Plot Twists-Kurzgeschichten & Bias Biological Family-Kurzromane

My parents are music professors, and their university is always hosting these music salons and exchange events. But they never took me. After I graduated from college, I was desperate to see what it was like, so I begged my mother for a visitor's pass. She was busy helping my sister Ella fill out an application for one of those concerts, and she cut me off cold: "Everyone attending is a top-tier musician. You can't even read sheet music—walking in there, you'd just stick out like a sore thumb." A few days later, I stood in the freezing wind, listening to the applause rolling out from the auditorium. My sister stood at center stage, performing alongside a bunch of renowned musicians. That night, my mom posted a proud photo of Ella's performance on social media. Graceful. Composed. Radiant. The comments were all flattery—until one relative asked: [Why didn't you bring your Seraphina along to soak up some of the spotlight?] My mom replied: [She has zero musical talent. Too much of a philistine. Not her scene.] I stared at my phone, glancing at the six-figure offer from Wall Street, and let out a helpless laugh. My mom always favored the kid she thought was brilliant—never had a clue that I was shining somewhere else entirely. Three days left until I move out of Ohio for good. I'm taking everything she called "philistine" about me and walking out of her precious little music kingdom forever.

I'm the middle child. My older sister, Jessica Carter, is a straight-A student. My little brother, Tommy Carter, is the baby of the family. I'm the one everyone overlooks, yet Mom and Dad are always praising me in front of other people. "Riley is such an easy child. She never asks for new clothes and is perfectly happy wearing Jessica's hand-me-downs." "When there are only two pieces of bacon left at the table, she won't even reach for them. She just keeps her head down and eats her toast as if she hasn't noticed." "Jessica shuts herself in her room to study, and Tommy hogs the TV. But even at ten years old, Riley insists on doing the dishes and sweeping the floors. We can't get her to stop." The day before Christmas Eve, Dad comes home beaming. "My bosses gave me four tickets for a cruise! We're taking a Christmas cruise to Cranford!" Mom looks around at all of us before asking quietly, "But… who's going back to Grandma's place to spend Christmas with her?" All four of them turn to look at me. I raise my hand at once. "I'll stay with Grandma!" Dad gives me a thumbs-up. "That's my girl! We can always count on you. Take good care of Grandma." But they have no idea what was waiting for me… By the time I got to Grandma's house on Christmas Eve, she's already dead. Mom, Dad, I'm sorry. I've let you down. You trusted me to take care of Grandma, but I've failed you… I sit beside Grandma's cold, lifeless body, lost in thought for what feels like forever. Then I quietly open the cupboard and take out the bottle of pesticide. I've made up my mind. I'm going to punish myself the only way I know how—quietly, without making a fuss.

My sister, Nancy Wood, wanted to be the family's only child, so my mother had my name changed and handed my identification documents over to my grandmother. She even told me I had to pay for everything if I wanted to live under their roof. The change and coupons Nancy got from her shopping were the sole source of allowance I'd get. If she saved 30 dollars from her shopping trips, I would get 30 dollars next month. It was the last day for all students to enter their applications for college. I begged my sister to let me use her computer. She extended her hand. "You have to pay me 20 bucks." I fished all the money out of my pocket. I only had 19 dollars. So, I hastily blurted in a panic, "I'm only one dollar short. Please!" Nancy arched her eyebrow at me and shook her head. "Don't even think about it! It's 20 bucks and not a penny less! If you can't afford it, then don't use it! It's not as if someone's pointing a gun at you for you to go to college!" My mother watched at the sidelines impassively. Then, she took Nancy's side. "She's right. You remember the rules. You can't use our stuff for free!" Time was running out. I barged into my room to scrounge for money. Fortunately, I finally found a dollar in the corner of my bed. Then, I charged right at the computer, ignoring Nancy's sullen mood. The notification froze me to my bones. "Application time is up." It expired just a minute ago. My eyes were glued to the screen, my blood turning to ice under my skin. I could distantly hear my mother comforting Nancy. "She's just some distant relative. You shouldn't get worked up over her." A surge of bitterness welled up inside me as I sent a message to my teacher, "I'll go to Lorantia." After all, I was nothing but a relative. So, I should know my place and stop troubling them any further.

