Cerita Pendek & Novel Familial Bond Countdown

Ever since my husband, the mafia capo Rocco Marchetti, poured all his attention and the family's resources into his brother's widow, the woman whose husband took a bullet for him. I found our daughter Tessy's diary, where she had started writing, "My Papa is gone." A nun from her private Catholic school called, asking about his passing. I paused for a moment. "Yes," I replied. "He passed away a long time ago." On Father's Day, the school organized a trip to the church to light prayer candles. While other children wrote cards praying for their fathers' safety, Tessy neatly wrote just two words on hers: "To Heaven." During the parent-teacher open house, the nuns displayed the children's decorated diaries on their desks. The theme for their entries was My Father. My Papa died in a shootout in the next neighborhood over. A lady there wouldn't stop crying, and then Papa never came home. After every entry like this, she would clutch the crucifix on her necklace, her small hand gripping it so tightly her palm grew slick with sweat. Eventually, Rocco sensed the growing chill at home. He dropped everything and rushed back to the estate with a bouquet of expensive red roses, hoping to celebrate his daughter's birthday with her. The door opened. On the coffee table lay Tessy's new diary, its title scrawled in a childish hand: If Papa Were Still Alive.

After I discovered that my Mafia husband, Don Dante Amato, still couldn't let go of his first love, Bianca, and the son she had with another man, I taught our son to call him "Don Amato." When our son came down with a fever, Bianca called my husband away in the middle of the night. I stroked his burning forehead and taught him to say, "Goodbye, Don Amato." Dante had promised to present our son to the whole Amato Family at a family dinner — to formally announce him as the future heir. Yet on the night of the dinner, Bianca called, crying that her own son had no father by his side. Dante left without a second thought. I didn't argue. I just had our son stand in front of the entire Family and explain, "Don Amato has someone more important to take care of." It wasn't until Dante finally realized how disappointed we were in him that he suggested we take a family portrait together. Outside the photo studio, Bianca called again, crying for Dante's help. "Dante, the kids at daycare are making fun of Gabe for not having a dad. Can you come pick him up and pretend to be his father?" Dante looked conflicted. He turned to our son, as if about to explain everything. But this time, our son didn't need my reminder. He waved Dante off. "It's okay, Don Amato. Go take care of the other child. Mom and I will manage the family photo just fine."

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

My mother dragged me out of my biological father's brutality, and I thought we had finally escaped. Then she married the Don of the Falcone family. The woman who once fought to protect me completely changed. To secure my stepfather's approval and coddle his beloved Sofia, she stood by and let them turn me into a servant in the house I was supposed to call home. Every time I pushed back, they pushed harder. Every time I begged to be seen, I was met with contempt. My biological father's fists left scars on my body. This family's marks went deeper—into my bones. So I stopped. If they never wanted me there, I would stop breaking myself for their hollow approval. I would take my own life back. In seven days, I would leave. Harvard acceptance in hand—Boston waiting.

When I was born, the nurse handed me over to my parents, and the smiles on their faces instantly vanished. Hovering over their son's smooth head was a line of numbers that no one else could see. 6570 days. It was exactly 18 years. Not a day more, not a day less. The nurse thought they were just nervous first-time parents, but my parents knew the truth. That number was my lifespan. While everyone else in the delivery room was celebrating a new life, my parents were staring at my death. For the next 18 years, I was the most precious person in the family. No matter how poor we were, the eggs were always mine, the new clothes were always mine, and the meat was always mine. My younger sister could only look on enviously. My parents often told her, "Let your brother have it. He doesn't have much time left." I was well-behaved from a young age, never causing trouble, quietly waiting to die. On my 18th birthday, I blew out the candles and said a sincere goodbye to the world. The next day, my parents and sister, dressed in black clothes, walked into my room with swollen eyes. I rubbed my eyes, smiled at them, and said, "Good morning." The air froze. The sadness on their faces slowly turned into astonishment, then coldness.

