Melodramatic Biological Family Short Stories & Novels

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.”

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."

To realize my brother’s dream of getting a girlfriend in college, my mother drugged me just before the start of the semester, knocking me out for three straight days. By the time I came to, my brother had taken my spot at an Ivy League school. I bought a train ticket there to expose him as an impostor. However, my mother broke my legs and locked me up in the cellar. She bolted the door to the cellar. “I’ve taught you time and again to put your brother first, but it goes straight over your head. It’s just college. It won’t kill you to let him take your place. “You ought to reflect on your behavior. I’ll let you out once you’ve learned how to be part of the family.” With that, she left to play poker with her friends. For the next ten days, my presence was the last thing on her mind. She didn’t bother to send me food. It wasn’t until the weeds in the field had grown tall enough to need clearing that my mother finally unlatched the cellar door. By then, hunger had already taken me. No longer would I pull those weeds again.

To avoid any suspicion of favoritism, my father, Myron Bradshaw, forces me to participate in the group blood donation. The only problem is I'm severely anemic. When the nurse, Lorna Ritter, draws 100 milliliters, my vision suddenly goes dark. I've just put my hand on the needle tube, about to call for a stop, when Ms. Ritter holds my wrist down. "You're calling it quits after only 100 milliliters? All the other students are donating 400 milliliters." She glances at my bloodless face, her eyes full of disgust. "Donating blood is such an honorable thing to do. Selfish fakers like you who pretend to be sick really deserve to be penalized with a double draw." Beside me, Dad looks at me coldly and says with disappointment, "Ronnie Bradshaw, is this how I raised you? Everyone else has donated, so don't think you can be an exception. You'll draw 400 milliliters of blood today even if it kills you." I gasp for air, my heart racing so fast it feels like it's about to burst. By the third tube, my vision blurs completely, and I collapse heavily to the ground. My soul slowly rises into the air as I gaze at Dad guiltily. I'm sorry, Dad, I'm really not lying. This time, I truly can't hold on any longer.

When I was having a heart attack, my parents, my brother, and my fiancé were all at our family casino—celebrating Eva, our adopted daughter, at her twenty-first birthday, her official debut into the mafia world. The doctor refused to operate without a legal guardian’s signature. So I called them. My father’s assistant answered. “Sorry, Miss. The Don is in the middle of a toast.” My brother and mother let it ring until it went silent. Finally, my fiancé, Adam, picked up. Music roared behind him. I could hear laughter, glasses clinking. “Cecilia,” he said, impatient. “If you can’t even show up for Eva’s party, stop causing trouble. Today is Eva’s debut. Every Don from three territories is here. Whatever drama you’re playing can wait.” I lost count of how many times they chose her over me. So after this call, I stopped calling. I signed my own name. My family thought I’d finally learned to be obedient. But they should’ve known that in our world, silence only means one thing—I was preparing to disappear for good.

I died on my birthday, but neither my parents nor my husband noticed. They were too busy pouring all their attention into planning my twin sister, Esme Shaw's, birthday party. While she was surrounded by people helping her pick out a gown, I was tied up and thrown into the basement. With what little strength I had left, I forced my broken fingers to press in the code—9395. It was a signal my husband, Edwin Grant, and I had once agreed on. It was a straightforward way to call for help in the event of danger. I never thought I would actually need it one day. But when I sent it, he didn't believe me. His reply was cold, "Claudia, just because I didn't take you shopping for a new dress, you've decided to put on a show? "You can still wear last year's gown. Stop making trouble. I'll see you at the party later." What he didn't know was that Esme had already shredded that gown into pieces. And what he couldn't imagine was that the moment after he hung up, I was already gone. So, when the celebration began, I never appeared. But when everyone saw the birthday gift I had prepared for Esme ahead of time, the entire room lost its mind.

After being rushed to the hospital and brought back from another relapse, I vaguely heard my family arguing. "This is already the second time this month. When will it end?! Why isn't he dead yet?!" "Mom, don't say that! I've decided, I'll start working right after graduation to earn money!" My dad scolded my older brother, "But you have such good grades. You've already secured a spot for postgraduate studies. You should keep studying, let us take care of the money!" I lay on the bed, crying silently. After three years of being tormented by illness, I couldn't keep going anymore. This time, I chose to let go.

