قصص وروايات قصيرة عن Plot Twists وتضم Bias وتدور في Biological Family

Before our mating ceremony, my mate, Pavel Blackwell, took me and my older sister, Vivienne, out for seafood. The server recognized them and came over smiling. "The usual for you two?" Pavel nodded. He slid into the seat beside Vivienne without a second thought. The crab came out of the steamer, and he cracked the shell open piece by piece and passed the meat to her. I had been put at a spare chair shoved into the aisle, without so much as a dish of sauce in front of me. Halfway through the meal, the server appeared with a couples' silverware set. "Pavel, Vivienne, this is your hundredth visit to us. That means you get your custom set." A line was engraved on the back of each piece. "Pavel and Vivienne. Never apart." The earliest date on the record was three years ago today. It took me a moment to place the date. That was the day a severe allergic reaction sent me into surgery and I nearly didn't make it out. So for the three hours my life hung in the balance, Pavel had not been waiting outside that door at all. Vivienne ran a finger over the engraving and gave a mischievous smile. "Pavel, once you and my little sister are mated, she won't stop you from going out with me, will she?" Pavel ruffled her hair and turned to look at me. "Of course not. She's always been reasonable. "Besides, you and I have known each other for ten years. Ashlyn and I have only known we were fated mates for four. If it bothers her, she can learn to live with it." On the way back, I got into the back seat on my own. The front seat had always belonged to Vivienne. Then the car's voice assistant chimed in. "Welcome aboard, Vivienne! Pavel will get you home safely!" I watched the scenery stream past the window, and suddenly I was tired of all of it. So I took out my phone and sent my father a message. "I agree to the pack's arranged mating." Ten years of closeness had turned the two of them into a habit. Then let me be the one to quit mine. Four years of it.

My coworkers decided to play Truth or Dare at my promotion party. When it was my turn, I had to call the first person in my contacts. A little tipsy from the drinks, I laughed and read the line I had drawn. "I lost my job." I was just about to explain that I was only joking when my mom screamed through the phone. "What? You couldn't even keep your job? How can you be so useless?" My dad warned me from the side, "Your mom and I don't have any money. Don't even think about coming home and spending ours." I pressed my lips together, feeling nothing but disappointment. My younger sister had quit her job the week before because she thought it was too tiring. She went straight home and told our parents to support her. The next day, she posted a picture of the new apartment our parents had bought for her on social media. Her caption read. "Not everyone's pride and joy. Just my parents'."

My father threatened to kill himself three times to control my life. The first time was when I was applying to college. He climbed onto the roof and demanded that I turn down offers from prestigious out-of-state universities and enroll at a local state college instead. I gave in. Even though my grades were good enough to earn a place at one of the country's top universities, I ended up staying in my hometown. The second time came after I graduated from college. I had landed a job with a company in a major city and was ready to finally build a life of my own. However, my father climbed onto the roof of the company's building and threatened to jump unless I quit and came home. Once again, I surrendered. I returned to my hometown and took a low-paying job at an auto repair shop where my father had pulled a few strings to get me hired. The third time, he climbed onto the roof again. This time, he forced me to marry a woman I had only met once, simply because he believed she would be 'the perfect wife'. I obeyed. Only after we were married did I discover the truth. She was already pregnant with another man's child, and I had been nothing more than the fool expected to clean up the mess. In the end, I could not endure it any longer. I stepped off the rooftop. … When I opened my eyes again, I saw my father gritting his teeth as he climbed onto the roof once more. "If you dare go to a college out of state, I'll jump right here!" I looked at him for a moment, then turned and walked away. "Go ahead," I said without looking back. "Just don't waste my time."

I, Addie Starr, am the second child my parents have after an unexpected pregnancy. My older sister, Amanda Starr, cries because she believes that I will take away our parents' love and money. After she develops depression, she constantly threatens to kill herself. My parents come to hate me for it. They swear to Amanda, "Sweetheart, you're the only princess in our family. Just think of your sister as a maid we brought to you." From then on, all the dirty and exhausting chores in the house become my responsibility. When Amanda becomes emotionally unstable and threatens to cut her wrists, my parents hold out my arm for her. They say, "Sweetheart, if you need to take your anger out on someone, just cut her here." On the highway as we drive home for the New Year, Amanda's plushie falls out the window. Mom orders me to get out and retrieve it. Amid the speeding traffic, I grab the plushie, but all I see is a cloud of exhaust fumes. I remember the hateful looks in my parents' eyes as they tell me, "You should never have been born, understand? You almost destroyed this family!" So, when an out-of-control truck comes barreling toward me... I don't move.

