Tragic Love-Kurzgeschichten & Bias Cheating-Kurzromane

Gillian Chadwick, my fiancee, has always put her adoptive brother, Jude Chadwick, first. When a new romantic trend catches on, he gets the first gift, not me. When she buys her very first car, she gives him the first test drive. Even when a fire breaks out in our house in the middle of the night, she rushes into Jude's room first and drags him downstairs. She doesn't call to wake me until she has made sure he's safe. After getting burned in that fire, I finally lose my temper and demand Gillian choose between Jude and me. She looks at me in confusion. "Thomas, Jude is the only family I have in this world. Why are you competing with him? How about this? I promise to treat you both completely equally from now on, okay?" After a long hesitation, I finally agree. But later, Gillian gives the wedding ring she has custom-made to Jude, and she even lets him be the first to see her wedding dress. On the day we go to get our marriage certificate, Jude tags along. "Thomas, Gillian has never been married before. Let me try it out for you first," he said shamelessly.

I've been married to Joel Hoover for three years. But whenever we go out with my best friend, Cynthia Marsh, people assume they're the couple. At the mall, sales associates hand them the gifts meant for couples. At restaurants, servers ask if they want to take part in the couples' promotion. When we travel, strangers compliment them on what a great couple they make, then hand me a phone to take their picture. At first, it makes me uncomfortable, but Joel never corrects anyone. Cynthia always laughs it off. "Maybe we just happen to look like a couple. Don't read into it." She says it so casually that every time, I tell myself not to make a big deal out of it. Then Joel tells me he's finally taking me to meet his family at a holiday dinner. I spend three whole months getting ready. But the moment we walk in, his mother grabs Cynthia's hand, beaming. "Just look at these two. Don't they make a perfect couple?" The relatives immediately start teasing them too. "You two must kiss a lot. You're even starting to look alike!" The whole room erupts in laughter. I stand there, watching Joel. He doesn't correct anyone. He just reaches over and tucks a loose strand of Cynthia's hair behind her ear. That's when it finally hits me. Joel isn't staying quiet because he can't be bothered to explain. He just doesn't want me to be his wife.

The day my wife, Megan Carrick, is due to give birth, her ex-husband, Ian Reynolds, calls again. This time, his excuse is an alcohol allergy. To take care of him, she ignores her labor pains and wraps a thick rope tightly around her pregnant belly to delay the delivery. By the time I arrive at the hospital, the doctor tells me our baby has suffocated to death. I light a cigarette and ask Megan for a divorce. That night, despite having just lost our baby, she drops to her knees outside our door and kneels in the pouring rain for an entire day and night. She begs for my forgiveness and swears she'll never contact Ian again. I believe her and stay. For three years, I endure a sexless marriage, just to accommodate her postpartum depression. It isn't until my birthday this year that she willingly climbs into my bed. But right at the peak of our intimacy, the custom ringtone reserved just for Ian rings out in the room. "Aiden's sick, Megan. His fever won't come down. What do I do?" Megan looks at me, torn and hesitant to speak. I look at the untouched birthday cake and the disheveled clothes, and suddenly, everything feels pointless. "If you walk out that door tonight, our marriage ends here."

Everyone said I was a fool, and not because I wasn't successful. I was one of the best attorneys in the country. No, they called me a fool because I spoiled my stay-at-home husband, Jonathan Shayman, rotten. He never had to cook. He never had to pick up our daughter. He never had to attend parent-teacher conferences. On top of that, I gave him five grand per month as his allowance. My daughter would always look at me with a blank expression and ask solemnly, "Mom, besides being handsome, what does Dad even bring to the table? Did someone put a spell on you?" I always told her she didn't appreciate her father or understand how hard it was to be a stay-at-home husband. After all, Jonathan had willingly left a prestigious law firm to become a full-time homemaker for my sake 10 years ago. He had even driven hundreds of miles on freezing winter nights to deliver gifts to my clients. He loved me enough to give up everything, so I believed I should do the same for him. However, Jonathan broke his promise on our daughter's birthday yet again. So, I took her to an amusement park by myself. When I got near the carousel, I saw Jonathan supporting one of my clients, Sandra Wood. He carefully draped his jacket over her shoulders and helped her onto the carousel. "Sandy, you're a lot better than the witch waiting for me at home. Besides, she gives me five grand every month without me having to lift a finger. I stay out all night partying, and she still thinks I'm out there maintaining client relationships for her." Sandra leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Then, squeeze even more money out of her for me. We'll have an even better time together." My daughter's eyes were already red with tears. I stared at the two of them. For the first time since forever, I had nothing to say against the naysayers. A cold breeze swept past me, and I felt chilled to the bone.