While we're applying to colleges, everyone gathers around my younger twin brother, Kevin Winslow, and launches into a discussion. Our older sister, Natasha Winslow, points at a brochure. "Of course, you're going to Whetford University. Come to my school, and I'll look out for you." Our childhood friend, Claire Linwood, shoves an Ellerby College brochure at him. "Don't listen to Natasha. Let's go to Ellerby together and be classmates for four more years." Our parents smile in agreement. "Yes, you should go to the capital. We can sleep better at night knowing someone's looking out for you." A long while later, they finally remember that I'm about to go to college as well. "Kyle, with your bad grades, you can just apply to any college in Valefront." Natasha doesn't even look up when she replies, "That's right. All four of us will be in the same city, so we can meet up on weekends." Claire nags out of habit, "Applications won't stay open forever. Make sure you don't get left behind." I slowly tighten my grip on the mouse. The computer screen is still displaying my application draft. In the make-believe sessions in our childhood, Kevin has always played the prince everyone adored. Natasha has been the loyal holy maiden, while Claire has been the brave princess. But I can only ever be the evil dragon everyone hates. Turns out, even now when we're grown up, things haven't changed. Since no one likes me anyway, I decide to apply to a college that's furthest away from home. From now on, I have a whole life ahead of me, so I won't dwell on the past anymore.

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!"

Jethro Miles was an orphan sponsored by my dad. The moment I laid eyes on him, I flipped. Despite my family's objections, we dated for seven years, even as my dad threatened to disown me. Eventually, my dad relented and consented to our marriage. But as we exchanged rings, a young woman in a white dress burst into the venue, staring at Jethro with tears in her eyes. He chased after her, abandoning our wedding. Later, I learned that the woman was his childhood friend from the orphanage. Jethro desperately tried to explain, "Nancy grew up with me. She is like a sister to me. She's been through abuse and divorce. Please, give me time to help her, okay?" Tears blurred my vision as I watched him plead so fervently, my heart plummeting into despair. I managed, "Okay." Jethro took care of Nancy and her son as if they were his real family. What he didn't know were the two secrets I'd kept from him when my dad finally agreed to our marriage: I was pregnant, and I was dying.

After my sister and I were both diagnosed with liver failure, we were admitted to the same hospital. But only one matching donor liver was available. My family favored her. I still wanted to live. I broke down in the hospital hallway, pleading with my parents for that chance. Someone filmed me and posted the video online. Everyone called me cold and selfish. They said I had sacrificed my humanity just to stay alive. When it was time to sign the preoperative paperwork, my brother finally came to my room. His face was hard. The moment he saw me, he started in on me. He wouldn't even look at me. "This family has always indulged you because you're the youngest. Haven't you caused enough trouble? "Camilla Hale is only twenty. Her life is just beginning. "You've been sickly since childhood, but we've taken care of you all these years. What would it cost you to put her first this once? "You've been sick your whole life, and you've always pulled through." He didn't know Camilla had secretly switched our test results. Before I could tell him, his phone rang. Camilla sobbed on the other end, asking if I was still being heartless. Henry's voice softened as he reassured her. "Don't be afraid. I'm here. "This is yours. No one is going to take it from you." Whenever I got sick as a child, my brother, Henry Hale, carried me to the hospital on his back. Back then, he would hold my hand and say, "Livia, I'll be your guardian angel." Now, as I looked at his familiar face, I understood how much trouble I had caused everyone... "All right, Henry. She can have the transplant."

Mom is always very strict with both my elder sisters, Esther and Emily Kingston. She always wakes them up at 5:00 am to make them study. And if they refuse to wake up, Mom will grab an embroidery needle and stab it into my arm. When fresh blood spills out, Esther and Emily will both get a fright and scramble to their desks at once to begin studying. Sometime during the year-end exam, Esther gets one easy question wrong, and I receive ten lashes with Mom's belt. Emily gets only the second-highest score in class, and I am forced to kneel on glass until my knees turn bloodied and torn. Esther and Emily feel sorry for me and fall to their knees, begging Mom to have mercy on me and promising that they will study hard and make her proud of them. Mom smiles happily and says that this teaching method works very well. However, after the SATs, Esther applies for a college out of state, and Emily tells Mom that she is eloping with a young man whom she has fallen in love with. Mom is so angry that she yanks me over and stuffs me into a huge fish tank before beginning to fill it up with water. She then takes a video of me, threatening to drown me alive if they don't listen to her and do exactly as she says. The water keeps rising in the tank. I feel scared, but I don't struggle because Mom always tells me that the only reason for my existence is to be made an example out of for Esther and Emily. She often quotes Shakespeare's "Othello", telling me about how I am the "sacrificial" dog one beats to scare a lion and teach it obedience. I think that I am considered quite a qualified dog after all, right?

After the college entrance exam, my sweet, well-behaved daughter suddenly turned into a monster. She stabbed the grandmother who had raised her with her own hands over and over again, leaving her to bleed to death. She threw her little brother, who had always adored her, straight off the tenth floor. My husband and I were horrified. We begged her to stop, our voices shaking. But she only laughed like a maniac. “Grandma and my brother were too good to me. That's exactly why they had to die! “And you two worked yourselves to the bone to support me, pay for my schooling, and give me a good life. You were good to me too. “So you have to die as well!” Then she set the house on fire with my husband and me still inside. I closed my eyes, furious and unwilling to accept it. But when I opened them again, I found myself back one week before my daughter's college entrance exam. This time, I secretly installed a camera in her room. No matter what it took, I was going to uncover the truth behind why she'd murdered our entire family. But when my husband and I finally saw what the camera had recorded, neither of us could say a word.