I was born with almost no sense that I deserved anything. The day I was born, I didn't think I deserved to actually be born in the delivery room, so I held onto my mother's umbilical cord for three days. It wasn't until she slipped away to the bathroom that I finally let go in relief, and dropped straight into the toilet. When I got kidnapped, I didn't think I deserved a seat in the trafficker's six-seat van. So, I wrapped myself around his leg and refused to get in. Then a sanitation worker rolled by pushing a garbage cart, and my eyes lit right up. I jumped on without a second thought. After that, the trafficker sold me eight separate times. Every single time, I handed the money right back. "No, you don't need to pay for me. Free is fine. I'd feel bad taking your money." Eventually, the trafficker gave up trying to profit off me and just dragged me along. He cursed under his breath while we lived together in extreme poverty. Then the day my real parents showed up with the police, he practically wept with gratitude as they cuffed him. Before they put him in the car, he patted my parents on the shoulder, looking like a man who'd finally set down a heavy load. "She's all yours now. Whatever's wrong with this kid's head, you'd better get her some real help." My parents just stared at him, completely lost. They didn't understand what he meant until that night, when the fake daughter came crying to them. She sobbed and said that I'd stormed home and immediately tried to steal her room and her bed. My brother marched my parents straight to my room to settle the score. They tore the place apart and finally found me curled up asleep, perfectly content, in the dog cage in the corner. The room went dead silent. My brother stood there, completely stunned. The fake daughter's face went blank too. It took my parents a long moment to find their voices again. "Bella, you said Luna stole your room and your bed?"

My twin sister, Rebecca Shaffer, was kidnapped while saving me. The trauma left her with a mental illness that made her lash out at everyone around her. The only person who could get close to her, the only one who could calm her down, was my husband, Ezekiel Roberts. For the sake of her recovery, my parents insisted that Rebecca move into the master bedroom of my newlywed home. Whenever Ezekiel and I were intimate, Rebecca would lose control and throw things at me. Then, Ezekiel would scoop her up in his arms and carry her into the bedroom, soothing her with gentle words. Everyone kept telling me the same thing. "If Rebecca hadn't tried to save you, she wouldn't be like this now. You owe her this much!" I had no response to that, so I gave in again and again. That was, until I accidentally overheard a conversation between Rebecca and my parents. "How much longer do I have to keep pretending to be crazy? I'm so sick of sneaking around like this!" My parents looked at her with sympathy in their eyes. Ezekiel gently caressed her stomach and said, "Don't worry. I won't let Rebecca or the baby suffer even a little bit. Once I have Maisie completely under my control, I'll make everything public." I clutched the pregnancy test report in my hand and let out a bitter laugh. From now on, they would not need to keep up their elaborate charade. I would leave on my own.

I was diagnosed with leukemia when I was fifteen. So it wouldn't hurt my sister Lena's chances on her entrance exams, my whole family agreed to keep it from her. I pretended I'd gone to the countryside to recover. Through the pain, I quietly watched over every step of her progress, and in the end I died with one regret: I never got to see her one last time. Lena only learned the truth after she got into Westbridge, and she struggled through endless grief and guilt. But in the end, she carried my hopes with her and chose to live fully. As she grew, she slowly learned to make peace with the pain, and through her own life, she carried on the dreams I never got to finish.