When I was three years old, during a car accident, I was struck in the head by a car while trying to protect Mom. After that, the doctors said something inside my head had broken, and I'd never be quite right. Everyone back home called me the slow one. Late at night, I'd see her crying alone. On my seventh birthday, Mom took me to Manhattan, and that was when I discovered that she had a second home and another daughter, Charlotte. In front of strangers, she wouldn't claim me. She only let me call her Miss Eleanor. On the third night, She sat down at her vanity. On the table was a small black box. I thought it was a present. She opened the box and took out a black silicone bracelet, with a little light embedded in the clasp—small, dark, switched off. "This is called a TruthBand. It's something a company in California makes. The light turns green when you tell the truth, and red when you lie. If you wear this, Mommy will always know." She fastened it around my wrist. Tight. The little light blinked green. I thought that if I was good enough, she would love me the way she loved my sister. But then she made me do ski practice with Charlotte. Charlotte was a junior champion. "You're both my daughters. I don't play favorites. Whoever falls, gets punished." Charlotte never fell. I couldn't even keep my skis straight. Every single run, I was the one Mama dragged off the mountain and locked in the cellar. On Thanksgiving Day, Mama spent the whole afternoon cooking. I wanted to help. I dropped a bowl. She closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were red. She grabbed a little pill bottle off the counter, tipped my chin up, and forced something between my teeth. "Dumb as a rat. Are you happy now? Did you finally embarrass me enough? " I lay on the kitchen floor, gasping. While she wasn't looking, I scraped up three little pink pellets that had spilled and tucked them into my fist. Mommy, I told myself, I'll be good now, and then you'll be happy. Right?

In the third year of Alex Shaw and Eva Laurent's marriage, her sister-in-law dies in an accident. After her younger brother, Hugh Laurent, returns to the country with his son, Eva decides to name the child her heir. Alex assumes Eva did it out of concern for Hugh, so he goes to her office to discuss the arrangements. Unexpectedly, he overhears her arguing with her best friend, Celia Inman. Celia says, "Eva, you're already married! It's one thing to bring Hugh and his son home without considering Alex's feelings, but now you want to make that child your heir? Have you ever thought about Alex at all? "Hugh is an adopted son of the Laurent family. He's not even your biological younger brother. You really don't have to go this far for him." Eva glances at the little boy sleeping peacefully in her arms. In a gentle voice, she says, "This is Hugh's only son. I have to give him the best so Hugh can feel at ease. Besides, this is my son, too." Hearing those words, Alex freezes in the doorway. It feels as though someone has struck him hard over the head, leaving him with an excruciating headache. The boy everyone thinks is Eva's nephew is actually her son!

My parents were set up in Harbor City. They not only lost their entire fortune but were also left with a mountain of debt. They changed out of their usual polished shirts and dresses, their faces filled with worry. "Millie, which one of us do you want to stay with while we pay off our debts?" In my first life, I felt sorry for my father because he had trouble walking, so I accompanied him to work at a construction site. However, when a steel beam came crashing down, he shoved me away and shielded my adopted sister beneath him. The beam crushed my skull, and I died on the spot. In my second life, I chose my frail mother. I worked five jobs a day to care for her and desperately earn money to repay our debts. However, my mother gave every cent I earned to my adopted sister and sent her on a trip around the world. I was in the final stage of leukemia and could not afford my medication. In the end, I died in agony inside a basement rental apartment. This time, I hesitated as I faced my parents’ expectant gazes. I had just stepped out of the room when I heard the disappointment in my father’s voice. "Millie has really been spoiled rotten. We only tested her on a whim, yet we immediately exposed her true nature." My adopted sister, Lily Brooks, had just been accepted into a psychology program. She sighed. "Psychology says that only children who grow up pampered tend to become cold and self-centered. They have to experience some hardship before they can learn their lesson." My mother showered her with praise. "Lily, your idea of pretending to be bankrupt was brilliant. We can’t tell Millie the truth until we completely cure her spoiled, vain habits and turn her into the person we want her to be." My entire body trembled violently. The suffering I had endured in two lifetimes had only been a lesson meant to teach me obedience. Just as my heart sank into despair, the system I had not heard from in so long came back online. [The host’s emotional distress has reached a critical level. Would you like to prepare to leave this world?]