The day we took our engagement photos, the photographer said my smile looked a lot like my brother Wesley's. Stefani Lundberg, my fiancée, immediately had Wesley change into the same white tuxedo. "Perfect chance to get a few keepsake shots." When it was time to pick the photos, everyone crowded around Wesley's. Mom said he was born to wear a white tux. Dad said he looked more distinguished than me, the actual groom. Stefani studied the screen for a long moment, then pointed at a photo of Wesley looking back over his shoulder. "Let's put this one at the wedding reception. It looks great." I asked where my photo was supposed to go. Only then did she seem to remember I was there. "You and Wesley look so much alike. The guests won't even notice the difference. "Besides, he's never getting married. It's not every day he gets to wear a custom tux." I let out a quiet laugh. From the time we were kids, life had always been harder for Wesley. That meant I was the one who had to give in. If he wanted something, I was expected to hand it over. If he couldn't have it, neither could I. Even my wedding had to become the dream he never got. I slipped the only photo of Stefani and me out of the album. I was standing beside her, trying hard to smile. Now it felt like I was looking at strangers. Spring hadn't failed to come. I'd just spent too long standing in someone else's shadow, waiting for it. This time, I was done waiting.

I had been married to Derek for six years, and we had a three-year-old son. He was poor, earning only $2,000 a month, but I had no complaints; I took care of everything at home for him. After getting dinner on the table for the whole family, I finally had a minute to check my phone. A video popped up on my feed: a twenty-two-year-old girl from a rural area whose hands, roughened by years of hard labor, looked like they belonged to a sixty-two-year-old woman. I looked down at my own hands, just as worn and scarred, and stared at them blankly before tapping into the comments. I expected people to feel bad for her. However, to my surprise, the comments section was flooded with a single sentiment: "Why would anyone marry a penniless loser?" One of the top-liked comments came from a couple; in their photo, they were pictured holding hands—fingers tightly intertwined—with the girl sporting a massive diamond ring. The accompanying caption read: "A man who truly loves you would never bear to let you suffer." I felt a pang of envy. Given the choice, who wouldn't want a glamorous life? As I was about to close the app, I accidentally tapped on the couple's photo, enlarging it. In the background, previously too blurry to make out, was a face I recognized. It looked exactly like my husband, Derek Sterling. I froze, and almost against my will, I tapped into the account's profile. Post after post of lavish photos of them together flooded my screen. And then I saw him clearly. The scar above his brow, the one he got when a shelf fell on him while protecting me, was still plainly visible. It was my husband. It was Derek.

When I practice standing at attention during the freshman orientation program, my mom, Jasmine Miller, decides to lock me up in a car with fully sealed windows just because I'm the first one who wipes sweat off her brow. "You were never able to stand properly ever since you were a kid! How dare you embarrass me in front of everyone with that slump of yours! In that case, you might as well reflect on yourself in the car!" The temperature in the car soon rose to 140 degrees Fahrenheit. I could only grip my throat, which is closing up rapidly, as I bang on the car window and plead to Mom to let me out. But she merely glances at the temperature shown on the monitor inside the car before locking all the doors with a jab of the remote control. "It's only 96.8 degrees inside the car! Heck, it's even a degree lower than the temperature outside! Keep putting on that act of yours, why don't you?" But what Mom doesn't know is that the car's system has already gotten disconnected from the Internet a long time ago. Seeing as the temperature inside the car is still increasing, I have no choice but to ask my orientation leader, Edwin Styke, for help. But he actually agrees with Mom's approach to things. "If every parent were as strict as Ms. Miller, none of the youngsters would grow up fragile and whiny!" Driven by sheer despair, I can only slump in the backseat. Soon, my consciousness fades away completely. Some of my peers try to plead on my behalf, only to witness the way Mom tosses her car key into the dumpster. "Kate really is enjoying her break, huh? Now that she's lying inside the car, she refuses to even move a muscle! Well then, she can lie there all she wants!" But Mom, I don't need you to free me anymore. After all, I can feel myself ascending slowly from the car. Finally, I'm free from this sauna! As I stare at Mom's furious face, I can only grip the hem of my sweat-soaked shirt uneasily. I'm sorry for embarrassing you in front of everyone again, Mom…