After watching my mother’s marriage fall apart disastrously, I somehow went back ten years into the past and ran into my mother’s younger self. My mother had asked me excitedly, “Zoe, after your dad’s undercover operation ended, did he give me a wedding? Like, was it churchy or more modern? Did we end up in that nice house with the big backyard?” I forced down the lump in my throat and answered her, “There was no wedding. You didn’t get a house either. As for Dad… he married someone else.” My mother was silent for a long time. I thought she did not believe me, so I grew anxious and said, “Mom, you need to leave him now. If you stay, your life will fall apart. “He has a daughter named Melody, who turned out to be my classmate. He was never an undercover agent. He’s actually the heir of Xanders Group in Harbor City. He’s been lying to you this whole time and pretending to be broke just to string you along. “Melody’s mom eventually found out about you. You lost your job and home. In the end, you fell into depression and took your own life.” I noticed my mother’s eyes welling up in tears. “Today’s Children’s Day, right? You probably saw Dad taking some woman and her daughter to a theme park, didn’t you? “Go talk to that woman. Ask her about it. Then, you’ll learn the truth.”

My brother and I were twins. When his acceptance letter from Trinity University of Sports Science arrived, no one in our family could even smile. My mom pressed the letter to her chest, sobbing too hard to speak. On the balcony, my dad crouched with a cigarette in his mouth, his hands shaking too much to light it. Even my brother quietly tucked the train tickets for the graduation trip my childhood friend had planned into his pocket. None of them could bring themselves to offer their congratulations. I had been sick with kidney disease for eighteen years, and I wasn't even healthy enough to take the SATs while my brother was preparing for college. I glanced at the birthday cake on the coffee table and instinctively tried to tuck it behind my back. "I only had one bite..." Usually, my mom would've pulled me into her arms and reassured me that everything was okay. She would've told me not to be afraid. But this time, she snatched the cake from my hands and threw it onto the floor. "We've spent eighteen years fighting to keep you alive, and all you care about is eating cake! Do you know what that could do to your kidneys?" "Your brother couldn't run around like other kids. He couldn't play sports or hang out with his friends, and he hasn't played basketball in ten years! Do you even know why? Because we've spent his whole life making sure he'd be a good kidney donor for you!" Her voice grew louder with each word. "And your father? He's worked so hard making deliveries! He's gone through five scooters just to pay your medical bills! And I've spent every day cooking special meals for you, measuring all the ingredients and making sure you eat exactly what the doctors prescribe! Do you know how much we've given up for you?" The room fell silent. For three long seconds, I stood there, searching for something to say. But when I tried to speak, nothing came out. My mom stared at me, her eyes red and tears streaming down her face. "Do you know how long you've been holding this family back? What more do you want from us? Haven't we done enough?" She paused, her voice catching in her throat. "If you're going to keep acting so selfish and ungrateful, then maybe..." At first, she couldn't get the words out. Tears streamed down her cheeks, hitting the back of her hands. "Maybe you'd be better off dead." Surprisingly, hearing those words didn't hurt as much as I expected. Instead, the heavy feeling I'd carried for eighteen years seemed to vanish all at once. I thought, 'Alright, Mom. You got your wish. I'll stop being a burden to this family.'

After my sister finished cutting the cake on her 18th birthday, she pouted and suggested we play hide-and-seek. Just before the blindfold went on, I saw her exchange a look with our parents. I did not think much of it. Not until I finished counting to one hundred, pulled off the blindfold, and found the entire villa empty. I called my parents again and again. Every call was cut off, so I opened social media. One minute earlier, my sister had posted a photo. In the photo, she and our parents were wearing sunglasses, lounging on beach chairs in Chesroy Isles. The caption read, 'Escaping the heat abroad with family. How nice!' I did not even need to check to know what my mother had commented. 'Don't tease her like that next time. She's already pitiful enough being ugly.' Except there would always be a next time. And every time would be worse than the last. I stared at the ocean in the photo. Then, all at once, I felt there was no need to feel wronged anymore. I turned off my phone and picked up my suitcase. There were three hours left before my flight overseas—before I cut ties with them for good. From now on, the three of them could enjoy themselves without me.