My childhood sweetheart and my older brother both fell in love with Rose, the Omega who had just sought refuge from the Northern Pack. The one who broke our engagement said, "Grace is the kind of Luna who was born to stand beside an Alpha. I’m just not worthy of her." The other had forgotten our mother’s dying words. "Rose has suffered so much. If I share half the love I gave you with her, that wouldn’t be too much, would it?" On the day of my birthday, my mate chose to throw a party for Rose instead. On the anniversary of our mother’s death, my brother was happily celebrating with Rose and her mother, helping deliver her kitten. They went with her to the Snowpine Pack to take part in the Royal Totem Insignia Design Contest and personally draped the cloak of honor over her shoulders. And me? I set fire to the house that held all our memories. I drank a potion bought from a witch, severed every mind-link I had, and faked my death in that fire, then left the Northern Pack without a word. When news of my death reached Snowpine, those two men, who had already cast me aside, went mad with grief. They rushed back to the Northern Pack overnight and collapsed in front of the burned-down house, crying like their hearts had been ripped out.

Ten years after I'm abducted, I'm finally rescued and brought home. From that day on, Mom and Dad make me the center of their world. They even burn through their savings and move to another city for me. But those ten years leave me with severe depression. One day, I take a razor blade to my wrist. Dad grabs the blade with his bare hand. "If you die, what are your mom and I supposed to do?" All that attention soon starts to suffocate me. Eventually, I snap and smash up all the furniture in the house. Even then, Mom just pulls me into her arms and comforts me over and over. "It's okay, sweetheart. It's all over now." Then my younger adopted sister, Nancy Bonner, asks one simple question. "Is Jenny ever going back to where she lived before?" That's all it takes. Dad drags her out of her chair and starts beating her. However, that day Nancy comes down with a fever and has to go to the hospital, all I do is say I'm afraid of the dark. Mom whips around and stares at me in disbelief. "How can you be so selfish? I wish I'd never had you." Dad shoves me toward the door. "You're afraid of the dark? It's not even dark outside. Why didn't you just die out there? We already give you all our attention, and somehow it's still not enough. You're heartless. You're no daughter of mine!" Mom holds Nancy tight and hurries out the door with Dad. Just before they leave, Nancy looks back at me and mouths, "Mom's mine." Then they leave me alone in the dark. I pick up the razor blade from the floor and use every ounce of strength I have to crawl to my bedroom.

There was a whiteboard hanging on the wall of our house. Written right across the center was a countdown to my end. [Estimated time until Freya's heart failure: 47 days.] Every morning, my mother meticulously wiped away yesterday’s number and wrote down the new one. It was like a countdown for a store clearance sale—precise, detached, and filled with quiet anticipation. My name is Freya Mason, and I’m twelve years old. I was born with a congenital heart defect. The specialists told my family that without a three-million-dollar surgery, I wouldn't survive another six months. My father, Daniel Mason, is worth over two billion dollars. Yet, he looked at my life and said, "Three million dollars just isn't worth the investment." Because in his eyes, there was already a healthy child in the house. My eight-year-old brother, Andy Mason, was bright, handsome, a talented pianist, and a master at charming adults. He was the only child in this family who was actually worth something.

My sister came home three years after she went missing. But every time she saw me, she lost control and tried to kill herself. She blamed me for failing to protect her. My parents begged me with tears in their eyes. "Move down to the basement. We owe her this much. Don't hold it against her. Once she gets better, you can move back upstairs, okay?" I agreed. Seven years passed, and I slowly became invisible in my own home. Then, this Christmas, Mom finally invited me to celebrate with the family. I had barely picked up the knife to cut the cake when my sister suddenly screamed. I jumped up, but before I could react, my sister snatched the cake knife and slashed her own wrist. Mom lunged at me and grabbed my arm. "Who told you to pick up the cake knife? Don't you know she can't stand the sight of knives? Are you trying to kill her?" Her yank sent me tumbling down the stairs. Mom and Dad were too busy comforting my sister to hear my neck snap. As they crowded around her, I finally realized the truth. No one in this family cared if I lived or died.

