Contos e Romances de Familial Bond

My younger brother, Leroy Graham, ended up becoming deaf and mute following an accident that occurred after his university entrance exam. Since then, his fiancée, Emilia Barton, communicated with him exclusively through sign language. I handed him money and told him to get his driver's license, then assured him I would pay for his university tuition fee. Emilia translated it as, "Your sister is mocking your disability and says you can't even drive.” When he picked up a summer job at a construction site, I had Emilia ask him to quit the construction work and work as an intern at my company instead. Again, she had twisted my words, "Your sister says she would be embarrassed to have you work at her company and that you're only good for construction work." At one point, he got into an accident at the construction site, which ended up crippling his legs. I cried out through the ICU glass, "Leroy, the doctor says it’s still possible to recover from this. I’ll spend everything I have to pay for your surgery!" Emilia looked at my brother, frowned, and signed to him again. "Your sister says that even if they performed surgery on you, you’d still end up being a burden to her. She wants you to sign the consent form to get amputated to make her life easier." My brother glared at me, biting his lip so hard it bled.

It was my parents' twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. The whole family kept it from me and took my adopted sister Evelyn to the most expensive Italian restaurant in New York. My older brother Luca raised his glass. "Evelyn wants to study business management. I'll introduce her to the right people." My younger brother Noah handed her a gift. "This bracelet suits you, sis." My mother put the sapphire earrings my grandmother had left me in her ears, smiling. "Evelyn, with us here, you'll never have to be afraid of anything again." My father nodded. "You need these more than Leah does. She's had it good her whole life. It's only right that she gives way to you." I stood in the cold wind outside the restaurant, looking down at the family photo on my phone. In it, all five of them were beaming. No one noticed that one person was missing. Me. Suddenly I understood. They hadn't forgotten me. They had simply never seen me as someone who needed to be chosen. In that case, I didn't want them either. I applied to the school farthest from home. From now on, they were them. And I was me. Later, when I'd made a name, made money, and found my footing on my own, they came looking for me with their bills.

After setting up the camera, I realize the clients for the family portrait are my parents and sister—the very people I ran away from five years ago. The moment we make eye contact, the smile on my mother's face freezes. Her eyes turn red-rimmed, and she hesitates before asking, "Mora… Is that you? You're alive?" Placing my finger on the shutter, I remind them, "Keep smiling. Look at the camera." My father shoots to his feet. "Are you still mad at us? You've avoided us for five years. What kind of grudge between family members can't be resolved after all that time?" I look at Mora, the dog who shares my name, as it stands beside my sister. I don't understand why Dad's angry. After all, they're the ones who spent years brainwashing me into believing I'm nothing but a bone marrow provider for my sister, Eva Fletcher. Even the dog makes it in the family photos that I wasn't allowed to be in as a child. I've long given up on needing such a family.

The adopted younger sister claimed to be suffering from depression. To make her feel better, my parents hung me on the cliff, as if I were a kite. Servant reminded my parents that the little tree to which I was hung was fragile, leaving me in danger. My mom, Luna of the pack, replied scoffingly: "She makes Laurel sleep panic. She deserves to be treated like this. If she dies, it's her fate." My older brother, Zayn, joked by her side, saying: "It's a good chance to record how long werewolves live when they do not conduct feeding activities. We can contribute a lot to the Werewolf Council with this precious data." Even my mate, Greyson, showed an attitude of stoniness, uttering: "She is a vicious she-wolf. If she were not educated well enough before her transformation ritual, she would cause greater trouble to others." They left me alone on the cliff after saying these words. Three days later, it finally crossed their minds that I was still hanging. When they finally arrived at the cliff, they found nothing but emptiness—because I had already died long before. And when they realized the truth, they howled in agony, begging for me to come back to life. But I was long gone.