My wife Naomi Holden's phone was always on silent mode. Whenever I needed to reach her, the call never went through. My only option was to ask everyone around us, but when every single person gave a different answer, I already knew the truth. She was with him again, the frail man she had never been able to let go of. On our seventh anniversary, we had plans to meet at our usual spot for dinner. Three hours passed, and she still had not shown up. I stood on the street, burning with fever, dialing one number after another. My father picked up, his voice warm and unhurried. "Naomi just came by for dinner. Don't worry, I've got my eye on her for you." A friend working at her company laughed it off. "Wyatt, relax. Ms. Holden is sitting in on a meeting in our department right now." Even my own sister swore up and down, saying, "Naomi's right here with me at a gallery opening. I'll have her home safe and sound, I promise." Last was our daughter, on the call through her little smartwatch. "Mommy's out shopping for toys with me and Grandma!" Every single person was trying to prove that Naomi was right there beside them. What none of them knew was that Naomi was standing right in front of me. Through the restaurant's glass window, she was cutting up food for the man sitting across from her. My own reflection stared back at me from the glass, haggard, rain-soaked, and pathetic. For the first time, I thought that maybe it was finally time to pull out the thorn that had been lodged in my heart for years.

Colin Mathers did not show up to our daughter's viewing. I held her memorial portrait and called him 33 times. He did not answer once. Then I saw a video the real estate agent had posted. [The boy's godfather spoils him rotten. He might as well be his real dad.] In the video, Colin was holding the hand of Ariana Lisle's son as they looked over the balcony of a house in a top school district. Ariana asked him, "Colin, are you really giving this house to Noah?" He smiled and ruffled the boy's hair. "Of course. His schooling comes first." The video took me back to the night before my daughter passed. She had been in so much pain that her face had gone white, yet she still clung to my hand and asked, "Mommy, did Daddy go get my medicine?" I could not bring myself to look her in the eye. All I could do was nod. She gave me a sweet little smile. "Then I won't sleep. I'm scared that if Daddy comes back and sees me sleeping, he'll sneak away again. "Mommy, I'll be good and take all my medicine from now on. Then Daddy won't leave me." She waited until the very end, but her father never came. That was when a staff member from the funeral home walked in with an eye bank coordinator. "Mr. Mathers already signed the consent form, and we've found a match for your daughter's corneas. Before the cremation, we need confirmation from one more immediate family member."

The first time I meet my girlfriend, Nadine Grant‘s parents, she stops me at the door. Her childhood friend and neighbor, Nick Lockwood, has just pulled a tarot card. The card says I'll attract trouble today, so I shouldn't go inside. Before I can say a word, Nadine reaches for the gifts in my hands. "Wait in the car for a while," she says. "When dinner's over, we'll go home together." I don't let go. "I've spent over a month getting ready to meet your parents, and you're not even letting me in?" Displeasure is written all over her face. "Andy, I'm doing this for your own good!" Before I can argue, she shoves me back into the car. Nick smiles at me through the car window. He says, "Andy, don't take it the wrong way. I'll go in and keep Mr. Grant company for you." Nadine stands beside him without looking back once. This is all happening because of one tarot card Nick pulls. I'm the one who's here to meet Nadine's parents, yet I'm somehow the last person they want inside. Then, I have no reason to become part of this family either!