For the third time, Mom complains that the fridge isn't cooling properly. I know she's waiting for me to offer to buy a new one. Mom's always saying I'm the one holding this family together. She constantly reminds me that my younger sister, Celia Kessler, only makes 2,000 dollars a month and can't be expected to help. So everything falls on me. When Mom says her bedroom is too hot, I grit my teeth and buy her a new air conditioner. When Dad complains about his constant neck pain, I scrape a living for a month so I can afford a neck massager for him. Last year, I even paid for most of the renovations on the house, scrimping and saving to cover the cost. I've been working for five years and make 8,000 dollars a month. But by the end of every month, I don't even have 500 dollars left. Seeing that I'm not going to say anything, Mom slams her fork down on the table and shoots me a glance. "They say you have kids so someone will take care of you when you're old. Guess I wasn't that lucky!" My chest tightens, and suddenly the food in my mouth is hard to swallow. I'm about to say something when the front door opens. Celia calls out cheerfully, "Mom, I got paid almost 10,000 dollars! You and Dad don't need to give me the usual 4,000 this month!" I look up, stunned. Celia walks in carrying the latest tablet, and my boyfriend, Bryan Alston, is right behind her. He told me he had a client meeting today. That's when I realize where the money has really been going. Every month, I give Mom an extra 5,000 dollars for household expenses, and she's been giving most of it to Celia. Everyone depends on me, but somehow I'm the one who has the least.

I come home for the holidays to find four pairs of slippers beside the shoe cabinet. There's a pair for my dad, Dean Pratt, a pair for my mom, Nancy Kerr, and two pairs for my sister, Luna Pratt, including a spare. Mine isn't there. Although my sister attended school in another state, kept her room exactly as it was. Even her slippers sit by her bedside, waiting for her return. I had been away from home for three years. When I returned, I discovered that my belongings had disappeared one by one. And now, they hadn’t even kept a pair of slippers for me. I stand in the entryway, my feet bare. "Where’s my pair?" Mom pokes her head out. "You hardly ever come back, so I threw them away. They were taking up space." But the soles of my sister’s spare pair had already been worn smooth, and they were still neatly sitting in their original place. The next day, I buy a new pair for myself at the supermarket and put them beside the shoe cabinet. That night, I check the shoe cabinet and find them gone. Dad is watching TV on the couch. "Luna's classmate came over, so I gave them to her." "I just bought them." Dad doesn't even turn around. "It's just a pair of slippers. Get another one." Luna pauses. "Huh? I thought Mom had bought them for guests." It makes sense. Guest slippers were supposed to be thrown away once the guest had left.

I am directionally challenged. I don't remember routes well, and I get lost quite easily. Wyatt Zimmerman, my best friend, refuses to believe me and insists on helping me fix this problem. He even gets Queenie Jackson, my foster sister, and Yvonne Lambert, my childhood sweetheart, on board to put me through "special training". They get off the subway before I do whenever we travel, leaving me alone at the station. They quietly leave through another entrance whenever we go shopping, leaving me wandering alone like a fool as I search for them. They always say it's to train my sense of direction. I step away to use the restroom during lunch today, and by the time I return, the three of them are gone again—even the table is completely cleared. I am about to make a call when I realize I have given my phone to Wyatt to hold on to. I walk to the front desk to ask about them, and the receptionist hands me a note from Wyatt. It merely states, "We've taken you along this route twice already, Scott, so I'm sure you remember it by now. You can do it! We'll be waiting for you at home!" I suddenly realize how pointless this whole training is. There's honestly nothing wrong with having no sense of direction. I can find my way without anyone's help as long as I have my navigation app on my phone.

My older sister, Holly Keller, is studying in the public library for her SATs when a stray bullet hits her. Blood pours from the wound. Instead of stopping, I quicken my pace, walking right past her and acting like I haven't seen a thing. It was because, in my past life, I took her to the hospital as soon as the accident happened. The gunshot to her head caused severe intracranial bleeding, and she needed surgery right away. I called our mom, who happened to be the top neurosurgeon in the city. And I begged her to get to the hospital as fast as possible. But she assumed I'm just being jealous because she had taken my adopted brother on a trip instead of spending time with me. Assuming that I was making the whole thing up to ruin their trip, she flat-out refused to come back. By the time Dad and the rest of the family arrived at the hospital, Holly was already gone despite the doctors' best efforts. The entire family blamed me for Holly's death. They believed I had deliberately misled Mom just to screw up Holly's chances of getting treated in time. When Mom finally rushed back from out of town, she completely lost it. She shoved me down the stairs and watched as I bleed to death. When I open my eyes again, I'm back to the day Holly is shot in the library.

