قصص وروايات قصيرة عن After Death وتدور في Family Emotions

On my birthday, the family's fake heiress threw herself into the sea. She left a suicide note saying she was giving me back my rightful place in the family. I'd already spent every day in the Carter house walking on eggshells, and in a single moment her death dropped me straight into hell. My parents hated me. "We brought you back into this family and gave you everything. Was that still not enough for you? Why couldn't you let her stay?" My brother blamed me. "You were raised in foster care like some wild animal. You don't belong in this family at all. Chloe was the one who begged us to bring you home. Don't you have an ounce of gratitude?" Not one of them mentioned that my life of supposed privilege meant living in the Carter house as Chloe's maid and errand girl. After pleading for me to come home, Chloe beat me, cursed me, and humiliated me whenever no one was watching. Whatever happened, they took her side without question. From then on, they locked me in the dog kennel behind the house, and no one asked about me again. That winter, the housekeeper decided it was too cold to come out and feed me, so I ate snow to fill my stomach. The snow aggravated my already weak stomach, and before long, I developed a high fever. The agony lasted through the entire night before I finally lost consciousness. I never learned whether the fever killed me or whether I froze to death. Not long after I died, Chloe came home.

When the nurse pulled the IV needle out of the back of my hand, her gaze was filled with pity. “Mr. Young, the heart meant for your transplant was transferred at the last minute. It was sent to the VIP ward on the seventh floor. It’s a shame, but all your pre-operation prep has gone to waste.” Marcus Stewart was warded on the seventh floor. He was the frail young man my sister brought home. Ten minutes ago, Marcus suddenly had terrible chest pain. My usually strong mother burst into tears. My stoic father slammed the table in front of every expert in the hospital, then decided to give Marcus the heart I had been waiting three years for. It was supposed to save my life. I hurried to the end of the corridor, but the green operating light had already come on. Clutching the twisting pain in my chest, I leaned against the ice-cold wall and slid to the floor. There was no need to wait anymore. My heart failure was terminal. The doctor said I would not last the next few days. The mechanical voice sounded in my head. [Master, your vital signs are rapidly deteriorating. If you terminate this body and leave this world now, you still have a chance at a new life. Would you like to proceed?] I looked at the faint grey hue of death tinging my fingertips. “...Yes.”

I used to be the apple of my family's eye, but Suzanne Nilson changed that when she showed up on my birthday with a DNA test result. The Nilson family cruelly kicks me to the curb and throws me back to my biological parents, leading to me being sold off to the village idiot. Xavier Gubbens, with whom I've grown up, kicks the door down and saves me. Later, he etches a word on my face. "Do you think you're done repenting for your sins with this, Suzanne Nilson?" Later still, his eyes are red as he pleads, "Can't we go back to how things used to be?" How things used to be? There's no such thing. Everyone has to look to the future.

My husband Ezra Thorne had suddenly developed a mental illness, so I put every scheduled appearance on hold and spent three months with him at a private residential treatment center. After he fell ill, he flew into rages over the smallest things. The constant torment kept me awake night after night, yet I cared for him without complaint. That changed today, when he flew into another rage and said he hated the roof railing. He insisted I fix it. He shoved me out of the room, and I had no choice but to grab the toolbox and climb up to the roof. The rooftop was dangerously slippery. I crawled on my knees, inching forward as carefully as I could, but I still kept falling. After yet another fall, I grabbed the railing to pull myself up, only for it to give way beneath my hand. I plummeted straight off the roof. In the split second I fell, I caught a glimpse through the corridor window: Ezra and my sister, locked in an embrace, with my parents standing right beside them. Then I crashed into the bushes below and heard Ezra's voice drifting down from the window. "I've spent the past few days pretending to be crazy to make her pay for bullying you. Every opportunity she gave up is yours." I closed my eyes, too drained to call for help. So it had all been an elaborate performance staged to punish me. But what he didn't know was that my final curtain was about to fall for real.

My CEO mom has always believed that Dad and I are manipulative freeloaders trying to bleed her dry. Any expense over 50 dollars requires her approval. The day Dad is hit by a car, I ask her for 2,000 dollars to pay for his surgery. Instead, she calls me just to snap at me. "Did Nathan Sinclair put you up to this? Have you two really sunk so low just to squeeze money out of me?" With no other choice, I request that my scholarship be advanced. But when I try to pay the hospital, the money is gone. Mom calls again. "Who did you steal from? I never transferred any money. How could there be a deposit in your account? "I worked hard for my money—not so the two of you can leech off me! From now on, your allowance is cut in half!" The surgery never happens. Dad dies right in front of me. When I return home with his ashes, I see Ethan Carter's post of the 100-million-dollar mansion Mom bought for him and his son, with the caption, "Her love has belonged to me ever since we were young—and it still does." I leave a like. Then I comment, "You can have her future too."

