Contos e Romances com Bias e Family Emotions

After surviving a kidnapping and being diagnosed with severe PTSD, I became the family's top priority. Every sharp object and glass item in the house was removed. The furniture was wrapped in thick foam padding, until not a single hard edge remained. My parents canceled all business trips. News broadcasts and violent movies were banned from the house. To help me feel safe, they even forced my younger brother, who had just earned a full scholarship to a top university, to stay home and keep me company around the clock. Everything changed on the night of my brother's lavish eighteenth-birthday celebration. When fireworks erupted across the sky without warning, I hallucinated instantly and grabbed my father's arm on instinct. "Dad, I've got a terrible headache. Can you take me back to the quiet room, please?" My father, who always told the world he treasured me like a jewel, suddenly grabbed me by the collar and dragged me to the edge of the rooftop terrace. "If you've got such a terrible headache, jump from here and end it all! "We've spent five years living like prisoners because of you, you worthless waste. "Today is your brother's coming-of-age, and you're pulling this again? "Jump! "Stop putting on that dying act every single day just to torture this family!" He squeezed my neck and shoved me impatiently. Then he straightened his expensive bow tie and walked toward the cheering crowd, as composed as ever. So he didn't see me stumble backward and crash through the half-broken railing. The wind screamed in my ears. I spread my arms like a kite cut loose from its string and plummeted.

To test how the three of us handled money, our parents gave each of us a supplementary card on the family account with a limit of 150,000 dollars. My sister spent hers on a VIP package at a cosmetic clinic. My brother spent his tipping an influencer streamer to push her up the donor rankings. I was the only one who used mine to front the material costs for a research competition. At the family dinner at the end of the month, our parents paid cash for a Porsche for my brother. "Jasper knows how to invest in connections in the media world. He has a future!" Then they handed my sister a downtown penthouse as part of her dowry. "Isadora has more class every day. Even Lucian Morgan compliments her. That money was well spent!" When it was my turn, their faces went cold and they took my card away. "Ophelia, you spend money on a pile of scrap metal. Don't expect another cent out of this family." I took a deep breath and tried to argue. "Dad, Mom, that material cost is a required expense for a national research program..." Before I finished, my father threw a cup of hot tea at my feet. "You waste your days on junk nobody respects. You're worthless, and starving would serve you right." Every day my mother took my sister to etiquette class. My father paid a fortune for a private finance tutor for my brother. I was the one down in the basement breathing fumes over my experiments, and I still had to make the late-night meals for the whole house. For my entire life, everything I worked for was worth nothing to them. This time I decided to stop being the Cinderella who gave and gave in silence. I turned around and signed my name on the security agreement for the national research program.

"You are a sick, twisted monster." My mother glared at me. The doctor frowned and recommended genetic testing, suspecting a rare disease. My mother only sneered. "Rare disease? She's mentally warped. She fakes being sick to get attention!" The noon sun blazed overhead. I huddled under the shade canopy, trembling violently, clutching my collar shut. Then my mother shoved the canopy aside and overturned it. She tore off my long coat and pushed me down onto the scorching sand. The intense UV rays seared through my skin in an instant. Huge blisters swelled up along my arms, then burst one after another. My mother stood there, revulsion all over her face. "Iris, have you no shame left at all, faking an illness like this? "You love lying down so much, then lie there in the sun until you die!" Mom, this time I really am going to burn to death.

My mother, Margaret Harper, carries the blood of a Word Witch. Once every lunar cycle, she can speak one blessing that fate itself is forced to obey. But all my life, the only thing she ever gave me was half a sentence. When I was eighteen, I received early admission to the Northern Royal Healers' Academy. My mother looked at the letter and said, "If you go north..." Her instincts had never been wrong, so I thought she'd seen danger waiting for me there. I turned the academy down with my own hands. Months later, she used her recommendation and a binding blessing to send my younger sister, Chloe, to the best healing school near our pack, even though Chloe had nowhere near my talent. After that, I stopped asking about my future. I started at the bottom of Black Pine Pack's medical system and fought my way up until the Northern Royal Pack appointed me Chief Healer. One month before I was due to leave, my mother saw the appointment letter and still offered me nothing but another unfinished warning. "Climbing too high might..." That same night, I heard her give Chloe the only blessing she could use that month. "You'll pass the senior healer examination. Your wolf will remain calm, and every examiner will recognize your ability." So that's the truth. My mother wasn't unable to finish a sentence. She simply never thought I was worth one. If every blessing she had belonged to Chloe, then Margaret didn't need to know that in one month, I would leave her house and Black Pine Pack for good.