In the Valenti Family, you're born with a chip. It's fused into the bio-watch on your wrist, its digital face counting down every second you have left to live. Everyone could see the numbers ticking down on my twin sister's watch. And on mine. They all knew she would die on our 18th birthday. So Vivian became the untouchable princess of our brutal world. Every diamond-stitched gown was hers. The rarest jewels were hers. Even our father's last shred of humanity was hers. That single sliver of warmth he showed only after his gun was holstered. I used to pity her. Her time was running out. But God, I envied her. She had everything I never did: our parents' love. Then, the night of her 18th birthday party. My parents worried I'd make a scene. That I'd piss off the Don of an allied Family. So they locked me in the cellar. Damp. Cold. While a deadly fever burned through me. I pounded on the heavy oak door, my voice cracking. "Mamma, please! Let me out! I'm burning up. My head is splitting open…" Outside, my mother's voice was a steel trap. "Enough, Sienna! Today is your sister’s 18th birthday. Her last day alive! Stop the theatrics! Can't you suffer in silence for the Family's honor?" "But I'm really sick..." Her footsteps clicked away, fading into nothing. Then the darkness swallowed me whole. And on my wrist, the bio-watch was flashing a critical alert. CRITICAL ALERT: Vital signs mismatch. Paired chip data incompatible. Please verify user.

After the Intermediate Mage Examination, I stood outside the door and overheard my mother tell a relative, "The Royal Academy's tuition is too expensive. We can't afford to send both daughters." The relative tried to reason with her. "They're both your daughters. You can't send one and leave the other behind." My brother cut in. "Liana can't even cast a basic light spell. She's the one who needs the extra help. Ella's talented enough to manage on her own. Send her with Liana as a maid. She can sit in on classes whenever she's free." Then came the voice of Caden Vale, the boy I had grown up with. "That's fair." Standing outside the door, I finally understood what fair meant to them. Liana got the place at the academy. I got to save them the extra tuition and wait on her as a maid. When we were kids learning the levitation spell, the only cushion in the house always went under Liana. Once, I fell and cracked my head open. Even then, I made excuses for them. I told myself Liana needed more protection than I did. But as I listened to them laugh, something inside me finally snapped. This time, I would not let Liana use me as her stepping-stone.

The day I married Santino Connor, he went from the infamous heir of a mafia fortune to a broke nobody. When he handed me a plastic ring in a shabby basement and asked if I would start from scratch with him, I looked at the man I had loved since I was a girl and nodded without a second thought. "Santino, as long as it was with you, I would do anything." For him, I worked more than ten hours a day until my stomach bled from the stress. Our son, from the moment he could walk, trailed me from one odd job to the next. I thought my love could eventually build us a life in the sun. Until, at a lavish banquet where I was serving the elite, he showered me with cash from his seat at the head of the table. "What's that thing crawling on the floor? It's blocking my view!" "Take the money and get out of my sight!" When I saw the woman by his side, her face an eerie copy of my own, I finally understood. To him, this was just a game, and I was the only one playing for keeps. If he was going to go to such lengths to deceive me, then it was time for his game to end. What he didn't know was that one month later, he would be tearing the world apart to find me.