My mate's adoptive sister asked me to go for a walk in the mountain forest and we encountered a sudden flash flood. My mate Nathan, the Alpha of Snow Peak pack, rushed to save us. But because we were both trapped on a breaking tree branch above the raging flood, he could only save one person at a time. To save his physically weak adoptive sister, my mate abandoned me - his Luna who was five months pregnant. I begged him desperately to save me. He watched as the flood waters dragged me under. "Sarah has always been weak since childhood. If we leave her here, she'll die." "Your wolf is strong enough to swim, but Sarah can't swim." But after my death, he went mad.

My younger brother and I shared one body, but we had two different souls. Ever since we were little, my family used a lottery draw each month to decide who would stay awake and who would fall asleep. The long straw was mine. The short straw was his. Whenever my brother was awake, our parents and older sister took him on vacations, road trips, and around the world to see places I had never seen. Whenever I was awake, they locked me inside the house and forced me to study day and night. I was the one who took the SAT. I was the one who faced every challenge life threw at us. But every time I succeeded, they would make sure my brother woke up next, so he could enjoy all the praise and rewards I had earned without lifting a finger. Everything changed the day my brother beat a local bully's son so badly that the boy ended up in the hospital. Carla made her decision without hesitation. "Tomorrow is the first day of the month anyway. Since we decide who gets picked, let's wake Harry and have him take the blame for Simon." My parents agreed without a second thought. Trapped deep inside our shared soul, I could only smile bitterly. Watching them protect my brother while turning me into his scapegoat filled me with despair. What they didn't know was that I had one chance to choose eternal sleep. With a broken heart, I made my decision. I would never again be my brother's stepping stone and scapegoat.

My boyfriend is a lauded attorney. His true love rams into me with her car; my daughter stands bravely before me as the car explodes. She's blown to smithereens. I'm on the brink of death as I'm carried onto a stretcher, but my boyfriend holds his true love's face tenderly. His gaze is filled with heartache as he tells her that he'll get her off scot-free. He ruins the scene of the accident and buys off the witnesses. He even comes to the hospital to threaten me after I've been disfigured from the explosion. In the end, I die after the treatment doesn't help. It's only when the court announces the sentence that he realizes the deceased's personal details match mine perfectly.

After my dad's first love moved into our house and became my tutor, my mom never raised her voice at her again. She just coughed worse and worse, until one day I found the lab report she'd thrown out. Stage IV lung cancer. That afternoon, Dad came home with his arm around her, and walked right into Mom sitting on the couch. There was a flicker of guilt on his face. "Helena, if you've got something to say, just say it. Don't make a scene in front of the kid." Mom was eerily calm. She pointed at the woman and said, "She gets on her knees and apologizes to me three times. And you sign over half the company. Then we're done." Dad thought she'd lost it. But in the end he signed the share transfer. After that, Mom's pills kept multiplying and her appetite kept shrinking. But she hired the best lawyer in town, and over and over she taught me how to manage those shares once I was old enough. Dad never figured out the one thing that mattered. Mom was already on her way out.

Ever since I was old enough to understand the world, I knew I was only a replacement for my dead brother. The day before I started elementary school, Mom and Dad took me to buy a backpack. Mom smiled and asked, “Blue or red? Which one do you want?” I picked blue. However, the moment I said it, her smile disappeared. She grabbed my shoulders so tightly that it hurt and screamed at me, “Why didn’t you choose red? Harry would only pick red!” Dad saw her lose control and slapped me across the face. My nose started bleeding. From that day on, whenever I chose something, I only dared to pick the color my brother would have liked. During recess, I was messing around with my classmates when some clay accidentally got stuck in my hair. The teacher kindly helped me cut it off. However, when Mom came to pick me up, she completely lost it. “Henry never had a buzz cut. You’re not my son!” She shoved me off the back of her electric scooter. I cried as I chased after her, running for half an hour before finally making it home. To keep from upsetting her again, I started copying my brother in everything. It was not until after the SATs that Mom demanded I give up my future and attend the community college near our house, even though I was the top scorer.

My mother was the most renowned forensic artist, yet she refused to acknowledge me as her daughter. On my eighteenth birthday, I was kidnapped and called her for help. However, my mother replied impatiently, "Today is Angelina's birthday. Just die if you want attention that badly." Later, all the bones in my body were shattered and scattered everywhere. When my mother reconstructed my face from the bones, she lost her mind.

