gown with a super low neckline and pushed me to serve a client with a rich and powerful background. She threatened me by saying that if I did not go, she would deduct my bonus for three whole months of full attendance. But when I saw the familiar, cold man sitting in the seat of honor, it was my turn to laugh. If my brother saw me serving wine in this kind of dress, I did not doubt that by tomorrow, the company would be under my name.

A Gen Z employee named Sylvie Mercer has reported me to the Department of Labor by claiming that I've forced all employees to work on the year-end holidays. But the truth is, I've given the entire company a nine-day vacation just to celebrate the year-end holidays. Those who are willing to work overtime shifts will be paid three times their usual salaries and given an additional five-thousand-dollar bonus. Sylvie keeps crying on the internet about how all the employees, including her, are forced to trade their lives for money. Thanks to her, the entire Internet keeps bashing me. So, I decide to follow the public opinion by releasing an announcement. "In order to ensure all employees' health, the company's doors shall be locked during the year-end holidays. Do note that the electric supply will be cut off as well. No one is permitted entry into the company." As soon as the announcement is released, the employees who plan on earning extra money in order to pay off their mortgages all rush toward my office in alarm.

For snacking in the office during overtime, I was fined 600,000 dollars by my manager! She was extremely furious as she pointed at me. “Taylor, don’t be so arrogant just because you’ve secured a deal! “You should be working in the office. Go home if you want to eat! “You’re violating company rules. No snacking during working hours! You should be punished since you’re aware of that rule! “You won’t be getting the 600,000-dollar commission from this deal!” I looked at her and said indifferently, “Suit yourself.” Then, I decided to slack. She could not stand it.

My daughter, Emma Blackwood, was sick. We were thirty thousand short of the treatment that could save her life. My husband, Nathan Blackwood, looked devastated, his face tight with guilt. "Honey, I'm sorry. This is my fault. I don't have the money to save our daughter." To pay for Emma's treatment, I worked four jobs daily, but during a restaurant shift, I saw Nathan rent the entire place to wine and dine another woman. With a bright smile, she poured him a drink. "Mr. Blackwood, you are generous. You spend tens of millions like it's nothing. You can have any woman you want, so why marry some broke, low-class woman?" Nathan slowly blew out a stream of smoke, his eyes full of contempt. "You wouldn't understand. Marrying a poor woman like that makes it fun. "Watching her humiliate herself over a little money, working herself to the bone. It's entertaining." My body went cold. I could barely breathe. So Nathan had been a wealthy heir all along, pretending to be poor and lying to me from the start. What he didn't know was this: I was the long-lost daughter of the richest family in the country. And with a single word from me, his entire world could be destroyed.

On the eve of my wedding, my parents returned from abroad, and my fiancée, Seraphina Vale, went into the kitchen to host them, preparing her specialty—passion fruit tea—for everyone. My parents, Edward and Eleanor Blackwood, and I had barely taken our first sip when the bodyguard, Alaric Sterling, standing beside her, burst into laughter. “You really are a family,” he said. “All of you drinking toad eggs as if they were passion fruit, savoring every mouthful.” Nausea rose instantly, and my parents and I retched uncontrollably, after which I swung my fist and went straight for him. But Seraphina shoved me away. “You were the one who called Alaric a toad before,” she said. “I was just helping him get even.” Alaric looked at me smugly. “Aren’t your parents biologists?” he said. “You should be thanking me for the hands-on experiment.” I lifted the scalding soup and splashed it at Alaric. Seraphina screamed as she ordered the other bodyguards to break my hand. “You insulted Alaric first,” she said. “That’s why he retaliated. What right do you have to lay a hand on him? “If anything happens to Alaric, you won’t get away with it.” I watched Seraphina hurriedly escort Alaric away, her face tight with concern. I turned to my parents. “Can you ask her if she’s still willing to marry me?”

Stanley Porter, my wife Jessica Evans’ close male friend, and I are both competing to be the next fire captain. In my first lifetime, I was chosen by a unanimous vote. On my very first night on duty as captain, Jessica came over to the fire station to celebrate with me. Sticking to my duties as captain, I didn't touch a single drop of alcohol. Yet, after drinking the chicken soup Jessica gave me, I fell into a deep sleep. That night, a massive fire broke out in the old district, resulting in the deaths of 58 people. Because I missed the station's alarm, I was accused of dereliction of duty and labeled as the main person responsible for the tragedy. The enraged families of the victims ended up beating me to death. In my second lifetime, I withdrew my name from the selection for captain. I handed the badge over to Stanley instead, saying, "You're better suited to be captain than I am." I'd assumed that this was enough to ensure that the fire couldn't be pinned on me. Yet, when the authorities looked into the fire, they ended up seeing me appear in the security footage from where the fire began. Everyone assumed I'd deliberately started the fire to get back at Stanley out of jealousy for losing out on the captain position. I now open my eyes again to live my third life. I watch as Stanley excitedly gives his speech on the podium after being made the captain. This time around, I submit a request for annual leave and take a cab straight to the airport.

It was almost New Year. I had just withdrawn money from the bank when I noticed that the amount on my passbook didn't match the cash in my hand. I counted carefully—my passbook showed a different figure than the five thousand dollars I was holding. Frustrated, I turned and went back to the counter to find the teller who had handled my transaction. Clutching the receipt, I tried to be polite. "Excuse me, I think there might be a mistake with this transaction." Instantly, she snapped, pointing her finger at my nose. "Don't you know that once you leave the counter, we are not responsible for any discrepancies?" I waved my hands, trying to explain. "No, wait, look again. I clearly withdrew five thousand dollars, but on my passbook, it shows…" She cut me off impatiently. "When you filled out the form, it was all right there. Once you leave the counter, it's not our problem. You signed the form yourself, confirming everything. Are we supposed to correct it every time someone claims a mistake after leaving the bank?" I froze. No wonder she kept repeating that the bank isn't responsible after leaving the counter. She thought I had come back to ask for more money. What I was really trying to explain was simple: I withdrew five thousand, yet my passbook showed that I deposited five thousand.

My mom is 71 years old. Thanks to her arthritis acting up, she's in so much pain that she can't descend the stairs at all. She tentatively calls me and asks if she can rent an apartment that comes with an elevator of its own. But my wife, Lucy Glaser, brings out the household ledger and points at the red numbers on the pages. "Last month, you bought yourself a tie, which is 300 dollars beyond our monthly budget. Yet now you're planning on adding another impulsive expense?" Only then do I realize that I don't even have the freedom to buy myself a tie despite earning an annual salary of tens of millions of dollars. My mom is still trying to explain herself in a humble tone over the phone. "Oh, please don't feel troubled about it, Caleb. I was just asking on a whim. I've already grown used to my old home anyway…" After I end the call, I feel rather stuffy in my chest. What's there for me to feel troubled about? After all, I'm a partner of a top-tier law firm who earns tens of millions of dollars every year. The one who keeps standing in my way is Lucy, who's only a mid-level lawyer yet insists on controlling my finances. She also calls herself the best candidate for the household asset allocation.

My friend introduced me to an online card game. I won 150 thousand dollars in only one night. The hot female dealer contacted me privately. “Mister, you can give me a video call when you top up to a certain amount. Plus, there’s an extra benefit. You can do whatever you want with me.”