Best Friend Tragic Love Short Stories & Novels

My boyfriend was obsessed with efficiency and despised anything he considered a waste of time. When it came to our wedding rehearsal, he dismissed it as unnecessary and canceled it. When we went to City Hall to get our marriage license and saw a line, he turned around and left without a second thought. On our anniversary, I made reservations at an exclusive restaurant with private dining rooms, where we wouldn't have to wait in line. I even arrived early at his office to pick him up, hoping to avoid any delays that might give him an excuse to cancel our date. But as I walked in, I overheard his employees whispering among themselves. "Mr. Meyer has been waiting in line for the staff elevator every day just so he can ride down with Lucy." Sure enough, outside the elevator bank, Levi Meyer stood at the end of a line. It was something I'd never seen him do before. As they waited, he chatted leisurely about work with my best friend, Lucy Carr. When they finally reached the ground floor, I hurried over to meet them, only to be greeted by the irritation on Levi's face. "Emilie, we haven't even gotten our marriage license or had our wedding yet, and you're already rushing around acting like my wife?" I could only shake my head. To avoid office gossip and any appearance of a conflict of interest, Levi had strictly forbidden me from visiting his office. Yet here I was, having rushed all the way over in stilettos because I was afraid that he'd complain about delays and cancel our date yet again. Just then, Lucy suddenly looked alarmed. "Oh, no! I left my laptop upstairs. I have to go back for it. Don't wait for me." Levi stopped her, his tone softening at once. "I'll get it for you. You take Emilie and head out." He turned around and walked straight back to the end of the line, ready to wait for the elevator all over again. In one second, I realized that this relationship, one that wasn't even worth his time, was finally over.

I have zero sense of direction. I could visit a place ten times and still get lost. So Paxton Levis spent an entire week hand-drawing every street around our school onto a set of maps. There was no north, south, east, or west on them. Only labels like "the convenience store with the yellow dog out front" and "the old man who sells terrible hot dogs." He'd ruffle my hair and say, "What would you do without me?" That was how it went, until my best friend Patricia Sandler came back from studying abroad. On our graduation trip together, Paxton told me to get out of the car and check whether something was wrong with it. I'd barely gotten both feet on the ground before the car pulled away without me. A message came through from him. Paxton: [There's a rest stop three kilometers up the road. Patricia and I will wait for you there. Patricia is right. If nobody ever pushes you, you're never going to learn your way around.] I walked for an hour through a downpour, working myself into a panic, before Paxton sent me a hand-drawn map. It had arrows on it, and a cute little smiley face doodled in the corner. [Just follow this. Twenty minutes, tops.] But my legs ached with every step, and the route kept drifting further off course, until I ended up in a dead end. I called Paxton. Patricia's bright laugh came through instead. "Congratulations, sweetie, you took a wrong turn! "Paxton and I made a bet on whether you'd figure out he flipped the arrows on purpose. I said you wouldn't. Guess I know you better than he does. "So for the rest of the trip, it's just going to be Paxton and me. Dragging you along is honestly way too much trouble." Paxton's voice came through next to hers, doting and amused. "A bet's a bet. I'll listen to whatever you want." Depending on someone else comes at too high a price. High enough that when he finally walked away, I didn't even know which direction was which anymore. I wiped my eyes. This time, I want to find my own way.

For the 13th time, an AI-generated photo pops up on my feed, showing my best friend, Gwen Spalding, and my boyfriend, Andrew Gunnell, wrapped in each other's arms. Gwen's still a mess after getting dumped so suddenly, so I assume she's mixed Andrew up with someone else again. Then a comment stops me cold. "I was there. Joyce tried to brush it off before and claimed the picture was AI-generated, but let's see her deny this! Besides, look at them. A guy as hot as Andrew belongs with a knockout like Gwen. They look way better together." Attached to the comment is a candid photo of Gwen and Andrew wrapped in each other's arms, in the exact same pose as the picture on my feed. I screenshot the comment and send it straight to Andrew. Instead of explaining himself, he turns it around on me. "You know exactly why I didn't tell you. Gwen's in a really bad place right now. What am I supposed to do, stand back and watch her ruin her life? "The second I show her even a little kindness, you get jealous. Joyce, you really haven't changed at all." Before I can answer, he hangs up on me. I pull up Gwen's social media feed again, and this time, I notice what I missed before. Her first post is from the new restaurant I've told Andrew countless times I want to try with him. The second is from the movie we made plans to see a month ago. I keep scrolling. Everything I'd been looking forward to doing with Andrew, every plan he'd backed out of with one excuse after another, is right there in Gwen's photos. My vision blurs with tears. I reach into the trash, pull out the five-year exchange agreement for Caldria I tossed away moments ago, and sign my name. Once I'm gone, they won't have to lie to me anymore.

