Plot Twists Family Emotions Short Stories & Novels

Ten years after my wealthy family took me back, I died in the rental house my billionaire parents had dumped me in. My son was three. Just to mess with me, the kidnapper gave me three chances to call for help. If even one person was willing to come see me, he'd spare my child. The first call was to my father, the man who'd spent fifteen years searching for me. He was busy directing the staff as they set up my adoptive sister's birthday party. When he picked up, he barked, "Estelle Emerson, seriously? Can you go one week without causing a scene? It's your sister's birthday. I'm busy. Don't kill the vibe." The second call was to my mother, the woman who brought me home and changed my name from Dixie to Estelle. But Vera snatched the phone and laughed so hard she could barely get the words out. "Estelle, seriously? If you're gonna make something up, at least make it believable. You look so broke you probably don't even have fifty bucks. What kidnapper would pick you?" The third time, I called Luca's father, my legal husband. He said he was in a meeting and didn't have time to play games with me. He also said that if I behaved myself, he'd agree to take me home for dinner next week. After the final call ended, I looked at the grinning kidnapper in despair and sent the last two messages of my life. A photo of myself covered in blood. And a short message, every word sincere. [I'm really going to die. In my next life, don't bring me home.]

My younger brother, Andrew Midler, pushes me off a cliff, and my life hangs by a thread. Yet my mother, Edith Callahan, the leader of the rescue team, only busies herself with checking on Andrew, who has sprained his wrist. I beg in a faint, faltering voice for her to save me. She, however, looks at me with cold indifference. "Your brother is hurt! Why didn't you protect him? And now you're pretending to be weak? Well, you can stay here by yourself and reflect on what you've done!" She turns and orders the entire rescue team to leave, forbidding anyone from helping me. In the end, I die alone in the desolate wilderness. Upon learning of my death, Mom hysterically holds my already decaying body close, calling me her precious son repeatedly.

The third time Mom brought up the refrigerator not cooling, I knew she was waiting for me to say, "I'll buy one." To hear her tell it, I was the pillar holding up our family. She always said my younger brother only made two thousand a month, so we couldn't count on him. The family had to rely on me. So when she said her bedroom was too hot, I gritted my teeth and bought her a new air conditioner. When Dad said his neck always hurt, I lived on plain bread for a month to buy him a massager. Even when the house was renovated last year, I scrimped and saved to cover most of the cost. I'd been working for five years, earning eight thousand a month, and by the end of every month I couldn't even keep five hundred. When I didn't respond, Mom slammed her fork down on the table and shot me a look. "Other people's kids look after their parents. I guess I just wasn't that lucky!" My chest tightened. The food in my mouth was suddenly impossible to swallow. I was about to say something when I heard the front door open, followed by my brother's cheerful voice. "Mom, I got paid! Almost ten thousand! You and Dad don't need to send me that four thousand this month!" I looked up, stunned. My brother was holding the newest tablet, and right behind him was my girlfriend, Audrey Bellamy—who'd told me she was meeting a client today. Only then did I learn that the extra five thousand I gave Mom every month for household expenses had mostly gone to him. And I, the so-called pillar of this family, turned out to be the shortest pillar in the house.

My fiance did not come home the night his childhood sweetheart returned to the country. His voice was as gentle as ever when he called. "Honey, she saved my life. Now she's terminally ill, it's only natural for me to take care of her." I told myself he should indeed repay her for saving his life. He continued, "Once I've repaid her, I'll cut ties with her." He looked so determined and loving that I believed him, time after time. But when a chandelier fell at his birthday banquet, the person he protected was that woman. He did not notice my shoulder was already soaked with blood. The day before our wedding ceremony, he locked me in the basement. "If you're still going to act like this, you need some time to think about what you've done. You can come out before the wedding!" Through the doorway, I saw their fingers locked. In that moment, every feeling I had for him disappeared. I did not cry or make a scene. I called my mother instead. "Mom, I think it's time I listened to you and came home."

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."