I had always been obedient and compliant. I never dared to disobey others' instructions. The day my wealthy biological parents brought me home, my adoptive brother leaned close to my ear and sneered arrogantly, "The position of the Spencer family's heir belongs to me. If you know what's good for you, get lost on your own." I nodded obediently. Then I turned around and threw myself straight into rush-hour traffic on the highway. My parents nearly lost their minds. Panicked and trembling, they dragged me back into the car, their faces drained white with terror. My sister's expression darkened as she warned me coldly in my ear, "If you pull another stunt for attention, believe me, I'll throw you right back into the doghouse you came from." I obediently listened. That very night, I locked myself inside a dog crate. My sister froze in complete shock. Gritting her teeth, she yanked me out, staring at me like she'd seen a ghost. Later, when my adoptive brother pretended to be sick, my sister forced me to donate blood for him. I obediently took the knife. Without the slightest hesitation, I slashed straight through the artery in my wrist. By the time my parents rushed over, blood had just begun spraying out. They screamed in horror and lunged forward to press against my wound. "Somebody call 911! Now!!!" My sister had gone just as pale. After a long moment of stunned silence, she finally stammered, "Mom, Dad… I only told him to donate a little blood to Eric. I never told him to slit his wrist…" I blinked. My sister wasn't lying. She really hadn't taught me that. It was something the traffickers taught me during the five years my family personally handed me over to them—to "learn obedience."

Mom and Dad have been divorced for ten years. One day, I come across a discussion thread. "Are all children of divorce having it hard?" I join the discussion. "Not always. Personally, I'm living pretty decently. After my parents' divorce, my sister and I were separated—one of us went to live with our paternal grandparents, and the other with our maternal grandparents. "For the last ten years, my parents have visited me once a year. Although they usually only stay for a few days, I can tell that they still love me." Within a minute, someone replies to my comment. "Girl, are you sure? My parents are divorced as well, but they can't bear to leave me at all. I've been with them since I was a kid. On weekdays, I stay with my mom. On the weekend, I go to my dad's. "Honestly, it's like they never divorced at all. LOL." I tap into her profile. The pinned post is a photo of Mom, Dad, and my sister, Hazel Foster. They hug her from either side. The caption reads, "A divorce can end a marriage, but it can't erase the bond we share. I'm glad I'll always be their precious baby." Meanwhile, this morning, Mom replies to me, "Your dad and I have been divorced for so long. Just get him to drop you off at college. It's awkward for me to be there." The next second, I receive Dad's reply. "Ask your mom. I'm a man. What do I know about things like orientation and college? I'll visit you someday when I'm free." I go back to the discussion thread and write back to Hazel. "You're right. Whether or not a child of divorce gets to live a normal life depends entirely on whether the parents still want their child in their lives." After closing the page, I open my email and sign up for an international volunteer program. My destination is a field hospital in a war zone five thousand miles away, where I will spend the next two years. There's no need for me to wait until Mom and Dad have time for me again. I'm never coming back here.

In the third year after I've run away from home, my parents finally remember my existence. But the reason is that the fake heir, Jayson Norman, is displeased with his marriage partner in the upcoming marriage alliance. That's why my parents instantly think of getting me to replace Jayson in the marriage. When Mom sees Katrina Cobb, the woman whom I've eloped with, rummaging through the trash in a wheelchair, she feels extremely satisfied. "Back then, Joshua refused to stick to his role as the heir of the Norman family. He even went as far as to push Jayson down the stairs just so he could elope with this wretched woman! I bet he must be riddled with remorse by now!" With hazy eyes, Katrina mutters, "Yeah, he was filled with remorse. He regretted going back to that place you call 'home' with you." Dad lets out a cold huff. "Well, that's enough tantrum on his part! Tell him to get his ass home for the marriage alliance, and we'll consider the past water under the bridge!" Having noted Katrina's silence, Dad wastes no time in kicking her wheelchair over. "You wretched cripple! Where have you hidden my son?" I can only float in mid-air as I gaze down at Katrina, who's wailing in pain on the ground. At that moment, I feel as though my soul is getting ripped apart. "Mom, Dad, I've been dead for three years. How am I going to take Jayson's place in this marriage alliance?"