I get sent away to the countryside because my parents fear that I'll use my privileged background to lord over others. In turn, they're taking in Tina from that family to the city for her upbringing and schooling. In the countryside, I get up at 4:00 am daily to feed the pigs, then it's a grueling three-hour trek through the mountains to school. I'm also barely surviving due to constant malnutrition. I reach out to my parents for a mere 300 dollars for tuition, only for them to accuse me of spending recklessly. In the meantime, they're donating an entire building just to secure a spot for Tina at her preferred school. I finally make it into Tina's high school and earn a guaranteed university admission spot, only for my parents to order me to hand it over to her as they unleash their fury on me, yelling, "You're clearly bad to the bone, always trying to take things that belong to Tina." "Tina almost gave up on life because of what you did. You're indebted to her for the rest of your life." They, using their parental rights, forfeit my guaranteed university admission spot to fulfill Tina's wish. They then transfer all company shares and real estate to her for her future security, while the whole family makes arrangements to move abroad together. I take in everything before me, no longer feeling hurt. I calmly pack my belongings and walk away from the place where I don't belong.

At my best friend Naomi Dodson's Sip and See, my husband, Joe Walsh, gifts her a luxury villa. I think it's a mix-up, but he stays deadly calm. "Naomi's baby is mine. The villa is her reward." The world goes cold around me. Desperate, I push for answers. "When did this start?" He knit his brows, annoyed. "Does it matter? You're still Mrs. Walsh. You get the money, the freedom, and a kid without the birth pains. What's not to like?" What he doesn't know is that he has severe azoospermia. I am never the infertile one. He is.

I was born with a one-track mind—I take everything seriously and do exactly as I'm told. When my adoptive father cursed a rival company, calling them bloodsucking vampires, I immediately went out, bought ten pounds of garlic and a crucifix, and stormed into their CEO's office to perform an exorcism. When my adoptive mother said she was willing to sell a kidney for the sake of the company, I contacted an underground black-market clinic on the spot and asked when they could schedule her surgery. Over time, no one dared joke casually around me anymore. Everyone in the family chose their words with extreme care, terrified I might take them at face value. That is, until the day of the family reunion banquet—when the fake heiress, who refused to leave no matter what, showed up as well. She hooked her arm through my brother's and flashed me a provocative smile. "Arista, Benji dotes on me the most," she said sweetly. "He said if anyone dares to make me unhappy, he'll chop them into pieces and dump them in the river to feed the fish." The banquet hall erupted in laughter. I was the only one whose face went deathly pale. The next second, I kicked my brother, Benji Collins, straight onto the dining table. I grabbed the silver steak knife and pressed it against his throat. "Everyone, stay calm," I announced loudly. "I've already called the police! For publicly advocating premeditated murder, desecration of a corpse, and antisocial personality tendencies… The minimum sentence is the death penalty!"

Ever since my older brother and sister-in-law got married, they had been arguing every single day. Whenever they fought, my sister-in-law, Sophia Jensen, would take out her anger by smashing cars. The problem was, she couldn't tell which car belonged to my brother, Jacob Kerr. Every time, she somehow managed to smash mine instead. A BMW, an Audi, a Tesla. Over three years, she wrecked three of my cars. I'd shelled out more than 70,000 dollars in repair bills alone. Every time I spoke up, my entire family would gang up on me. "It's just a car. If Jacob's marriage falls apart, are you going to take responsibility?" "Just put up with it. We're family." So I put up with it. Until one day, after another fight with my brother, Sophia stormed downstairs and hammered several dents into the hood of my car. I was driving it to the repair shop when I realized the brakes had failed. Traveling at 75 miles per hour, I slammed into a truck. My car was crushed into a sheet of twisted metal. I died with my eyes wide open, unable to rest in peace. When I opened my eyes again, I'd returned to the day Sophia and Jacob had their fight. This time, I didn't try to talk anyone down. I simply went downstairs and switched the license plates on my car and Jacob's.