When our small pack joined the Northern Alliance, my father drained the pack funds to build a massive Pack House. On moving day, I realized: in that main building, meant only for the Alpha bloodline, there was no room for me. My brother Jace got a tactical simulation room with weapon racks. My sister Chloe got a sunroom with a meditation pool. Me? My mother pointed to a cramped storage room under the stairs. "Freya... we accidentally forgot your room. Just make do for now. You won't need a key—we can always open the door for you anyway." I smiled and said okay. I thought if I was obedient enough, they'd eventually see me. Later, I earned the only scholarship to study advanced potions at the Royal Werewolf Academy. But my ID was locked in my father's study in the main building. Deadline: 2 PM. I sprinted back at noon. The doors were locked. The place was empty. My mother was at a boutique helping Chloe pick a dress for the Full Moon Festival. "Your sister has her High Healer Trials next week. We haven't picked her ceremonial robe yet." My father was at the training grounds with Jace. "Can't you figure out how to open the door yourself?" I sat on the cold stone steps and waited. Patrol guards walked past, glancing at me. They came back at 8:30 PM. Chloe was thrilled, clutching boxes of silks and jewelry. Jace played with a new obsidian hunting knife, not looking up. My father walked past me sitting on the ground and said coldly: "Why are you on the floor? Come help carry this." No one cared about my fate. That night, I dragged my dusty suitcase out from under the bed. Three rooms, carefully prepared. Just enough to make a perfect family. As for me—it was time to find a place that would leave a light on for me.

In my first life, I was finally brought back to the Moretti family as their biological daughter. Then Sofia—the girl they had raised for twenty-six years—died. From that day on, I became the person they blamed. They never threw me out. They simply spent the next ten years making sure I understood that I could have the Moretti name, their blood, and their inheritance—but I would never be the daughter they truly loved. Then our yacht sank. My parents gave me the last life ring. My brother pushed me toward shore until the freezing water took the strength from his body. Before they died, they finally told me the truth. “If we had never brought you back, Sofia would still be alive.” “If there’s a next life, don’t come looking for us again.” I died in that ocean too. When I opened my eyes, I was back seven days before the Moretti family officially recognized me This time, I didn’t go home. I signed the North Star Project agreement instead. In seven days, my identity would be erased from every public system, and I would disappear for at least ten years. My parents were still preparing my recognition banquet. My brother still thought I was only angry. None of them knew I had decided to grant their final wish from our last life. Sofia could remain their only daughter. And I would disappear from their lives completely. Seven days later, a car carrying my identity plunged off a cliff. By midnight, the news was everywhere. Dr. Elena Hale was presumed dead.

My parents, Dennis and Sandra Ford, always said the wiring in our old house was too outdated to power more than three air conditioners. My sister, Beth Ford, practiced her violin in her room all day, so she needed one. My brother, Monty Ford, had been sickly since he was little and couldn't stand even a little heat, so he needed one too. The last unit went to the master bedroom. I didn't say anything. I stuck to my old, creaking fan and got through twenty-two stifling summers in Battisata City. I thought that if I stayed quiet enough, obedient enough, my family would eventually notice me. Then came the day I borrowed Monty's air-conditioned room for the final online interview at a major company. Right in the middle of it, the door kept swinging open. Beth's singing drifted in from the living room, and my dad poked his head in for the fourth time. "Still not done? Don't forget to make your brother his honey-glazed fish tonight." The interviewer on the screen frowned. "Sorry, we don't need employees with an attitude problem." The second the screen went dark, I sat frozen in my chair, cold sweat soaking the hair at my forehead. "Hurry to the market once you're finished. The fish won't be fresh if you wait too long." Their nagging kept going, and that was the moment it hit me. What I'd lost over the years wasn't just a working air conditioner or a hard-won job. It was my entire family.

I came home from a business trip. My daughter Anna threw herself into my arms and held up a hand-strung necklace she had clearly worked hard on. "Mommy, this is the birthday present I made for Mommy Lena. She's going to love it, right?" My heart dropped. Lena was my husband Preston's secretary. My daughter remembered her birthday. She had forgotten that today was mine. It wasn't the first time. She was always attached to Lena, hanging off her arm and asking, "Mommy Lena, when are you and Daddy taking me back to the amusement park?" Even when she ran a fever, the name she called out over and over was Mommy Lena. I corrected her, disappointed. "Anna, I'm your mommy, not Lena." But Anna pushed me away and shouted, "You're the bad mommy! I don't want you! I want Mommy Lena to be my mommy forever!" In that moment I could almost hear my own heart cracking. A second later, Preston shoved the door open. He scooped up the wailing Anna and turned on me. "Winnie, what kind of mother are you? Your child is crying like this and you can't even be bothered! "Anna's right. As a mother you're not half of what Lena is. I honestly don't know what I was thinking when I married you!" I watched their backs disappear down the hall and felt something go out in me. So this was what it had bought me. Six years ago I gave up my name and my claim as heir to the Family, all for love, and what I got in return was the contempt of my husband and my daughter. If that was how it was, then it was time for me to go home to the Family.