Ever since Mom loses the baby, Dad has been spending his time keeping his late classmate's wife company. So I take scissors to our family photos, cutting him out of every single one. When Mom receives a call from my school, she overhears me telling a classmate that my dad is dead and asking if I can borrow theirs instead. Mom freezes for a moment before admitting, "Yeah, he died young." When family sports day rolls around, Mom catches me slipping a ten-dollar bill to the school guard, begging him to pretend to be my dad for the day. Instead of stopping me, she quietly hands the guard 200 dollars, making sure he attends the parent-teacher conference with me. Whenever an event requires a father figure, Mom simply lets me rent one. Eventually, it dawns on Dad that he hasn't heard anything from us in a long time. He clears his entire schedule for the afternoon to pick me up from school, but my teacher stops him at the school gate. Dad heads back home in confusion. The second he steps through the front door, he overhears me speaking to the maintenance guy. "My dad's dead," I tell him. "Do you want to be my new dad?"

On the day we move into the new apartment, my mother, Elizabeth Carter, sends a floor plan to the family group chat. It's a three-bedroom apartment, and a name is marked beside each bedroom. The master bedroom is for my parents, and the second bedroom is for my brother, Benjamin Sullivan. The room with the best sunlight is labeled "Savannah's Room". Savannah Keller's father, Liam Keller, drowned years ago while saving Benjamin, who had fallen into the water. After she becomes an orphan, my parents take her in and raise her as their own for ten years. I zoom in and out of the picture, scrolling through it twice. Still, I can't find my name anywhere. I ask Mom about it. She pauses, as if just remembering this detail. "You said you wanted to apply to a graduate school out of town, right? Once you get in, you'll move away. Leaving the room empty would be such a waste. Savannah's situation is different. "Her dad died for Benjamin. She has no other family in this world, so she must be given that big bedroom." Benjamin is already helping Savannah choose the curtains. They are pink floral ones, which she likes. Meanwhile, my boyfriend of three years, Wyatt Whitfield, carries the newly assembled bookshelf into Savannah's room. He quietly asks her if she wants an extra shelf for her figurines. I sit on a cardboard box in the living room, watching everyone bustle around. It dawns on me then—it's not that they have forgotten about me. Rather, deep down, they subconsciously believe that to repay that debt of gratitude, I should naturally give up everything that belongs to me. Even Wyatt has become an accessory to compensate Savannah. Since there's no place for me in this home, I decided to give it all up to them. I lower my head and tap on my phone. Then, I sign the confidentiality agreement to work at a base in the Northwest for five years, with no chance of coming home. This time, I'm really leaving, and I'm never coming back.

I'm an energetic child, while my parents are elegant and refined. They're the type of people who don't make a sound even when they're flipping a page of a book. They want me to be quiet, but I just can't do it. Dad gets rashes all over his body whenever I just run a few steps around the house. "It's all your fault for being so unruly," Mom snaps, shooting an icy look at me. "That's why your father developed an allergy. Stay away from him from now on." I nod, feeling stunned. Mom and Dad send me to live with Grandpa in the countryside when I'm seven years old. They promise to take me home once a year has passed. I count the days on my fingers that are covered with chilblains, waiting year after year. During the winter of my sixth year in the countryside, Grandpa closes his eyes and doesn't wake up again. Mom and Dad finally remember that I'm still in the countryside. As the days turn warmer to herald the coming of spring, I finally return home. However, when I step across the threshold, I see a young boy quietly reading a book. Mom pats the boy's head with a tenderness that I've never experienced. "This is your brother, Seth Jameson," she says. "Look how quiet and well-behaved he is." It turns out that I've lost my place in this home a long time ago.

I was born into a poor low-ranking family within the pack. But through my own hard work, I managed to rise to the position of Gamma in our pack. My parents told me they were getting older and wanted to see the world before their eyesight failed them. So, I used most of my savings—500 thousand dollars—to book a luxurious European trip for the whole family, including a special northern lights cruise. However, before we could leave, my parents' biological daughter heard about our planned trip and announced she was coming along with us. That's when I discovered I was adopted. My parents didn't hesitate for a second. They told me to give up my top floor cruise room that I booked for $5,000 a night to their biological daughter and ordered me to sleep out in the snow during our northern excursions. They completely disregarded the fact that I have a rare condition where extreme cold could trigger my wolf to shift uncontrollably so that I could potentially die from the exposure. Even worse, they demanded that I transfer all MY remaining savings to support their biological daughter’s luxury trip. But worst of all was when Alexander, my mate of three years, sided with them. The man I had supported financially, the wolf the Goddess herself had chosen for me, betrayed me without a second thought. So I canceled the entire trip through the pack's travel agency, took the refunded money, and went traveling for a month to enjoy life on my own. I ignored all their messages through our pack mind-link and stopped responding to any of their demands. That's when my family and Alexander started to panic...