My adopted sister, Sofia Leone, was the orphaned daughter of my father's most loyal right-hand man, Enzo Bellini. She'd just been diagnosed with kidney failure. Just because our blood types matched, my family ordered me to give her one of my kidneys. I refused and fought them on it for three months. Everyone in the Leone family called me cold and selfish behind my back, saying I'd rather stand by and watch my own family die. The day Sofia came out of emergency surgery, my brother, Dylan Leone, came to my room looking exhausted. He was the future Don of the Leone family. "Sofia's still so young. Her life is only just beginning. "It's just one kidney. It won't really affect your health. Aria, please. I'm begging you." The moment he finished, Sofia called him, sobbing. "Does Aria still want me dead? Maybe I... wasn't meant to live?" Dylan's voice was soft as he comforted her, but his eyes were full of grief. "Don't talk like that. I'll find a way, I promise." When I was in middle school, I was kidnapped by another family. Dylan stormed in alone to rescue me and took three bullets. Then he carried me out on his back while I shook uncontrollably. "As long as I'm around, nobody's ever going to hurt my little princess." Now he'd forgotten that I had a clotting disorder and couldn't safely undergo major surgery. Just then, my doctor, Matteo Conti, texted me my test results from the day before, along with a warning. "Ms. Leone, you have severe bleeding in your digestive tract. You need to be admitted right away!" As Dylan kept telling me how much Sofia was suffering, I suddenly felt so tired. "Fine, Dylan. I'll give it to her."

On the day I got married, my father-in-law personally fastened an obsidian bead bracelet around my wrist. He looked at me and said, "Moses, from today on, you're one of the family. I'll treat you like my own." I had grown up in an orphanage and had never truly had a family of my own. Because of those words alone, I willingly married into the Zeigler family and wore that bracelet for six straight years. Even after it rubbed my wrist raw—leaving it swollen, ulcerated, and oozing with pus—I still could not bear to take it off. Everything changed the day I stopped by my childhood friend's antique and jewelry appraisal studio for a small get-together. The moment he saw my wrist, he turned grim. "Moses," he said sharply. "Take it off." I froze. "My father-in-law gave this to me. It's a Zeigler family heirloom. I can't." His eyes reddened as he enunciated every word. "That's no obsidian. It's something that's going to kill you."

On the first day I reunite with the wealthy Holloways, as soon as I step into the villa, I'm instantly whisked into a car with tinted windows. The fake heiress, Kate Holloway, cuts my ID and bank card with a pair of scissors right in front of my biological parents. She grins smugly at me the whole time. "You see, Rosalie, I've offended that one person who must not be offended at all costs in Ravenfield. You should go kneel in his estate for a few days. Think of this as your way to repay the Hollways for giving birth to you in this world." My heartless parents even tell the driver, "Make sure that she doesn't escape. It all depends on her whether or not our family will be able to survive this crisis." The journey to the mysterious man's estate is bumpy. But the scenery outside the window becomes more familiar as time passes. Finally, the driver stops right outside a well-guarded estate. He reports in a frightened tone, "W-We are here to deliver the girl to Mr. Whitethorn." Mr. Whitethorn? As in the powerful man who is prone to mood swings and can easily make families such as the Holloways go into bankruptcy with just a twitch of his finger? Wait, isn't that Dominic Whitethorn, my adoptive father who has doted on me since I was a little girl? The Holloways have chosen to make me the scapegoat in order to protect Kate. They probably never would've thought that the fearsome Mr. Whitethorn, who's capable of determining their survival, has scoured the entire city for me because I didn't come home last night.