My fiancé was the CEO of a powerful financial conglomerate, and to the outside world, he adored me beyond measure. A week before our wedding, I found out I was pregnant with triplets. I had planned to tell him the joyful news in person. But instead, I witnessed him in bed with other women. Not with just one. It felt like a knife had carved into my soul, cutting so deep I lost all hope, all trust. My tears begged for release, but I held my head high, forcing myself to stay strong. For him, I had given up everything—my pride, my family, my career. Yet he chose to share our love with others. All those vows to love me and only me for a lifetime had been lies. Our so-called future, our wedding—it was all a cruel joke. He was no longer the man I once loved. He had become tainted. I would not endure his betrayal. He no longer deserved to be the father of my children. So I made my decision—to disappear, to fake my death and start over, to give myself and my babies a chance at a free, unburdened life. But I never imagined he'd become obsessed and start searching the world for women who resembled me, all while declaring I was the only one he ever loved. Too little, too late. His affection now is worth nothing. This time, I'm not looking back.

While shopping at the supermarket, my daughter, Rebecca Westcott, stared longingly at the frozen fruit bars in the display case. I checked my bank balance, then reached for one. The steep price made me freeze. The sales clerk cheerfully explained, "You get what you pay for. This is the flavor kids love most." Seeing how awkward I was, Rebecca quickly spoke up. "Daddy, I don't want one. I was just looking. One of my classmates had one before. It wasn't anything special." My chest tightened with bitterness as I reluctantly started to put it back. Then a cool, unfamiliar voice spoke behind me. "It's the holidays. Let the kid have something that makes her happy." I turned in shock. A young man dressed head to toe in designer clothes dropped the frozen fruit bar into my cart. I immediately tried to refuse, but he ignored me and started filling my cart with all kinds of snacks. "You've got to be a little more generous as a dad. You can't be the kind of parent who ruins the fun. Relax, man. I've got it. I'll pay for everything." At the checkout, the man pulled out a black card and reassured me, "Don't feel pressured. It's a family card. This amount is nothing to my wife." I froze. A week earlier, I had seen an identical card in the pocket of my wife, Madeline Westcott.

The pair of pink diamonds I've had my eye on for the longest time is finally auctioned off for a staggering price. Outside the auction hall, the young woman who won the bid is talking sweetly to someone on the phone. "Babe, you really don't have to come all the way here. Margot will be with me, so I'm good… Okay, fine. Love you!" I watch her with slight envy. Those pink diamonds are supposed to be my fifth-anniversary wedding gift. Before the auction, I've called my husband, Gabriel Hudson, and asked if he could come with me. But he said it was a trivial matter and that I could handle the bidding myself. The woman was on the phone earlier, and from what I could make out, they're planning to have dinner together to celebrate. My rideshare arrives. I'm about to leave when the woman suddenly shouts excitedly, "Margot, over here!" I follow her gaze. The person approaching is none other than my housekeeper, Margot Lawrence.

I begged my husband ninety-nine times to go with me to Jay Boone's concert. On the hundredth time, he finally bought two front-row tickets. Dressed to the nines, I was stopped at the entrance by security because I couldn't produce my ticket. By the time the concert ended, I still hadn't been able to get through to him on the phone. News broke that my husband and his young girlfriend were at the concert, requesting "Sunny Day" from Jay Boone. The story shot straight to the trending charts. There's no rain in the lyrics of "Sunny Day." Because the only world caught in a torrential downpour was mine.

When Camille Prescott's young lover, Bryce Whitfield, threatens suicide yet again, she postpones our wedding. This is the ninth time in five months. Everyone thinks I'm a joke. This time, I refuse to back down. I stare at Camille intently and ask, "Are we getting married or not?" In my previous life, due to my meekness, I allowed the wedding to be delayed again and again. My mom was so furious that she ended up in the hospital. I went to speak with Bryce, hoping to resolve things peacefully. Instead, he accused me of trying to drive him to suicide. Then, he deliberately pushed me off a balcony. I survived, but I was left paralyzed and stripped of all dignity. Not only did Camille refuse to hold him accountable, but she even pinned the blame on me and said that I was asking for it. Consumed by despair, I pulled out my own oxygen tube. After getting a second chance at life, I finally understand one thing—I should never have wasted my entire life on a piece of trash like her.