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.

A highway pursuit of a fugitive ended in a crash. I was rushed to the hospital alongside a death-row convict. "The patient's left chest cavity has been pierced by rebar. He needs emergency surgery immediately. Get his family on the line!" I did not want my mother, who was thousands of miles away, to worry. I forced myself to stay conscious and prepared to sign the consent form on my own. Yet the deputy chief of the military hospital snatched the form out of my hands. He ordered the staff to wheel me out of the operating room by force, all so they could treat the barely scratched convict instead. "Save him first. He has a clotting disorder. If the bleeding isn't stopped now, it'll be fatal!" The staff stared at him in disbelief. "But this patient is a police academy cadet. His condition's clearly more critical." The man spared me a single indifferent glance. "Trust my judgment. He won't die. Save the fugitive first." I bit back the pain and reached for the hem of his coat with trembling hands, but he shook me off without a second thought. He spoke again without looking at me. "I'm his father. I'll sign the liability waiver."

The day summer break started after my third year of college, Mom and Dad drove over in their SUV to pick us up. My older sister, Janet Gould, helped carry the luggage. My younger brother, Harvey Gould, clung to Mom and soaked up her attention. When I carried my duffel bag downstairs, they stared at me in shock. None of them recognized me. "Liam, is that you? How did you lose so much weight?" Mom looked me over, her expression hard to read. For a moment, I thought she was worried about me. But then she suddenly frowned. "You're not sick, are you? We don't have health insurance for you." Janet looked at me with disgust. "Did you lose all that weight just to compete with Harvey for attention? That's ridiculous." Dad leaned out of the car. "Stop wasting time. Our table at the restaurant will be ready any minute. Same as always. Harvey gets car sick, so he sits in the front. Janet will sit in the back. "There's not enough room. Liam, just take a cab." I gripped my duffel bag tighter. "But it's a five-seater. Now that I'm…" Before I could finish, they drove away. I stood there staring at my luggage for a long time. I used to weigh 240 pounds. When Mom bought Janet a designer jacket that cost over a thousand dollars, she said they didn't have my size, so I didn't get one. Harvey wore basketball shoes that cost a few hundred dollars. Dad said they'd be too tight on my feet because of my weight, so I didn't get a pair either. I used to think they left me out of the car because I was too heavy. But it turns out even after losing 90 pounds, there was still no place for me in this family. If that's how it is, I won't try to fit in anymore.

Over summer break, right after graduation, my parents, Stuart and Rachel Powell, decided the whole family would take a road trip together. But the moment I hauled my suitcase up to the car door, Mom's hand shot out to stop me. "There's no room. Maybe you should just sit this one out." She glanced back at the seat behind her. "Aiden doesn't want you along, either. He's not feeling well right now, so give way to him." My knuckles went white on the suitcase handle, and my throat turning bitter. Aiden was the biological son they'd lost years ago and only just found again. Ever since he came back, everything that used to be mine had gone to him. Slowly, I'd been pushed to the margins of the family I'd lived with for eighteen years. Aiden's autism meant he would have a meltdown the second he saw me. I even had to wear a mask to sleep. They left me standing there and drove off without a backward glance. A few minutes later, the family group chat started blowing up. Joy Harris, my childhood friend, posted two test scores: 85/100 and 47/100. [Aiden's foundation is weak. He probably just didn't test well.] [I've decided to repeat the year with him.] I sent back a single, stunned question mark. A second later, Dad kicked me out of the chat. I took a breath and opened my laptop. Quietly, I changed every one of my college applications to schools thousands of miles from home. This time, I was choosing my own path.

The day I got laid off, I called my girlfriend, Juliet Sidwell. No answer. I rode my e-scooter home through the rain and stumbled into my apartment soaked, a cardboard box in my arms. The place was packed. Family. Friends. Relatives. And right in the middle of it all stood Juliet and my friend Paul Bartel, raising their glasses to my parents. The second I walked in, the whole room went silent. My box hit the floor. Everything spilled everywhere. Juliet walked over, calm as ever. "Why are you here?" I just stared at her. "What the hell is going on?" Something flickered in her eyes. "Paul and I got legally married last year. The wedding's today." My ears rang. Then I slapped her. Hard. "Get out! Both of you! This is my home! Everybody, get out!" One of my friends shoved me back. Everyone crowded around Juliet and Paul, glaring at me. "You hit her!" "Exactly! We kept it from you because we knew you'd lose it. Juliet would've dumped you ages ago otherwise!" Then my parents stepped in. They looked at me like I'd ruined everything. "This isn't your apartment anymore. We gave it to Paul." "It's their wedding day. Stop causing a scene and go to your room." Just like that, my whole body went cold.