While on a car trip, our car is struck by falling rocks and breaks down on a remote mountain road. My sister, Renee Olsen, is terrified. We wait three hours before a passing vehicle finally comes. The driver rolls down the window. "I can only fit three people in my car. How many of you are there?" My mom, Penny Ziegler, lets out a relieved sigh and smiles. "Great, there are three of us." My dad, Leonard Olsen, immediately shifts slightly to the side, completely blocking me from view as I cower in the back seat. They get into the car with Renee and leave. Ten minutes later, Mom sends me a message. "Renee is in shock. We're bringing her to the hospital for a check-up first. You stay right there with the car and wait for us to pick you up." I glance at my leg that is bleeding from cuts caused by shattered glass and reply, "Okay." I wait from day into night until my phone battery dies, yet my parents never return. They never pick up my calls or reply to my messages. A team conducting geological surveys nearby discovers me, barely conscious. They arrange for a tow truck and rush me to the hospital, as I'm burning up with a fever. The doctor frowns when he sees my leg. "Why did you wait until now to come in? Young lady, your wound is infected. You need surgery to debride it. Where is your family? Get them here quickly to sign it." I slowly unclench my stiff fingers and take the surgical consent form. Calmly, I pick up the pen and sign my name. "I can sign it myself. They've already forgotten about me."

After five years of being forcibly institutionalized in a mental hospital by my parents for “rehabilitation,” I awakened the “Slap System” skill. One slap, a million dollars deposited into my account. Another slap, my combat power skyrocketed. Just as I was thoroughly enjoying my slapping spree and preparing to leap over the asylum walls to break free, my parents suddenly arrived to take me home. The moment I stepped through the front door, I saw my adopted brother Atticus Hawthorne, eyes reddened, holding my fiancée, Cassandra Vaughn, in his arms. Meanwhile, my real brother Roman Montgomery was locked in a dog cage, bitten and torn by vicious hounds, covered in wounds, and breathing his last breath. The moment he saw me, a faint light flickered in his eyes. Using the last ounce of his strength, his lips trembled slightly. “Lysander... run…” Before the words could fully leave his mouth, his hand went limp and dropped. I smashed the dog cage open with everything I had, scooped up his still-warm body, and rushed outside like a madman. “Stop right there!” Cold-faced, my parents blocked the doorway. “Roman is pure evil. He tortured Atticus’s dog to death and drugged Cassandra. Suffering a little punishment like this is light for him! Why take him to a hospital over a tiny injury?” Atticus fell to his knees before me with a loud thud, tears streaming down his face. “Lysander, after five years, you still hate me this much... I’ll go die right now so I don’t stay in your sight…” Cassandra immediately shielded him behind her back, harshly berating me. “Lysander! The moment you return, you force Atticus to die! You should never have been released from the mental hospital!” I looked at their hypocritical, evil faces, then down at Roman’s closed eyes that would never open again, and slowly raised my hand. Bullying me? I could bear it. But torturing Roman to death... I was going to make them find out whether their bones were tougher, or my slaps were harder.

When I was six, my older brother, Garrett Johnston, died in an accident. Not long after, Dad finds a stray kitten with a marking on its wrist that matches Garrett's birthmark. From that day on, the cat becomes my brother. Dad takes down my desk to make room for a luxury litter box, leaving me to do my homework on the dining table. He tears down our bunk bed and replaces it with a cat tree, banishing me to a bed made of stacked cardboard boxes on the balcony. Dad spares no expense on premium cat food, treats, clothes, and toys, while I get nothing at all. Finally, I pluck up the courage to ask Dad, "Garrett and I used to share everything. How come he gets it all now?" Dad just snaps at me. "Do you have any idea how hard Garrett worked to come back to me? He's just a cat now! Why are you still fighting with him?" But Dad, why are you crying again when I listen to you and stop fighting with Garrett?