Graham Whitlock was leaving for the remote Northreach Research Station to work on a long-term research project. Before he left, he told me: “Audrey, the conditions out there are harsh, and the regulations don’t allow family members to come along. Our family needs you here, too. Please wait for me for three years. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” But three years became another three years. I waited for Graham for seven years. He still never came home. One phone call every five days. One video call a month. We saw each other only during the few precious days of leave he was allowed each year. Yet I never complained, not even once. I was afraid of getting in the way of his career. Then I became pregnant. Only then was my emergency family-visit request finally approved. After a grueling journey of thousands of miles, I arrived at the station and excitedly knocked on the door of his residence. A little girl answered. “Daddy, someone’s here! I don’t know her!” I thought I had the wrong room. But the next second, Graham’s indulgent voice came from inside. “Sweetheart, Daddy’s busy right now. I’ll have Mommy go see who it is.” His assistant, Mara Collins, came to answer the door. The moment she saw me, she froze, too shocked to speak. “Mrs. Whitlock, why are you here...?” I held a hand over my pregnant belly. After seven years of waiting, the heart I had kept suspended all this time finally died. It turned out Graham Whitlock hadn’t stopped caring about his family. He simply wasn’t caring about our family.

While I waited at the hospital to get my tubes tied, I came across a question that was blowing up online. [What's the cruelest way to get revenge on a woman?] An anonymous answer sat at the very top with thousands of upvotes. [Easy. Become her best friend, then slowly take everything she's proud of away from her. [I should know. That's exactly what I did to the girl I grew up with. [By the time she realized anything was wrong, her parents already treated me like their daughter, and I outranked her at her own family's company. Her childhood sweetheart, who later became her husband, lost his virginity to me in the house she personally decorated for them. [And those twins she thinks are hers? They were conceived using my eggs and implanted in her. They're obsessed with me. They even call me Mom when she's not around. [All I had to do was say a few words, and her husband convinced her to get her tubes tied. And somehow, she actually agreed. [Now she'll never have a biological child of her own.] Some people in the comments were horrified. Others ripped into the anonymous poster. But nearly everyone wanted to know the same thing. [What did she ever do to you? Why would you go this far just to destroy her life?] To everyone's surprise, the poster answered. [Nothing, really. There was never some huge feud between us. [She was just better than me at everything when we were growing up. And she always acted so calm and untouchable, like nothing in the world could get to her. [It irritated the hell out of me. So, I worked my way into her life little by little. I took my time, planned everything carefully, and eventually took away everything she cared about. [Like right now. She's sitting alone in a hospital, miserable while she waits to be sterilized, and I'm in bed with her husband, planning to go through this entire box of condoms tonight.] Her latest post included a photo of a box of Magnum XL condoms. And behind the box was the nightstand in my own bedroom.

I discover Quilton Fuller's affair before our wedding, so I lie to him about having aborted our child. He hates me for that and gets engaged to a woman who looks just like me. On his wedding day, he video-calls me, wanting to show me his bride. However, he's greeted by the sight of me bloody and battered after being tormented by abductors. I beg him to at least save the baby in my womb, but he says to the abductors, "You'd better kill her and her child."

Eden Castle and Cedric Rivers had been together for eleven years. Just when she thought they would grow old together, Cedric went and cheated on her. He had been cheating on her for three years with a girl who looked just like her, only the girl was much younger than Eden. Eden assumed this was as bad as it could get, then it got worse. Her son Mateo gave her a letter announcing that he was severing ties with her. He blamed Eden for ruining what was supposed to be a happy family. Eden was crushed as she signed the divorce agreement. However, she decided she never wanted anything to do with the pair of father and son again.