In my past life, my husband brought our daughter, who was down with a cold, to his father's hospital so she could see a doctor. Later, she was pronounced dead. When I hurried to the hospital after hearing the news, he'd already transferred her organs to his true love's son's body. It was later that I learned my father-in-law was the one who extracted my daughter's organs when her vitals were perfectly fine. I was heartbroken and devastated. I wanted my husband and his family to give me an explanation for this, but he and his parents killed me by poisoning. When I open my eyes again, I'm back to the moment my husband has just taken my daughter away.

Five years after my death, my body was still lying unclaimed at the funeral home. My best friend, Vera, had spent every last cent she had, but it was only enough to cover one more week of storage fees. The staff told her that unless she purchased a burial plot, my body would have to be cremated. Without a next of kin to sign the paperwork, they would dispose of my ashes themselves. With no other choice, she called my brother. “Ethan Cole, are you really going to abandon your own sister’s body for that girl you treat like family?” He let out a cold laugh. “So she’s making up lies like this because she refuses to admit she was wrong?” “Tell her that if she wants to die, she’d better stay dead this time. I don’t want her coming back to life two days later!” Left with no other option, Vera authorized my cremation. Then she took my death certificate and went straight to my brother’s house.

When I was eight, my parents nearly got divorced for the first time. They grabbed me by the arms, one on each side, and forced me to choose between them. "Go with your mother, and you won't even be able to afford tutoring." "Go with him, and you'll starve!" I clutched the hem of my shirt, too afraid to say a word. Mom sneered. "Look at her, too scared to even speak. She's just like you." Dad gave me a scornful look. "Where did she get that lack of sense? No one in my family is this stupid." In the end, they never signed the divorce papers. "If it weren't for you, we would've divorced years ago." For the next ten years, I heard those same words over and over again. Every time, all I could do was apologize. When Mom lost her job, she blamed me for costing too much in tutoring fees. When Dad failed to get promoted, he blamed me for always getting sick. I grew up believing I was the only thing keeping them trapped in their miserable marriage. Then, on my eighteenth birthday, we went to the county clerk's office. A staff member asked me, "Do you want your parents to get divorced?" "Yes," I said. "They'd be better off divorced." I never expected them to turn toward me at the same time. "We raised you for eighteen years, and this is the thanks we get?" "If we'd known you'd turn out like this, we would never have had you." They did not get divorced that day. Instead, they went home together. What they did not know was that I had been diagnosed with severe depression. This time, I was the one who wanted to leave. ‘From now on, your marriage is yours to deal with. You can end it yourselves.’

Three hours after my engagement banquet ended, I was stuffed into a burlap sack and thrown straight into the ocean. By the time deep-sea divers found me, my body had swollen into something grotesque and barely recognizable. The police called my fiancé right away to come identify the remains, but he could not have sounded less interested. "So, she's dead. So what? I'll show up at the funeral when the time comes." Left with no choice, the police dialed the second starred contact in my phone. It was my own brother. He laughed so hard that he doubled over. "Dead? Last I checked, it's not April Fools'. Not a funny joke. And do me a favor. Tell Selene Corvin I couldn't care less about her corpse. Throw it back in the ocean to feed the fish. I don't care." He did not know that I did end up as fish food for a very long time. The moment my remains appeared on that massive screen, however, both my fiancé and my brother lost their minds.

To keep things fair, my parents bought an AI Resource and Integrity System, ARIS, for my younger sister and me. It scored us based on our grades, how much we helped around the house, and even how satisfied our parents were with us. Whoever had the higher score won the reward. At first, I was quite happy. My high scores won me little things like candy, hair clips, and keychains. But whenever it came to anything that actually mattered, such as advanced study placements, educational trips, or large cash rewards, I never won a single time. The more I thought about it, the more suspicious it seemed. I was about to bring it up with my parents when I overheard them laughing with my sister in the next room. "I only pretend to compete with that country bumpkin, letting her win when the rewards aren't worth much." "For anything important, the system has to favor our precious daughter. We can't possibly let that outsider walk away with the real prizes." "Don't worry, the parameters were adjusted long ago. We decide the results." A chill ran down my spine. Suddenly, my entire body began convulsing uncontrollably as I struggled to call for help. My parents immediately summoned ARIS to perform a physical examination, and the result displayed, "Physiological indicators normal. Suspected feigning illness to attract attention." Disgust flashed across my parents' faces. They grabbed my sister and dragged her suitcase toward the door. "According to ARIS' ruling, we're going to redeem your sister's travel reward. You should stay home and reflect on your behavior." I stared at the door as it slammed shut behind them. In the depths of despair, I lost consciousness.