The ninety-ninth thing my adopted sister Isabella took from me was a grave in the sun. I had already paid the deposit, but the cemetery didn’t dare sell the plot to me. Because the Moretti family’s principessa wanted that plot for her dead dog. But I loved that spot. So I called my mother, the Donna of the Moretti family. Her voice cooled the moment I mentioned the grave： “Adriana, are you still pretending you have gastric cancer?” “Isabella just lost her dog. She’s suffered enough. Stop trying to take something else from her.” My father rejected my call. My brother, Luca, answered while helping Isabella choose the dog’s headstone. “Stop buying graves to frighten us. Why are you always so petty? Can't you stand to see your sister have anything good?” I looked at the oncologist’s report in my hand. Seven days. Maybe less. So even when I was truly dying, no one believed me. I chose the only plot left at the edge of the cemetery, where sunlight never reached, and signed the contract. Then I blocked my family one by one. They were right. I needed to stop begging them to care and remove myself from their lives for good. Seven days later, I died alone. That was when the Morettis finally believed me. And lost their minds with regret.

Three years earlier, my adoptive parents were arrested for human trafficking, and the police finally tracked down my biological family. However, tragedy struck before they could bring me home. They were involved in a car accident on their way to pick me up. My parents and younger sister were killed instantly. Only my older brother, Derrick, survived because he had been working overtime that night. Not long after the accident, he was diagnosed with ALS. When we finally met, hatred filled his eyes. “If it were not for you, our family would still be together.” From that moment, I carried the weight of three deaths on my shoulders. I also took responsibility for the debt left behind by the accident, along with the rest of Derrick’s life. I dropped out of school and worked four jobs at the same time. When I felt hungry, I survived on cheap bread. When I became sick, I endured it and kept going. Every dollar I earned went toward Derrick’s medication. For three years, that was my life. Until one day, while delivering food to a private club, I saw the person who was supposed to be bedridden at home, waiting for me to turn him over in bed. Derrick. He stood beside a billiards table with a cue in his hand. His movements were smooth, precise, and completely free. No trace of illness could be seen. He struck the cue ball cleanly. One of his friends laughed and said, “Derrick, you have been faking ALS for three years. Even if this was a test, do you not think it has gone on long enough?” Derrick lined up another shot without looking up. “Harriet was raised by traffickers for ten years. No one knows what she learned from them. How could we bring her back into the Lawson family without testing her first? “Besides, Sheila was terrified that we would abandon her once we found our real family. She cried about it more than once. We needed to give her time to adjust.” A flicker of discomfort crossed his friend’s face. “However, Harriet has worked herself to the bone to pay for your treatment.” Another ball dropped into a pocket. Derrick smiled, pleased with himself. “Sheila and my parents are flying back tomorrow. Once they arrive, I will arrange for Harriet to return to the Lawson family. After that, I will make it up to her.” I lowered my head as a burning sensation rose inside my nose. A mechanical voice suddenly echoed in my mind. [Congratulations, Host. The Obsession Commission has been completed. Would you like to claim your reward?] I wiped away the blood that trickled from my nose. “Yes,” I replied quietly. “Claim it.” In three days, I would finally be going home. The Lawson family had never been the home I wanted.

“Camille, I’ll love you forever!” Jameson let out a low, agonized growl. Just as he was about to climax, his phone suddenly began to buzz. He ignored it, of course. Now was hardly the time. However, his phone lit up again. The moment he saw the text on the screen, his body froze. Camille heard him answer the call. “Hello?” In the deep silence of the night, the voice on the phone cut through the stillness, clear and unmistakable. “Jameson, did you know that Sylvia—” Jameson switched languages and cut in with a sharp command, “Keep it down. It's not a good time.” The other person switched languages too, though he was still loud. “The hospital results came in. Sylvia is in the final stages of cancer. She only has a month left! Her last wish is to become your wife. Can you grant her that before she passes?” Jameson’s expression changed immediately. “What?! Wait for me!” He ended the call and turned to Camille. “Camille, something urgent came up. I need to step out for a bit. Be good and stay home. I’ll be back after you’ve had some sleep.” Before she could respond, he rose to wash up, changed his clothes, and left without looking back. Moments later, her phone buzzed. Sylvia: [Camille, you lost. I told you—Jameson has always been mine.] Right above it was a message from three days ago: [If I tell him I have cancer, do you think Jameson will leave you and come to me? I bet he will.] Camille’s gaze slowly shifted from her phone screen to the open bedroom door. What Jameson did not know was that she had already picked up a new language. She understood every word of that call. After a long moment, a faint, bitter smile appeared on her face. “Yeah, I lost...”