My family is democratic. Every decision is always settled by a family vote. Mom, Dad, my older brother, and my little sister each get one vote. I get one vote too. But the problem is that four votes always beat one. I never win. When I'm a sophomore in high school, my brother, Jonathan Hayes, wants a new computer. The vote passes four to one. The money I'd spent three years saving for college course fees disappears overnight. During senior year, I earn an early admission offer from North City University. My little sister, Jasmine Hayes, bursts into tears, saying she doesn't want me to move so far away. So, the family holds another vote. Dad places an application form on the table and says, "The majority has spoken. You'll attend the local teachers college." I argue that I've worked myself to the bone to get into North City University. Mom frowns. "Why are you so stubborn? If you stay here, you'll be able to help Jon later and also keep an eye on Jas. Wouldn't that be better for everyone?" Then, when Jonathan's startup business runs into financial trouble, Dad picks up my admission letter and announces that my tuition money will be loaned to Jonathan first. Jasmine links her arm through mine and says with a smile, "Josh, everyone has already voted. You can't be upset just because you lost." Looking at the admission letter that's decided by their votes, I suddenly find it absurd. So, this is what they call democracy—four of them legally deciding what I should lose. That night, I don't argue. I go online and fill in an application to a classified research program in the Northwest Podin Desert. From then on, the only vote that matters is my own.

My fiancée and my best friend were the top partners at a multi-million-dollar law firm, while I was just the guy handling the administrative work. In the courtroom, they were in perfect sync, trading fierce legal arguments and sharing an effortless dynamic. In their personal lives, they casually flirted through law jokes that only the two of them understood. I could never get a word in, edge-wise. Every time they laughed, I offered a painfully awkward smile. Even at my mother's funeral, nothing changed. They chatted merrily in front of her coffin, eventually breaking into audible laughter. “Clara, can you greet the guests?” I called out to her. I was the only child in the family, and as my fiancée, she was supposed to help me out with the funeral service. Anxious, I reached out to pull Clara forward, but she brushed my hand away. “Stop making a scene, Jack. Ethan and I are discussing something important.” Ethan just shrugged lightly. “Jack, it’s fine not to greet the guests. It's just a funeral service. Your mom's already gone, so who cares?” With that, the two of them jumped back into their legal discussion. The conversation grew so intense that they decided to head back to the office right then and there to pull court records. I was left standing frozen, my hands stiff in the air. In our three years together, I had been abandoned like this countless times. Gritting my teeth, I stepped up to greet the guests. Clara and Ethan paused for a second, startled. Then, they casually went right back to their conversation as if nothing had happened. Before my mom passed, she had praised what a good wife Clara would be in the future, but now it all felt like a sick joke. This empty, meaningless relationship had to end right now.

My daughter, Clara Williams, turned seven today. We played a simple game to celebrate. The rule was easy. I would start a sentence, and she would finish it. It was a popular trend designed to see if a child was being criticized. "First sentence," I said, leaning over the table. "Look at the other kids…" I waited, a warm smile on my face. I had never raised my voice at her. I spent years protecting her world, building her confidence brick by brick. I knew she was happy. Her soft voice shattered that illusion instantly. "They are so much better than you," she said, reciting the words by heart. "You aren't even worth a single hair on Lily's head." Lily. She was the daughter of Donald Williams’ ex-girlfriend, Valerie Thompson. My chest tightened. The air left my lungs all at once. It took everything I had to swallow the lump in my throat and move to the second prompt. "What do you have to complain about?" "Lily is younger than you," my daughter cut in, her voice small. "You have to give up everything for her." She looked up at me nervously. Her little hands twisted the hem of her shirt under the table. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing down the sudden surge of nausea. I took a slow breath and tried sentence three. "You've grown up already…" "Go to parent-teacher conferences by yourself," she answered, looking at the floor. "I have to play family games with Lily." I stopped. I couldn't bring myself to ask another question. The cold truth was sitting right in front of me, but I was still clinging to a tiny shred of hope. "Sweetheart," I whispered. "Who told you those things?" "Daddy did." She caught the change in my tone and panicked. She quickly blew out the birthday candles, trying to lighten the mood. She closed her eyes tightly, making a wish out loud. "I wish I can be a better girl. Then Dad will be happy, and he will treat Mommy better." The last candle flickered and died. Darkness crept over the room. My illusion collapsed right along with it. I thought I was shielding my little girl from the monsters of the world. I never guessed her own father, Donald Williams, was the biggest among the monsters.