In Ashport, it was no secret that my mom, Celia Gibson, had two families. When she was up in Northline, she stayed with Dad and me. When she was down in Southbank, she cared for the man who once saved her life and his son. Years ago, Arthur Poole stepped in and took a knife that should have struck her when the dock she was at exploded. From that moment, Celia lived as if her life belonged to him. Dad fought with her about it for over a decade. The wealthy in Ashport snickered behind his back, saying Liam Olson was her husband in name only. After all, Dad couldn't even get her to cut ties with her so-called savior. Then, Celia got pregnant with my little sister. Arthur called her, screaming that she had to choose between them. That very night, she went to the hospital and had an abortion. "Liam, we can always have another baby, but I can't just turn my back on Arthur and his son." The night we lost my little sister, Dad finally stopped fighting. He gathered me close and whispered, "Lucas, my son... I'm leaving. I'm going home." I'd known long ago that Dad wasn't from this world. He'd come here with a single mission: to have a son and a daughter with Celia. Only then would he earn the right to stay alive. Unfortunately, he'd failed. The countdown above his head kept ticking, stealing a little more time from him each day. I called Celia over and over, my voice breaking as I begged her to come home and see Dad. Alas, she was in Southbank, having a grand time with Arthur and his son. All I got was her cold, impatient response, "Hasn't your father caused enough drama all these years? Tell him to stop using his own life just to guilt me into choosing him." What she didn't know was that Dad meant it this time around. When his countdown finally hit zero, I cradled him as he drew his last breath. Then, I wiped my tears and called the hospital. From that day on, Dad was forever lost to me. And as far as I was concerned, I no longer had a mother, either.

I was adopted. They were so good to me that every night before I fell asleep, I prayed to grow up healthy and happy in this home. Then Mom got pregnant. I hid under my covers and cried all night, quietly packing the little suitcase I had arrived with. But they didn't send me away. They loved me even more. The day my brother was born, Mom took my hand and gently stroked my head. "Having an older sister," she said, "is why we have a younger brother." Dad lifted me above his head and spun me around laughing. "Lily is our family's lucky star — our most beloved baby!" I finally stopped dreading every single day. I thought I had truly become part of this family. Then my brother snapped my favorite Barbie in half. I pushed him. He stumbled, sat on the floor, stared for two seconds, and burst into tears. Mom panicked, shoved me aside, and pulled him into her arms, asking over and over if he was hurt. Dad came running. He grabbed my shoulders and slammed me against the wall, eyes blazing. "Is this what I raised you all these years for — to bully your brother? Believe me when I say I will send you straight back to—"

As the only expert in the world capable of rescue dives below 3,000 feet, I received a once-in-a-lifetime salvage contract worth tens of millions of dollars. I had dived in those same waters over a decade ago. My son's research submersible had been damaged on the ocean floor. After his oxygen ran out, he suffocated in the dark. The grief nearly destroyed me. My husband, Griffin Lattimer, held me through it, staying by my side through countless miserable nights. I found out later that he had personally redirected the only rescue vessel capable of reaching the depths our son was at to save his childhood friend's daughter. That girl had merely choked on a mouthful of water in the shallows. I divorced Griffin and threw myself into deep-sea salvage like a woman possessed, diving over and over until I knew the undercurrents of those waters better than I knew my own home. I never wanted another child to die the way mine did. Today brought the same stretch of ocean, the same crushed hull, the same depleted oxygen, and the same impossible odds. When I opened the client's file, I went completely still. I recognized the name and face inside instantly. I would never forget either of them for as long as I lived. I smiled and slid the folder back across the table to my partner. "I can't take this one."

My mother loved obedience tests. I told her I couldn't eat ginger, and she put it in every single meal. "Who's allergic to ginger? You're just being picky." For my eighteenth birthday she went out and bought half a ton of it, then made an all-ginger banquet and a bottle of homemade ginger perfume. She looked at me, pleased with herself. "Ginger cures everything. I'm doing this for your own good." "Only a spoiled kid refuses ginger. I minced it all up this time. Let's see you pick it out now." My mother was delighted. As far as she was concerned, the test had worked. What she didn't know was that I'd never lied to her. My ginger allergy was severe. Once I'd eaten or breathed in that much of it, the symptoms would build over the next two hours, and they could kill me.