The day SAT scores dropped, my twin sister Emily totally tanked. She cried so hard she could barely breathe. Mom, Dad, and Kenneth spent all night babying her. After midnight, Mom finally remembered I existed. "Amelia, what'd you get?" I checked my score. 1580. "Good enough for Halston." Halston was one of the best colleges in the country. The whole room went dead silent. For one stupid second, I thought they might actually be proud of me. Dad just stared. "You and Emily are twins. You look almost exactly alike. "Why don't you switch identities? "Let Emily go to Halston as you."

I land a 30-million-dollar deal for my parents' factory. On payday, my older sister, Hailey Irving, receives a 50,000-dollar bonus. Meanwhile, my younger brother, Hanson Irving, gets a 100,000-dollar bonus. But my pay slip shows only one line—Base Salary 3,000 dollars. "Hailey hasn't made a single mistake in the books in ten years. As encouragement, you get a 50,000-dollar bonus." "All the clients praise Hanson for being handsome and charming. He deserves the most credit for landing this big deal, so I'm giving him a 100,000-dollar bonus." Before I can even react, Mom throws 30 crumpled bills at me while saying with disdain, "Someone who's both stupid and ugly needs to work harder. Don't think putting in more effort means you're worth more. That's all the value you create." I stare at my pay slip, feeling dazed. My parents raise us to be independent, so everything in our family comes with a price tag. A plate of steak and fries costs 30 dollars. A ten-minute hot shower costs 50 dollars. To earn money, my siblings and I have to work at our parents' factory from a young age. Hailey is good at math, so she sits in the air-conditioned office writing receipts. Hanson is handsome, so he works as a greeter in the reception room, where snacks are available in unlimited supply. As for me, I was the family’s all-purpose errand runner, forced to fill in wherever help was needed. I unload shipments, sweep floors, and even go out to negotiate business deals. However, all three of us earn the same base salary of 3,000 dollars per month. If I want meat for my meals, I have to work desperately hard and constantly find ways to create more value. But now, I no longer understand what all that hard work is for. I lower my head and take out my phone to search through the spam messages until I find the one offering me a high-paying job.

The day my twin sister was found, my parents decided that, to make up for everything she had missed, I had to sell all the love I had received over the past eighteen years to a memory bank and deposit the coins into an account set up exclusively for her. My mother's hugs were worth 800,000 coins. My brother's protection was worth 900,000. My fated mate's marriage proposal was worth one million... Every memory had a price. If I refused to sell even one, I would be branded selfish and deemed unworthy of remaining in the family. My Alpha father pushed the bill toward me. “Ten million. All this love should have belonged to your sister in the first place.” “She suffered out there for eighteen years, while you enjoyed eighteen years of love in her place.” I thought they just wanted to teach me a lesson. Until I discovered that once a transaction was completed, the memories sold to the bank could never be recovered. After I sold the memory of my mother singing me to sleep, I could no longer recognize her voice. After I sold the memory of my brother helping me through my first wolf-shifting, even seeing him injured stirred nothing in me but a sense of unfamiliarity. And when I sold the memory of my fated mate proposing to me, he finally panicked. Grabbing my hand with red-rimmed eyes, he asked why I couldn't even remember him. I didn't answer. Because I had already forgotten who he was. For the final transaction, I sold the last memory I had left. It was the night I was six, when my parents had shielded me with their own bodies at the risk of their lives and promised they would never abandon me. I looked at the remaining balance on the bill and sold that promise, too. Once the transaction was complete, my parents sent a message in the family group chat. “Lydia, the test is over.” “We were only afraid you'd become spoiled and refuse to accept your sister, so we wanted to see if you were willing to make sacrifices for her.” I stared blankly at the messages. I didn't recognize a single one of them.