My younger sister, who’s in middle school, was home for summer vacation. While I was out buying groceries, the girl who bullied her showed up at our apartment with her friends. They pushed my sister off the balcony. She died right in front of me. Her eyes were wide open as she looked at me. But before she could even call my name, she was gone. My whole body shook as I called an ambulance. But it was already too late. My sister had died on the spot. Because the bullies were minors, they were only given a warning and released not long after. The judge ordered them to pay 100,000 dollars in damages. But their parents cried and said I was driving their families into ruin. I didn't want their money. All I wanted was for my sister to come back to life. I was crushed by the fact that I couldn't avenge my sister. In despair, I took my own life. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my sister had died. This time, I sent her to my friend’s place in advance. But those bullies still found a way to kill a girl.

I was a child who was born in a vocational school's toilet. To my mom, I was a stain in her life that she was given birth to after having her cherry popped by a delinquent when she was still young. I knew that Mom had been trying to kill me. Unfortunately, she hadn't succeeded so far. The first time she tried to get rid of me was when she decided to give birth to me in the toilet. It was a cold, winter month, yet she didn't give me anything warm to wear. The second time she attempted murder was when she got into grad school, which was based in the north. No one was around to take care of me, so she turned on the gas while holding me in her arms and clutching her train ticket. The third and last time happened when Mom was about to marry the man she loved. On the night before her wedding, she had tears streaming down her cheeks as she told me, "You're nothing but a burden. You ruined my life! "Do you know that I can only forget about all the pain and suffering you caused me after you die? Only then can I start a brand new chapter in my life!" I wiped Mom's tears off her face with my tiny hand. So, her wish was for me to die. On my birthday, my fever hit 104 degrees Fahrenheit. That was when I finally received the first slice of birthday cake in my entire life. I didn't have the heart to eat it, so I made my wish solemnly. "I hope that I will die soon." I heard that birthday wishes often came true. That way, Mom would be very happy.

Mom always said she loved my younger brother Derek and me equally, but she had selective hearing. I've been gluten intolerant since I was little. I told her over and over not to make sandwiches, but she never listened. At every meal, she made Derek's favorite sandwiches. When Derek and I both came down with fevers, she couldn't hear me mumbling deliriously through a high fever, but the second he whimpered, she stayed at his bedside all night. When we were both living away from home, she turned a blind eye to me pinching pennies in a cramped apartment. But the moment Derek complained that he "needed a better space for networking," she didn't hesitate to make the down payment on a luxury condo for him. My heart went cold, and I learned my own kind of selective hearing. I used to hand over most of my paycheck for what she called the "family fund" and to cover Derek's bills. Now, I couldn't hear her hinting that I should keep bankrolling the family. The only thing I could hear was whether my dog was hungry. All the money that used to go toward Derek's bills went straight to the dog instead. This time, the one who lost it was Mom.

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

Three days after my mom died, the hospital called. "Mr. Carter, your mother has an outstanding balance of $1,873.60. Please come in and pay it as soon as possible." What? I stared at my mom's body. They had to have the wrong person. I'd paid every bill before she was discharged. She was supposed to be cremated and buried today. How could she still owe money? The person on the phone clicked their tongue. "Her family is responsible for the bill! She received treatment, so someone has to pay for it. It's $1,873.60." "Are you sure that's for Winona Carter?" "Yes. Come quickly."