On my sixth birthday, my older sister, Bettina Moretti, gives me a cake with a message written in frosting. It reads, "Happy Sixth Anniversary of the Day We Found You!" I burst into tears and run to my parents, desperate to know if it's true. My father, Vittorio Moretti, nods. "That's right. If your sister hadn't begged us to take you home, you probably would've frozen to death next to a dumpster." My mother, Elisabetta Russo, pats me on the head. "Your sister saved your life, Alessia Moretti. You owe her a debt you'll never be able to repay. Don't forget that." From that day on, Bettina always comes first. When she refuses to go through the family's grueling advanced combat training, I take her place without hesitation. Even when my ribs get broken, I don't dare complain. I don't want my family to think I'm a burden. But no matter how much I sacrifice, even when I put my life on the line, my parents only ever praise Bettina. "She's the pride and joy of the Moretti family!" Then, this Christmas, I come home to the estate early and find Bettina doubled over with laughter in our aunt, Giulia Moretti's arms. "Seriously, is Alessia an idiot? She actually thinks she's adopted! I made that up when we were kids, and she's believed it all these years!" Giulia stares at her in disbelief. "Wait, you never told her you were joking?" My father scoffs. "Why would we? It's just a harmless joke." My mother chimes in. "Exactly. Besides, if Alessia finds out she's our biological daughter and Bettina's the one we adopted, what if she starts picking on Bettina?" A sharp pain shoots through my chest. I clutch at it as my legs give out beneath me. For years, I've kept quiet about how sick I am, forcing myself to endure the pain because I'm terrified of being a burden to my family. Two days ago, I finally saved up enough money to see a doctor. But he told me I've waited too long to get treatment. I have only five days left to live. Suddenly, I taste blood in the back of my throat. "Papa, Mamma... if I die, you won't have to worry about me bullying Bettina anymore, will you?"

The night Chloe, the adopted daughter, turned eighteen and completed her first shift, my mother, Grace, stripped me of my family identity right in front of the entire pack. My brother, Caleb, slapped me across the face so hard that my vision went blurry. “Listen to me loud and clear. From today on, this family only has one daughter, and I only have one sister.” I stared at Chloe standing in the very center of the crowd. Mom held her tightly in her arms while Chloe sobbed like a fragile porcelain doll, but her eyes landed on me with chilling precision. The wolf inside me went quiet. It wasn’t a whimper, but something much deeper. I felt the string—the pack bond—that once tied me to this family snap and vanish. I finally understood one thing: to this werewolf family, I had never been part of them. So, I left. Captain Vance had been inviting me to join the Vanguard Legion’s closed training camp for months anyway, and that very night, I signed my name on the agreement. Mom and Caleb thought I was just throwing a temper tantrum. They waited for me to come crawling back, tail between my legs, begging for forgiveness. However, a month later, when a thick layer of dust had settled in my bedroom, they finally went looking for me at the Werewolf Preparatory Academy. The academy told them that my file had been sealed and destroyed by the Werewolf Council. It was classified, and there was no way to access it. Sitting in the backseat of Captain Vance’s bulletproof car, I was in agonizing pain as I severed that final bond with my own hands. At that exact moment, panic finally set in for them.