At the company team dinner, my boyfriend, Jax Vance, went out of his way to grab two drinks. He handed one to Chloe Ward, my best friend sitting across from us. He set the other one down in front of me. My friend smiled and bowed her head. "You're so thoughtful, Jax. You always remember my stomach can't handle ice." I looked down at the mango slush. I pushed the cup away without a word. "What's wrong?" Jax asked casually. "I'm deathly allergic to mangoes," I said. "Did you forget again?" He paused for a second. Then he let out a careless laugh. "It's not a big deal," he said. "Just scoop the fruit out." He remembered every detail about her. She didn't eat cilantro. She hated onions. She only drank her tea with thirty percent sugar and no ice. But he forgot that my throat would close up if I touched a mango. To him, that was just something I could "scoop out." I finally saw the truth. When someone didn't care, even life-or-death moments would mean nothing to them. On the ride home, I sat alone in the backseat. I watched the two of them in the front. They looked so good together. Suddenly, a strange wave of relief washed over me. A relationship where my life didn't even matter? I didn't want it anymore.

The wolfsbane had reached my bones, and I decided to stop treatment. Once, Ethan Anderson, the pack's Alpha, was the only light in my life. He promised we would travel the continent together, chasing the northern lights across frozen plains and exploring ancient ruins. But while I lay dying from wolfsbane poisoning, he took Murphy Blake, my best friend and the person I trusted most, to every place I had dreamed of seeing. My dreams became the story of how they fell in love. I was ready to let go. I wanted only to see the final place on my list. Then the antidote shattered, my ticket was soaked in blood, and Ethan abandoned me alone in the frozen wilderness. My life entered its final countdown. And there, at the edge of death, I discovered a secret that would change the fate of every werewolf. Ten years later, when the wolfsbane curse that had plagued werewolves for a thousand years was finally broken and everyone called me their savior, Ethan finally understood: He hadn't merely lost a mate who loved him. He had lost the one person who once would have spent her last breath waiting for him to turn back. But by then, I no longer needed his love.

At our class reunion, my so-called best friend, Shannon Drew, pulled out a box stuffed with folded notes. A line was taped across the top— [Draw one of Mia Martinez's hopeless-romantic quotes.] The room burst out laughing. Someone pulled a love letter I'd written to Damien Byford senior year. "Damien smiled at me today. I want to give him all my tomorrows, too." Someone else grabbed one from college. "It's okay if he doesn't text back. He'll think of me when he's not busy." Damien had never replied to a single letter. I'd always figured he'd tossed them years ago. Then Shannon drew letter No. 99. Leaning against Damien, she laughed as she read, "If you ever decide you don't want me anymore, I'll still wish you happiness." Damien snatched it from her. "Don't go too far. She embarrasses easily." He told her to stop, but that grin said otherwise. He wanted to see me humiliated too. As Shannon kept reading, she accidentally knocked the box sideways. I bent to pick it up and spotted two tiny lines taped underneath: [Updated monthly. For entertainment only.]

After I gave birth to Yates Zane's child, Leo Zane, I developed severe postpartum depression. I'd pressed a knife to my own wrist countless times. Every time, Yale fought with everything he had to hold me back when I lost control. "Don't do this. Think about the baby and me. We're here with you..." My sister, Claire Cole, and my best friend, Winnie Blake, even grabbed knives and held the blades to their own wrists. "You want to die? Fine. Then we'll die with you. Is that enough?" After that day, I committed myself to treatment. I couldn't bear to let anyone else get hurt because of me. Yet just when I thought I was finally about to see the light again, my sister took me to a wedding. There, standing on the stage were Yates and Winnie, the bride and groom of the hour. My mind went blank with a deafening buzz. The blood in my veins seemed to freeze. Claire gazed at the couple onstage with envy. "They should've had this wedding five years ago. "Your depression was the only reason the two of them spent all these years trapped by guilt." Then she suddenly turned to me. "Do you get it now? We've all been miserable because of you. "Let him go."