My daughter went missing three years ago, and everyone assumed she was dead. Then came a national writing contest. An essay grader dialed 911 with trembling hands. A contestant had written a single chilling message inside their essay: [My mother has kept me locked in her basement for three years. This is my only chance to call for help.] And the specific home address was listed in it. When the police kicked my front door off its hinges, I was sitting on the couch watching TV. They rushed past me and found a girl trapped behind a heavy wooden door leading underground. However, that girl wasn't my daughter. My house doesn't even have a basement.

On the day I was diagnosed with stage four cancer, Vivian Cross handed me a contract for a divorce reality show. I already knew that meant she'd lost another bet to her secretary, Miles Smith. They'd made ninety-nine bets over the years, and every time, Vivian let herself lose on purpose. She lost the house we decorated for our wedding. She lost the wedding itself. She even lost our son's body, handing him over so Miles could satisfy his twisted curiosity about the human body. Our baby had been seven months along when they donated his remains. He'd been so small. Vivian slid the contract across to me, tapping the papers. "Ethan, I lost another bet. It's just a reality show. Help me keep Miles happy. Besides, it'll boost your profile. You'll get more film offers after this." She forgot what happened the last time she lost a bet to him. That time, she'd signed me up to star in ten adult films without asking me first. Afterward, she promised, "I won't let a single photo of you get out." The next day, the videos they forced me to shoot went viral anyway. I was blacklisted across the entire industry. No director would touch me after that. I signed the new contract without a word of protest. Vivian looked pleased and leaned in to kiss the corner of my mouth. "Remember to pick 'stay married' at the end. We'll get off the ride together at the finish line." She had no idea we'd never make it that far.

Melissa Mills, my wife, had allowed her lover to stay in our home for an entire week. Normally, I would've asked her to pay me for putting up with it. This time, I didn't. She must've thought I was finally learning how to be a good husband because she tossed me a check without me requesting one for the first time since… well, ever. "Nathan's moving out later. Pack his things for him. Do it, and the check is yours." That was how things had always worked between us. Every dollar Melissa gave me came at a cost. I would receive 50,000 when she wanted to parade me around as "Melissa Mills' husband." I'd be paid 100,000 to stand by and watch her flirt with Nathan Reid right in front of me. Finally, I was given 300,000 when she wanted the master bedroom for some alone time with Nathan. I'd swallowed my pride and put up with all of it because I needed her money for my mother's medical bills. However, that changed a week ago. My mother couldn't bear watching me humiliate myself for her, so she took her own life. Now, all I had left of her was nearly three pounds of ashes in an urn. There were no medical bills left to pay. So, I no longer had a reason to keep selling what remained of my dignity. Melissa knew none of this. Therefore, I wasn't really listening when she went on about Nathan moving out and told me to pack his things. Instead, I was sitting at a poker table with a few trust-fund guys, tossing another chip into the pot without even looking up. "I'm busy. If you need something, ask Nathan."

As the long-lost daughter of a wealthy family, I returned to my biological parents, only to watch their company collapse. Overwhelmed by massive debts, my dad jumped to his death. My brother was left crippled by vengeful creditors. My mother, unraveled, would one moment tear at my hair, cursing my existence, and the next, cling to me, sobbing and vowing to cherish me. To save them, I shredded my college acceptance letter and took every job I could find. When my brother's condition worsened, I auctioned off my virginity to fund his surgery. But when I arrived at the hospital with the money, I overheard their conversation. "Kathy works day and night to earn money. I don't think she is after our fortune," said my mom. "She dropped out of college and ruined her future for us. Maybe we should stop this." My brother, supposedly half-paralyzed, stood by the window in a crisp suit. He shrugged. "She chose to skip college and work like that. What's it got to do with us?" My "dead" father broke his silence. "We need to be careful. People like her are like leeches. Once they latch on, you can't shake them off. Let's keep watching." I listened quietly, tossing the pendant they had given me into the trash. I had repaid the debt of my birth, and now, we were done.