Lillian Cowfer, a human trafficker who had been on the run for ten years, was finally caught. On the day of her public trial, she listened to the charges against her. Then she suddenly smiled. "I object. The indictment says I kidnapped 23 people, but that's not true. I kidnapped 24." The entire courtroom fell silent. Lillian's smile grew more mysterious. "You all say I destroyed 23 families and that I'm guilty of the worst crimes imaginable. But this 24th victim didn't have a family to begin with. I even found her a new family. Isn't that a good thing?" The prosecutor leaned toward the judge and whispered, "Your Honor, there have only been 23 kidnapping cases over the years. She may be making this up on purpose to delay the trial and buy herself more time." But just as the judge was about to bring down the gavel, Lillian suddenly shouted. "Your Honor, your daughter hasn't come home in three years. Don't you want to know where she is?"

After a wild month of partying across half the world, I unexpectedly found out that I was pregnant. I flew home overnight to surprise my husband, only to find a new nanny had moved into our house. Before I could say a word, she slapped me across the face. "What's a vixen like you doing here?" she snapped, fierce and full of herself. "Get out! This is my daughter's house! Out, out, out!" My hand froze halfway to dialing 911. I shot back instead, "Who's your daughter?" She settled onto the leather sofa I'd bought, crossed her legs smugly, and said, "My daughter is Paige Griffin, and her husband is Bradley Ford, Morlene City's hottest new rising star. Did you hear that clearly, or are your ears just for show?" My head started buzzing. I looked down at the wall-sized print of my wedding photo with Bradley and let out a bitter laugh. If her daughter was Bradley's wife, then who did that make me? Me, the proud daughter of Morlene City's richest man, had been reduced to being someone's mistress?

My parents hand me this year's "atonement list", which includes a Porsche worth at least six figures. They claim that my late brother, Caleb Patterson, loved luxury cars above all else. Even though he died saving my life, they say I owe it to him to buy a real one and burn it in his memory. That way, he can enjoy it in the afterlife. Just as I'm about to drain my savings to appease them—just as I've done for the past ten years—I receive a notification about a trending post titled, "How do you get the oldest child to willingly spend their whole life slaving away for the younger one?" After a moment's thought, I tap the notification and start typing a reply, one word at a time. "I'm the oldest child, but I'm adopted. Ten years ago, my younger brother drowned while saving my life. I owe my family my life, so no matter how outrageous my parents' demands are, I'll do everything in my power to fulfill them. I see it as my way of carrying my brother's share of caring for our parents too." But before I can hit post, a top-voted comment from the original poster catches my eye. "What's so hard about that? Ten years ago, I got myself into trouble and needed to lay low for a while. And because of that, my parents lied to my adopted brother and told him I was swept away by the current while trying to save him from drowning. "For the past ten years, I've been living a life of luxury overseas under a fake identity. Meanwhile, my idiot brother has been brainwashed by our parents under the guise of 'atonement'. Every year, he hands over hundreds of thousands of dollars as penance." The poster even attaches a photo. In it is a handwritten "atonement list", with one entry standing out in particular. "Limited-edition Patek Philippe watch, platinum, diamond-set version." Every drop of blood in my body turns to ice. There's a coffee stain in the bottom-right corner of the paper in that photo. It's identical to the one on the list Mom and Dad just handed me.

As the iron gates of the mental institute swing open, my wife, Serena Seacrest, walks in with her childhood sweetheart, Adrian Cross, beside her. She looks at me with utter disgust. I am strapped tightly to the bed, unable to move. She sneers, "Damian, you've been subjected to electroshock treatments for an entire month. Is your mania any better? You pushed Adrian down the stairs and nearly broke his leg, so I sent you here to teach you how to be a normal person." Serena tosses a worn-out pink comfort bunny onto the floor and speaks as though she is granting me a favor. "Get down on your knees and apologize to Adrian. If you do, I'll be kind enough to let you see Lila next month." I stare blankly at the dusty bunny, but I am unable to make a sound. Serena frowns and curses, "What a complete nutjob." Then, she turns around and closes the door. What she doesn't know is that a month ago, on the day she forcibly dragged me onto the mental institute's transport van, our daughter, Delilah Vale, ran after me and was run over by a truck at an intersection, her body mangled beyond recognition. Delilah is dead now, and she will never hold her bunny again. And everything between Serena and me had ended that same night.