On the day of our fifth anniversary, I got into a fight with my boyfriend, Tyrus Aberg. My best friend, Claire Dawson, sent me a screenshot. [Proxy Girlfriend: Thirty Days] Below it was Tyrus' reply. [Approved.] Every time we fought, Tyrus would deliberately have Claire act as his proxy girlfriend. He said I only dared to pick fights with him because I felt too secure in the relationship. He figured that as long as Claire got close to him and made me feel threatened, I would get jealous and tearfully beg him to reconcile. Three years ago, after one argument, he and Claire changed to matching couple profile pictures. "You've got one day to think it over. She'll be my proxy girlfriend for now. I'll only reconcile with you when you apologize." One day turned into three days. What started as switching profile pictures escalated into dates, hand-holding, and hugging. The last time I refused to cave for a whole week, he moved in with Claire. Claire spent the night wearing his shirt and showed up to parties with him as his girlfriend. He said, "You'll only feel jealous when Claire becomes my proxy girlfriend. "She's your best friend. No matter how close she and I get, it doesn't count as cheating." After this fight, he extended Claire's stint as his proxy girlfriend to a full month. A video call came in right after. "Lay-lay, it's your fifth anniversary today. "If you don't apologize soon, I'll be the one going home with Tyrus to meet his parents this Thanksgiving." On the other end, friends started laughing and counting down. They were all waiting for me to get jealous, cry, and beg Tyrus to reconcile, just like always. But I just left the three-person "Proxy Girlfriend" group chat. [A month is too short.] [Make it permanent this time.]

When I was ten years old, I suddenly gained the ability to see red threads connecting people’s heads. Only those who had actually slept together would be bound by this unavoidable red line. Over the years, two extra red threads popped up over my father’s head, driving my mother to threaten to file for divorce again and again. Because of this, loyalty became the single most important thing I looked for in a partner. In the end, I chose Jasper—a modest, reserved man whose head was completely clean. On the night before our wedding, my bridesmaids hosted a bachelorette party. We played a game where whoever lost had to hand over their phone for the rest of us to snoop through. When it was my maid of honor Jean’s turn, she clutched her phone tightly, her face flushing red as she bashfully giggled. “Don’t look at mine! He wore me out so late last night. Those photos are definitely not fit for public viewing.” Everyone teased her for keeping her relationship so secretive, since no one had ever met her boyfriend. I was just about to step in and smooth things over when I suddenly saw a bright red thread stretch straight out from the top of her head. It wove right through the crowd and anchored itself directly onto my fiancé, Jasper. Yet, when he dropped me off at home last night, his head had been entirely clean. In fact, just half an hour ago, he had sent me a text. [Aria, I’ve saved myself for you for twenty-five years. On our wedding night tomorrow, I can finally have you. I love you!] I looked over at Jasper standing outside the door, staring at me with deep affection, and then back at Jean, whose face was glowing with passion. I raised my glass and clinked it gently against hers. “Jean, is your boyfriend’s last name Cook?”

My best friend and I were in relationships with the brothers from the Wilson Family, and we both got pregnant at the same time. She flaunted her relationship publicly, making everyone in Junopia know that Rick had left the monastery for her. On the other hand, I kept silent about my relationship with the heir of the Wilson Family. Thus, everyone mistakenly thought I was single. That was until my best friend saw my pregnancy report. In a fit of rage, she rallied a group of friends, stormed into my dorm, and vandalized my room with food waste. "I thought you were my best friend, and here you are, trying to steal my man," she accused. Not only did she live-stream this accusation, trying to paint me as the other woman, but she also spiked my chicken soup, hoping to get rid of my unborn child. In defiance, I poured the contaminated soup over her head. "Just so you know, Rick isn't the only Wilson brother," I retorted. Later, Rayden, the man who controlled Junopia, wrapped his arm around me and declared icily, "I've heard troubling rumors about my wife being called a mistress. We need to talk."

My best friend Chloe and I married into the mob. We married two brothers. I married the monster, Don Adriano. She married his wild younger brother, Lorenzo. It was an arranged marriage. I expected nothing. His heart belonged to his childhood sweetheart, Isabella. Then my father died. My autistic brother, Leo, became my world. I signed over my family’s entire shipping empire to Adriano. He held me that night. Kissed the tears from my eyes. He swore he’d protect us forever. I believed him. That was my mistake. Three days ago, a rival family hit us. They left Leo bleeding out in my arms. I got him to our private hospital. It was empty. Not a single doctor on duty. I called Adriano, screaming for help. He had sent every last doctor to Isabella’s villa. "A storm's coming. Isabella is terrified of thunder. The stress could trigger her heart condition. I can't risk it. Your brother has a scratch. Patch him up. I’ll deal with it tomorrow." He hung up. While Isabella slept safely in his arms, I lost my brother. I cried all night, holding Leo's cold body. When I woke up, I told Chloe I wanted a divorce. She held me, sobbing. She said she was leaving Lorenzo, too. The Moretti brothers didn't know a thing until they were both served divorce papers. Then they went insane.