On the day of my wedding, my parents suddenly show up at my house with my fiancé, Yoseph Caldwell. They say they've decided the bride is going to change. "Your sister's terminally ill, and her only wish is to marry Yoseph. You're her younger sister, so be generous and help her out." Yoseph chimes in calmly, "Don't worry. It's just a ceremony. Once she passes, you and I can still get the marriage certificate." When I refuse, my parents tie me up. "We'll let you out once the wedding's over." But not long after they leave, an intruder breaks in and brutally murders me. By the time they finally remember me, all that's left is my rotting corpse.

My son, Scott Gould, suddenly tells me that he has leukemia. Then, he goes on to say that his biggest wish is to see Ivanna Newman in a wedding dress. My husband, Theodore Gould, agrees with Scott. "I'll hold a wedding with Ivanna. Once Scott is done with his treatment, we'll get remarried." I gladly agree to the request and divorce Theodore. Not long after, I learn from Scott's social media that he's attending the wedding of Theodore and his childhood sweetheart, Ivanna. The caption he writes says, "I'm so happy for Dad. I can't help but shed tears for true love." I smile and turn off my phone. Holding the hand of the person next to me, I board a plane to Wismuth.

The day high school seniors across Cedarhaven received their college decisions, my own graduation ceremony had just ended. Adrian Hawthorne came to meet me outside the campus with Celeste Monroe, his newly divorced former sister-in-law. He had barely offered me the sunflowers in his hand when Celeste brushed them aside with a laugh. "Sunflowers? You could try harder if you're courting a young woman." Adrian smiled and handed the bouquet to her. "Then you choose. Clara will like whatever you pick." I stood beside them without finding a place in the conversation. Celeste patted his shoulder. "Your tie is crooked. There are too many people here for you to embarrass me." Adrian lowered his head and let her straighten it. After the graduation photographs, he drew Celeste close and told me, "You're good with a camera. Take a few more pictures of us." For three years, every movie meant for two came with a third ticket, and every anniversary dinner had been chosen around another woman's restrictions. I had protested before, but whenever the argument ended, I was always the one Adrian set aside. Then Celeste accidentally left her phone in my purse, and I saw the photograph on her lock screen. Across the image were the words: July 2 - finally free. The same date was engraved beneath Adrian's watch. He called impatiently, "Clara, hurry. Celeste can't wait all day." I stared at the screen for several seconds and deleted the photograph. Everyone online was discussing how to choose the right college, and I finally understood something too. When the first choice is wrong, you withdraw before it is too late. There was no reason to keep a photograph of Adrian and me either.

A sudden burst of screams erupted in the living room at 3 AM. I pushed open the door to hear the commentator announcing that my fiancé Noah Lucas' favorite team had advanced to the quarter-finals. Our best friend, Jessie Newman, jumped up excitedly and kissed Noah on the cheek. I would be taking wedding photos with Noah in another five hours. The hangover soup on the table had long since gone cold, with a cigarette butt floating in it. I could not help coughing. The two of them froze mid-conversation. Jessie realized what it looked like and stepped over the wine bottles on the floor with her fair legs. She hugged me and kissed me on the cheek, too. Her voice was gentle and innocent. "Lola, why are you awake? Don't overthink. I've been best friends with Noah since kindergarten. We were just messing around! Noah was too noisy, wasn't he? I'll teach him a lesson for you." Noah casually tossed a cushion at her, hitting her squarely on her bottom, and teased with a laugh, "You're blaming me? You were the one shouting!" Then, he nonchalantly reassured me, "Lola, we're about to take our wedding photos soon. Go and get some more sleep. We'll turn the volume down." There was no apology or explanation. They were just trying to brush me off, as always. They assumed I was being paranoid and petty, tainting their 20-year friendship by overthinking. I loosened my grip on my nightgown. "It's okay. You guys continue." I had had enough of this three-person farce. I was done.