Dad's temper explodes when I tell him that one plus one equals two. Frank Huxley ruthlessly kicks me in the chest and roars, "Who gave you permission to learn addition? Why won't you just listen to me?" He then grabs me by the leg and drags me to the door, shoving me out of the house. "You just love learning so much, don't you? Go then! But don't ever call me your father ever again!" I wail loudly as I bang on the door with all my might. Suddenly, I can hear Dad's thoughts through the door. "He's so annoying. Why is this villain so disobedient? He needs to be an idiot so I can complete my mission. I'll give him the cold shoulder for a couple of days and deprive him of a few meals. Let's see whether he still has the guts to learn behind my back then!" I whip my head up in confusion. I don't know what a "villain" is, but I can't shake the feeling that Dad doesn't actually love me.

During the awards portion of the annual charity gala, the host suddenly walked onto the stage holding the hands of ten children. “Tonight, we have one more very special honoree.” “She passed away after an accident, but before she died, she donated every viable organ in her body and saved the children standing beside me right now.” In the front row below the stage, the eldest son of the Sanders family, dressed in an expensive suit, let out a scornful laugh. “I wonder what idiot did that. She was already dead, and she still had to chase fame.” Beside him, Mrs. Sanders looked deeply distressed. “Her body isn’t even whole anymore. How is she supposed to rest in peace? Her parents are so cruel. How could they not stop it?” Mr. Sanders gently comforted his wife, then turned and instructed his secretary. “Once we confirm which family she belonged to, cancel every partnership we have with them from now on.” The host’s voice rang out again. “Next, please welcome the honoree’s parents to the stage.” “Chairman Sanders and his wife.”

My twin sister, wanting to be with her thug boyfriend, secretly planned to apply for a junior college. When I could not talk her out of it, I told our parents and managed to stop her. However, just a month into the new semester, her thug boyfriend cheated on her. She left a suicide note, blaming it all on the long distance between them. She wrote that if she had gone to that junior college, her boyfriend would never have cheated. Grief‑stricken, my parents turned all their rage on me. "You wretched girl, this is all your fault for meddling! What business was it of yours which school your sister went to? Even if she didn't go to college, we could still support her. We didn't need your big mouth!" "If it weren't for your spiteful tongue, your sister wouldn't be dead!" "We were cursed to have a vicious, unfilial daughter like you!" They locked me in her room, ordering me to repent. Then they took her ashes on a trip, saying they wanted her to see the beautiful mountains and rivers she never got to visit in life. A month later, they returned from their travels to find me long dead, starved to a withered husk in front of my sister's photo. Their eyes held no grief, no guilt, only a faint, scornful curl of the lips. In their eyes, my death was nothing more than justice served. My broken soul saw their icy expressions, and despairing tears burned my eyes. Then my sister's familiar voice rang out again: "What business is it of yours which school I go to? You're just jealous that I have a boyfriend, aren't you?"

When I was seven, my father brought home a beautiful lady who gave me a mango. That day, my mother watched me happily eating the mango while she signed her name on the divorce papers. After that, she jumped off the roof of our building. From then on, mangoes became the nightmare of my life. So on my wedding day, I told my husband, Alan Holt, "If you ever want a divorce, just give me a mango." Alan pulled me into his arms, quiet. From then on, mangoes became off-limits for him, too. On Christmas Eve of our fifth year of marriage, Alan's childhood sweetheart, Larissa Fennimore, left a mango on his desk at the office. The very same day, Alan announced he was cutting ties with Larissa and fired her from the company. That day, I truly believed he was the man I was meant to be with. Half a year later, I flew back from overseas, having just closed a partnership deal worth about 200 million dollars. At the celebration dinner, Alan handed me a drink. After I had finished half the glass, his so-called childhood sweetheart, the woman who had been kicked out of the company, stood behind me with a big grin and asked, "Does the mango juice taste good?" I stared at Alan in disbelief, and he was trying hard not to laugh. "Don't be mad. Larissa insisted I played a little joke on you. I didn't actually give you a mango; I just gave you a bottle of mango juice. But I think she's right. The fact that you don't eat mangoes is a real problem. You were really enjoying that juice just now." My face went cold. I lifted my hand and threw the rest of the mango juice in his face, then turned around and walked away. Some things are never a joke. I wouldn't kid around with mangoes or divorce.