The day before our wedding, Luke Murray got wasted. On the ride home, he looked right at me and slurred, "Cassie, don't bring the kid to the ceremony. Arya can't know I'm the dad." I hit the brakes. Hard. He smacked into the seatback, halfway sobering up. When he finally realized it was me, he just... froze. Then he said real slow, "Guess you heard. Wedding's off—for now. Cassie doesn't want marriage, but the kid's mine, so I gotta step up. She's your bestie, right? You probably feel bad she's doing this alone. So once he's in school, I'll come back and marry you." I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "...That's fine. I don't mind." He didn't say a word when we got home—just grabbed his suitcase and left. I wiped the last tear off my face, sat on the bed, and just stared at nothing. Then my phone lit up. My childhood friend's voice cracked on the other end. "Arya, don't marry him. Please." I didn't say anything for a sec. "Okay."

It was the national holiday when my husband, Damon Fuchs, married another woman behind my back in Kanna. The woman standing beside him in the video was my best friend, Mila Kirk. The page boy was the boy Mila had claimed was her nephew—the child I had raised for years. Now he was calling her "Mommy" and Damon "Daddy." Behind them, my own parents and mother-in-law sat in the front row, clapping the loudest. It was only then that I understood: the so-called vacation, Mila's supposed nephew—those were all lies. I projected the wedding video onto the living room TV, letting it play on loop for three days until they finally returned. Seeing what was on TV, Mila grabbed Damon's arm and cried, "Please don't get upset, Yvie. We're not getting married—it's a divorce. "Yes, it's true that Jojo is our son, but we lied because we didn't want to worry you." Damon's response was worse. "We just got needy on a business trip a few years ago—we only registered the marriage for fun. It's all over now, so quit being so dramatic." So that's why he proposed, lavished me with a grand wedding ceremony, and even agreed to try for a baby with me. The only thing he refused was to register our marriage, denying me fulfillment from a legal angle as he had bound himself to someone else long ago. Looking at our wedding photo on the wall, I lowered my eyes. "I'm not being dramatic. I'm just done with this life."

My name is Greta Ellsworth. In my past life, my best friend, Poppy McKellen, and I both married into the Lockwood family. They are a prestigious household with a long-standing legacy in alternative medicine. Poppy marries the eldest son, Bruce Lockwood, while I marry the younger son, Owen Lockwood. Poppy gives birth to three children with Bruce. They each grow up to be prodigies in medicine. Meanwhile, I have only one daughter with Owen—Wendy Lockwood. Sadly, Wendy struggles with even the most basic math and isn't very bright. Owen's pride takes over, and he is left feeling utterly embarrassed. Years later, I take Wendy to a medical symposium. When she shyly whispers, "Dad," the crowd erupts in laughter. Enraged and humiliated, Owen stabs Wendy to death. Before I can react, he turns my way and strikes me down as well. When I open my eyes again, I realize that both Owen and I have been reborn. I take in the scene of our families' matchmaking event once more. This time, Owen reaches for Poppy's hand and says, "I like you. Will you marry me?"

After secretly dating Nicholas Jones for three years, I got tired of keeping our relationship hidden, so I decided to share a little something about us online. But before I could hit publish, my coworker leaned over my shoulder and squealed, "Oh my God! You're following those two, too?" I followed her finger to the hottest thread on our company's gossip forum. One glance was enough to make my heart ache. The couple everyone in the building was obsessed with? My boyfriend and my best friend. My coworker kept gushing, completely unaware. "They meet on the fourth-floor terrace every single day. He always brings her cigarettes and snacks. "And you know what's even cuter? They lean in close to light each other's cigarettes. When it snows, they even tuck their hands into each other's coat pockets! Everyone's betting on when they'll finally go public." She kept talking, but I barely heard a word. The ringing in my ears drowned out everything. I took a screenshot of the thread and sent it to our group chat, the one with just the three of us. Nicholas replied with a single sentence. "It's a misunderstanding." … That evening, I ran into Nicholas and my best friend by the elevators. I had spent three years pretending we were not together, but maybe it was finally time for everyone to know the truth. I reached for the scarf in Nicholas' hand, ready to make our relationship public. Yet, he casually moved out of my reach and wrapped it around my best friend's neck instead. A few people nearby started snickering, and suddenly everything clicked. I thought, 'Of course everyone thought they were dating. Neither of them had ever bothered to set the record straight.' The elevator doors opened. Nicholas held one open, frowning at me. "Come on. We'll talk on the way." I stepped back and smiled. "No. I'm not going with you." After three years of being his dirty little secret, I was done—and so were we.