I've had a terrible memory since I was a child. I can never seem to remember anything. But my older brother, Fred Zimmer, is the pride of the family. He gets excellent grades and is handsome, too. Mom always says, "Don't feel pressured. We love you both the same." Dad often comforts me, too. "Josh, forgetting things means you won't have a lot of worries. All I want is for you to be happy." I've always believed them without question. After I graduate, I secretly take my birth certificate and apply for public housing to help ease the financial strain at home. After entering my information, the clerk frowns and looks up at me. "Kid, something's not right with these records." I freeze. "What's wrong?" "According to the records, Fred Zimmer is the only child officially registered to these parents." In that instant, I feel my whole body go numb. "That can't be right. Could the system have made a mistake?" The clerk checks again for a long time before finally looking at me helplessly. "Your parents are registered as someone else here." I don't know how I make it out of the building. I can't believe I've spent more than 20 years as their son, only to find out that they've never officially recognized me as one. I don't want this family anymore.

At 3:00 a.m., I was slapped awake. "Your sister had a panic attack. She spent two hours banging on your door, and you had the nerve to pretend you were asleep!" My parents stood at my bedside, faces rigid with fury. My sister, Faye Radford, was huddled in the arms of Kellan Garrett, my boyfriend since childhood. She shook with sobs. "Alina, you're so selfish." Kellan looked at me, his voice thick with disapproval. "You know Faye can't function without you." I had always been the only thing that calmed her down when the panic hit. The moment I tried to put any distance between us, she spiraled again. She was the reason I had given up my spot at a top prep school to transfer to the same public one she entered. She was the reason I ended up at the same ordinary state university, even after I earned one of the highest academic records in the district. Earlier that night, just before bed, I had received a job offer from one of the biggest firms in Bartley. "You're not taking that job in Bartley." My father left no room for argument. "The restaurant downstairs needs a waitress. Go apply tomorrow." "Faye can't get by without you." My mother settled Faye into my bed. "From now on, leave your door open at night and check in with Faye before you go to sleep." Kellan pulled the blanket over Faye and tucked in the edges with care. I watched the warm, picture‑perfect scene in front of me, then lowered my gaze and opened the email app on my phone. I accepted the offer from a renowned interior design firm in Lavenne. My start date was 5 days away. This time, I went after a life of my own.

After we got married, my husband, Mason Callahan, handed over his debit card and told me to treat myself, no limits. Then his mom ended up in the hospital. The second he asked me to transfer the money for her treatment, I told him that there was none left. He flew into a rage. "I give you ten grand a month! How the hell can you have zero dollars left? "I said you could treat yourself, but you actually blew through every cent? You didn't save a dime? God, how did I end up marrying such a wasteful woman?" I didn't bother arguing. I simply asked for a divorce.

A week before we're supposed to register our marriage, my fiancee, Celine Payton, asks me to book eight train tickets to the beach. She says it's our last trip before we get married, and everyone close to us is going. I spend three days scrambling for tickets and finally manage to get eight seats together. After I pay, a group poll pops up in a chat called "No Henry Sharp Travel Group." The question is simple. "Should Henry come with us?" Seven votes are against it while one person abstains. Not a single vote is in my favor. The voters include Celine, my older sister, Celine's childhood best friend, and my younger cousin, whom I had practically raised. I ask Celine if she's the one who abstained. She rubs her temples. "Yes. I didn't vote against you, and that's already me looking out for you. "Everyone's worried you'll try to control everything and complain about this or that. No one will have any fun. Just give me some space before we get married, okay?" I ask, "Then why do you still have me book eight tickets?" Her answer comes naturally. "You're good at getting tickets. The eighth seat gives us extra room for luggage. I'll send you the money later." My older sister, Joanne Sharp, tries to reason with me. "We're about to be family. Don't let a few tickets ruin your marriage." I look down at the eight seats sitting side by side. So I spend three days scrambling for tickets, not because I'm going with them. I'm only helping everyone else book a trip that doesn't include me. The app reminds me that I have ten minutes left to cancel the tickets. But by then, I don't care whether I can get a refund. What matters is the woman I'm about to marry. Even when everyone else turns against me, she can't bring herself to cast a single vote in my favor.