On our third wedding anniversary, Lorenzo Falcone came back from Sicily with a chest of jewels. Without thinking, he slid the chest toward my sister Vella and told her to pick first. I stared, eyes wide, and the disappointment slipped out before I could stop it: "Lorenzo. It's our anniversary. Don't I get to choose first?" He faltered for just a second. Then he said: "Lily, as a Donna, you should know how to be gracious. You can't always act like a little girl." I'd heard that for over twenty years. Since I was a child, the eldest daughter of the family, I'd long learned to step aside. Give up the horse I loved. Give up my grandfather's keepsake. Give up the chance to study abroad. Give up the voice that should've been mine. My father told me to be sensible. My mother told me to protect my little sister. When I met Lorenzo, I really thought—foolishly—that I was done giving things up. He'd pull me behind him when the gunshots rang out. He'd hold my hand when the nightmares jolted me awake. He'd say it in front of everyone, so sure of himself: "Lily is my only choice." But I was wrong. Not long after we got married, Vella moved in with us. She said she couldn't bear to be apart from me. Lorenzo promised he would treat her like his own flesh and blood, give her a little extra care. But somewhere along the way, extra attention turned into her first—without him even noticing. After she'd made her picks, she handed me the leftover brooch. Old. Tarnished. "This one suits you, sis." I looked at her. Forced a bitter smile. "Take it all. I don't want any of it." Quietly, I slipped my wedding ring off my finger and tucked it into my bag. Three days from now, I'll place it beside the divorce papers on his pillow. And then I'll walk away. From him. From this city that was never mine to begin with.

My adoptive brother, Ryan Wellington, saved me from a car accident. When he woke up, he lost the memory of my parents ever finding me, their true biological son, or of anything that had happened since. He still believed he was their only son. He pointed at me and asked, "Who is he?" My mom, Tina Wellington, was originally holding my hand. When she saw how anxious he looked, she slowly let go. She said, "His name is Leon. He's just a distant relative who's staying with us." My dad, Joseph Wellington, and my older sister, Claire Wellington, went along with it. My fiancee, Natalie Evans, stood nearby and never mentioned our engagement as well. The doctor said he couldn't handle too much stress, so everyone asked me to play along. In the first week, he moved into my room and took the watch Grandpa had left me. During the first month, my parents turned my birthday party into a recovery celebration and introduced to everyone that I was an orphan the family was supporting. By the third month, Claire had cropped me out of our family portrait, and my fiancee had put my engagement ring on Ryan's finger. Whenever I protested, they reminded me, "If Ryan hadn't saved you, you'd be the one lying in a hospital bed." On the day of my engagement party, he wore my suit and accepted everyone's congratulations with my fiancee on his arm. After the party, when no one was around, he leaned close to me and said, chuckling, "This suit was made for you, but it really does fit me better." I had barely asked if he had ever gotten his memory back a long time ago when Claire cut me off coldly. "Enough! Natalie already said she'll have another ceremony with you once Ryan gets better. Do you have to make a scene today?" My parents accused me of being so jealous that I would slander the man who had saved my life. That was when I finally gave up on them. If this family only had room for one son, I was done fighting for a place.

For eight years, Damian Caruso kept me as his secret wife. I handled his family's lawsuits, protected his empire, and raised the son he refused to acknowledge in public. Ethan wasn't even allowed to call him Dad when anyone else was around. I told myself Damian had his reasons. Until our son's seventh birthday. Damian promised he would come home. Ethan waited beside an untouched birthday cake until nearly midnight. Damian never showed. Because Sofia Bellini—the childhood friend everyone already treated as Damian's real woman—had the same birthday. And Damian had chosen hers. That night, I stopped waiting. I signed the divorce papers. The next morning, Damian was in such a hurry to rescue Sofia that he signed the documents I placed in front of him without even reading them. He didn't realize he had just given me permission to take Ethan out of New York. Then he moved Sofia into our home—and asked his wife and son to leave so she wouldn't discover we existed. Ethan looked at the father he had spent seven years trying to love and called him "Mr. Caruso." Damian finally looked shaken. But it was already too late. On the day we left, he told me he had to fly abroad to handle a divorce case for a client. I said nothing. Because that divorce case was mine. He was flying across the ocean to finalize the end of our marriage—and he still thought I was just taking our son out of town for a few days.