The day I was admitted to Crownstone College, my parents threw a thirty-table banquet to celebrate my younger brother, Jason. There was a banner across the hall. [Congratulations to Jason on getting into vocational school. You've brought honor to the family.] When it was time to cut the cake, Jason made a wish in front of all the guests. "I hope my sister gets married soon and stops wasting the family's money." The relatives raised their glasses and praised him for being so sensible. Dad beamed with pride. "A boy who learns a trade has a solid future. Unlike a girl, no matter how much she studies, she'll end up getting married anyway." I sat alone in the corner. The doctor had diagnosed me with severe depression and warned that I couldn't handle any more emotional shocks. My parents said I was bad luck. They told me not to have another episode and ruin my brother's celebration. I nodded, picked up my medical report, and walked to the rooftop of the hotel. Right then, my phone rang. On the other end were my parents from eighteen years ago. My young Dad laughed through tears. "It's a girl! We have a daughter!" My young Mom's voice trembled. "Sweetheart, I just gave birth to you. "Did our child grow up feeling loved by us throughout all eighteen years?" Listening to the applause from the banquet hall below, I laughed until I could barely breathe. "Yeah, you loved your child very much. "It just wasn't me." "What do you mean? Jess, don't scare me–" I smiled in relief but didn't answer her. I could hear fireworks from below. It sounded like they were celebrating my disappearance from this family. I closed my eyes, leaned forward, and jumped.

My sister's graduation party was held on June 25th, the same day SAT scores were released. A banner hung across the hotel ballroom reading, ‘Congratulations to Bria Sumner, ranked 8th in the district, on her admission to Graymont Preparatory!’ The room was done up with balloons and fresh flowers, and Dad had ordered a custom cake with ‘The Sky's the Limit’ piped across the top in buttercream. I was sitting on a chair in the corner when my phone lit up. It was a notification from the College Board. I had scored a 1,580, placing me in the 99th percentile statewide. I silently turned the phone face down on the table. My uncle, seated next to me, slapped his forehead. "Paige, didn't you take your SATs this year too?" Mom lifted her glass and answered for me with a laugh, "Oh, her? She's still got a ways to go. Her test isn't until next year." My fork stopped midway to my mouth. I had spent months studying for the SATs on my own, diligently working through the vocabulary, reading, math, and essay sections. I set my own alarm on test day, called my own cab to the testing center, and came home to an empty house afterward. Mom had only sent me one message that day. Mom: [Get up early tomorrow. We need to book the venue for Bria's party.] I lowered my head and pushed the food on my plate around. I had lost my appetite. That night, I sat alone in my room, opened the college applications portal, and entered the farthest university I could find as my first choice. The university was 808 miles away from home.

My parents had always played favorites. On my birthday, the house was completely empty. Meanwhile, my older brother, Howard Moore, posted a nine-photo grid on social media, showing off a huge birthday cake. In every picture, Mom and Dad were gathered around him, smiling like they couldn’t be prouder. I called them. Laughter poured through the phone from the other end. Still, I gathered every bit of courage I had and asked softly, “Why didn’t I even get a happy birthday?” The line went silent for a second. Then Mom’s bright, smiling voice came through. “Because Howard is handsome. Taking him out makes us look good. But you? Those hooded eyes and that bulbous nose. Honestly, if we didn’t feel sorry for you, we would’ve gotten rid of you a long time ago.” Howard took the phone from her and said gently, “You know you’re adopted, right? Did you really think you were one of us?” I stood there for a long time, too stunned to move. After that, I stopped talking. But deep down, I still craved the love of my biological parents. So I secretly made a post online, looking for my biological family. I didn’t expect Howard to find it. He took a screenshot and sent it to the school’s anonymous gossip account. “The fake Moore kid is looking for his parents. Anyone lose an ugly little kid?” I cried for a long time. Then late that night, I walked past their bedroom door, which had been left slightly open. Howard’s laughter floated out, clear and bright. “He actually believed it! This is hilarious! Let’s hire someone to pretend to be his parents. I can’t wait to see him on his knees, begging us.” Dad took a sip of his tea. “Do whatever you want.” Mom added, “Just don’t go too far.” Outside the door, my fingers slowly loosened around the doorknob.