After the four others in my group forgot my birthday three years running, they finally promised to join me for a stand-up show this year. On the day, I arrived early with five pricey tickets I’d bought. All I needed was to wait and pass them out: one for my fiancé, one for my best friend, one for my childhood friend, one for my adopted sister. I was holding the last ticket for myself when a hand stretched toward it. I spotted a strange werewolf behind my adopted sister Marian. “This is Leah, a classmate. She just split with her boyfriend and wants the show to cheer up,” My childhood friend Noah said cheerfully. “We’ve got extra tickets. Della won’t mind, she hates seeing Leah hurt.” My best friend Lisa linked arms with me. “I got your favorite chestnut cake. You can go collect it now.” Marian hesitated and offered to give Leah her own ticket, but Noah and Lisa cut her off at once. “No, you’ve been looking forward to this forever. We planned to watch together.” My fiancé Victor snatched the ticket from my grasp and handed it to Leah. “Let Leah take it. You aren’t that into stand-up. It’s freezing out here. Go get the cake and head home. We’ll celebrate your birthday after the show.” Marian had to go in as we’d arranged, Leah had to go in to mend her broken heart. I was the only one with no place inside. They forgot I planned this whole outing and paid for every ticket. This was meant to be my birthday, yet I ended up locked out. I stood there watching the five of them file forward for ticket checks. It dawned on me: in our little group, only four seats were permanent. The fifth was never guaranteed to be me. It could be anyone. Right then, I knew I didn’t need them for my birthday. And I didn’t need them in my life at all.

My best friend and I signed up for the Dual Marriage System so the cancer wouldn't kill me. She and I managed to steal the hearts of the Hopkin brothers. Naturally, we became in-laws. Seven years later, my husband's son told me I was dull and useless. Meanwhile, my best friend's husband slammed her behind bars for the sake of his old flame. When she was released, the last thing she told me was, "Live on." Then, she rushed into the oncoming traffic and was crushed into a pulp by a speeding truck.

On my wedding day, the crowd kept teasing us newlyweds. A friend asked me, "What's the most insane thing you've done for him?" I smiled. "Letting him tattoo his own special mark on me despite my bleeding disorder." Then, they asked the groom who was outside the room. "And what's the most insane thing you've done?" He paused for a moment. "That tattoo is the name of the miscarried child I had with her best friend." Everyone went white and exchanged looks, then someone tried to defuse the situation. "Still a joker, Zack." Zack Gray said solemnly, "It's not a joke, but that's not the most insane thing. I did it with her best friend the whole night before the wedding, and we did it right on the bed she's sitting on." I frowned, my heart pounding wildly. No wonder my best friend would tear up every time she looked at my tattoo. I sneered. If that was how he wanted to play, then I would do something crazy too.

In my third year working overseas as a war correspondent, a grenade blast left me wounded and stripped me of my memories. The PTSD that followed was severe enough to keep me in a psychiatric hospital for two years. It wasn't until two months ago that I finally remembered who I was. The day I came home, my best friend and my husband met me at the airport, both of them crying harder than I was. Russell Ellison's eyes were red-rimmed, but his voice was as gentle as ever. "The new place is all set up. Move in for now. I'll come keep you company after work." I went back to our old house instead. The moment I pushed the door open, I saw a wedding photo hanging on the wall. The bride in it wasn't me. It was my best friend. A key turned in the lock outside. The man who was supposed to be buried in work at the office walked in, fingers laced with hers. A child was tucked against his chest, calling him "Daddy" in a small, unsteady voice. I stood frozen, too stunned to breathe. We'd only been apart for two years. So how was their child already three?

Damian Pierce said we should be a minimalist couple. There was no need for gifts, holidays, and grand gestures. “True love doesn’t need material proof.” My best friend, Sienna Moore, even backed him up. “Exactly. Your husband really gets it. Unlike my ex, who did nothing but shower me with designer bags.” I nodded. We lived that minimalist life for four years. In all that time, I never received a single bouquet of flowers, and not once did he surprise me. On my birthday, he posted a photo of us on his social media with the caption: [Minimalist living. The best gift is simply being together.] The post got over 200 likes. I left a little heart in the comments. Then I came across Sienna’s private account. She had limited-edition handbags, custom-made jewelry, and a room filled with roses. [Someone once said true love doesn’t need material proof, but he insists on proving it to me.] The location was at the presidential suite of a five-star hotel. The date was my birthday. I scrolled through her posts from the past four years. Every single one had been posted on a day that was supposed to belong to Damian and me. Every gift she received had Damian’s taste written all over it. I exited her feed and removed the heart from his post. Just as casually, I ended our relationship.