The sales department organized a team-building trip and turned it into a killer-instinct trail race, with a $30,000 prize for the winner. I volunteer with a search and rescue team, and I stayed up all night mapping the safest route with supply points along the way. The new VP they had parachuted in tore up my map right before we set out. "What's the fun in a paved trail? We take the undeveloped Wildman Gorge. That's how you show real killer instinct! "To keep anyone from cheating with GPS, everyone hands over their communication devices." I pointed at the thunderheads on the horizon and tried to stop him. Wildman Gorge floods easily, and going in without radios was suicide. Instead, he smashed my radio to pieces in front of everyone. "You're just jealous that I got to lead this thing, and you want to keep everyone from taking home the prize money, right?" For that $30,000, my coworkers lined up to call me a coward who cared nothing about the team. Fine. I took off my shell jacket and volunteered to stay at base camp at the bottom of the mountain. A storm was coming. If this pack of office wolves wanted to take on a mudslide in Wildman Gorge, I would sit there with a hot cup of tea and wish them a triumphant return.

After the college entrance exam ended, my younger sister, who had been my only family for seven years, told me calmly, "I left the whole thing blank." I froze and could not get a single word out. A look of vengeful satisfaction crossed her face as she went on, "Jett Sullivan and I never broke up either. I left it blank for him. His grades are awful, so there's no way he's getting into a good college. I promised him we'd spend all four years just having fun." Her words cut straight through me, yet she did not seem to think she had done anything wrong. She met my eyes openly and coldly. "The exam's over now anyway. If you're fine with me dating Jett, I'll still call you my brother. If not, we cut ties for good." She glanced at my trembling hands and paused. "If you still want me as your sister, fine. Give Jett every paycheck you've earned all these years. Think of it as a gift to him."

My sister and I got into a car crash. My heart was ruptured, and I needed immediate surgery if I were to live. My mother, being the director of her hospital, sent all the doctors to my sister instead, all just to check on her. She barely got hurt. I pleaded and begged for my mother to save me, but impatience got the better of her. She roared, "This isn't the time to take any attention away from your sister! She almost had a bone fracture!" And I died. I remember where it was. It was a freezing operating theater.

My brother is the Alpha of the Moonlight Pack, and I should have been the happiest little wolf in the pack. But my brother's destined mate Selene accused me of bullying her. In a fit of rage, my brother, the only family I had left in this world, sent me to the Pack Rehabilitation Center —a place for underage criminals and delinquent wolves. For two years, I have been abused until I permanently lost my ability to shift, becoming the docile sister he wanted. But when he discovered I'd lost my wolf and become a true Omega, he went mad. "Skye, please, just call me brother one more time!"

"You're no daughter of mine if you dare apply for a college out of state!" I'd barely finished putting the candles on the cake when Mom's argument with my younger sister carried out of the bedroom. A second later, Lily Lawson stormed out, slamming the door behind her, then pointed back at the room and demanded that I settle things between them. She was wearing a yellow floral dress made from the fabric I'd bought for myself a week ago. I'd asked Mom to make me a dress for my birthday, but she'd hemmed and hawed and said she hadn't gotten around to it yet. Apparently, she'd finished it after all. It had just ended up on Lily. Again. All my life, Mom had told me I was the older sister, so I needed to give in to Lily. I'd given up new clothes, birthday presents, the chance to continue my education, and most of the money in my bank account. This time, as I looked at the cake slowly melting on the table, I suddenly didn't want to give in anymore.

My mother always says, "Children are like little tree branches. If you don't prune them, they'll grow crooked." I'm the tree that's been pruned until nothing but the trunk remains. Ever since I was five, I've been told not to laugh when I'm happy because it means I'm getting carried away with myself. I'm not allowed to cry when someone bullies me because, as my mother says, "There is no smoke without fire." In other words, if I'm being bullied, I must have done something to deserve it. When I score 98 on a test, my parents only ask, "How did you lose those two points? Did you get complacent and make mistakes?" When relatives praise me for being well-behaved, my parents interrupt them in front of everyone and say, "She's just putting on an act. She's an absolute lazy bum at home. Don't let her fool you." Over time, I learn to bury every emotion deep inside and turn myself into the perfect creation my parents want me to be.