After I'm forced to climb to an altitude of 15 thousand feet, my parents, Brian Parson and Mona Holcomb, abandon me halfway up the mountain while I suffer from altitude sickness. "Sunrise is only an hour away. Your sister has been looking forward to seeing the sunrise illuminate the mountains for two months. We can't let you ruin it for her." The moment the car door shuts, Mom's voice cuts off. By the time I reach the hospital at the foot of the mountain, an hour has already passed. The doctor says I'm barely conscious and could deteriorate at any moment, but they need a family member to sign the consent form before they can administer oxygen therapy. My vision goes black, and it takes me several tries before I finally manage to dial my parents' numbers. Five minutes pass. As the phone continues to ring without an answer, I gradually struggle to breathe. Perhaps Mom and Dad can't answer while driving, so I try calling my older brother, Jared Parson, who has left before them. "Jared, I'm at the hospital. I have altitude sickness—" Before I can finish, he cuts me off impatiently. "You're already at the hospital, so why are you telling me this? I'm busy taking photos of Ida. If there's nothing else, I'm hanging up now." Just before the call ends, I hear Mom shouting in the background. "Change to the side angle. Ida says the background needs to look a little more interesting." My ears goes numb from the incessant beeping. As the call screen disappears, a new message pops up in the "Forever Family" group chat. It's a group photo of my parents, Jared, and Ida standing with the mountains glowing golden in the sunlight behind them. The message before that is my own message about being unable to reach them while suffering from altitude sickness. An hour passes, and not a single person responds.

The day I got the callback for my second interview, my mother, Sara Bingley, came home with two bags. "You're about to start your job for real, and that means dressing professionally. I bought you girls a suit each, one for each of you, fair and square." Molly Pitcher happily took her bag. Inside was a fitted, deep navy suit, sharp and clearly not cheap. What landed in my hands was an ill-fitting black suit pulled from the clearance rack, so oversized the sleeves swallowed the backs of my hands. Mom smiled and touched my cheek. "Cathy, you'll still grow. I bought it big on purpose. Give it two years, and it'll fit just right. I went to I don't know how many malls just to track down that black suit." She did love me, in her way. She knew my job required a black suit, and she really had gone to several malls to find one. But she'd forgotten I was already twenty-three. No amount of growing was going to fill out a suit that oversized and that cheaply made. Both daughters were her own flesh and blood, but Molly was plainly the one she doted on. The love she gave me came measured out in careful portions. The love she gave Molly overflowed. If that was how it was going to be, then from today on, I was done being the extra one in this family.

In our town, every family that welcomed a daughter planted a cherry tree the year she was born. When she got married, the tree would be cut down and crafted into two matching hope chests, filled with her dowry as a blessing that husband and wife would stay together for life. Half a month before my sister's wedding and mine, my brother, Ace Bates, came home with the finished chests. He struggled to carry them through the front door. Rianne's eyes lit up the moment she saw them. My mother, Martha Bates, gently stroked Rianne's hair. "My precious girl is getting married already. It feels like just yesterday you were still my little baby." My father, Ira Bates, frowned, his voice firm. "If that boy ever treats Rianne badly, I'll skin him alive." No one seemed to notice anything was wrong. My gaze drifted behind Ace. There was nothing. No second chest. I looked at him and asked, "Ace, where's mine?" He froze for a second, as though he'd only just remembered that I was getting married that day too.

The day my mother-in-law discovered she had uterine cancer, she packed up and moved in to our home. “I don’t have much time left. I’m all out of hope!” she choked out. “You’d be cruel to kick me out. Show me some mercy!” I looked at my speechless husband, then at my beloved son I had raised with so much love and care. I asked them, "What do you guys think?" My husband silently made a grim expression and grabbed my arm. “How long are you going to hold on to that little incident that happened after Everett was born? Mom's already so sick." My son echoed his sentiment, “Grandma doesn't have much time left. Of course we have to take good care of her!" I smiled at them and said, “Alright. You guys can take care of her if you love her so much."

The day my son is born, my husband holds him tightly, looking overjoyed. However, while I'm asleep, he secretly swaps my son with the child next door—his first love's baby. I act like I know nothing and arrange for someone to switch the babies back. My husband wants me to raise someone else's child as my own but has no idea he's not even the father of my son. Ten years later, I transfer all my assets to my son's name as a birthday gift. That's when my husband's first love, Amanda Larkin, crashes the birthday party. She looks at me smugly and says, "The son you've treasured for the past decade is actually mine!"

The day after my parents finally find me and bring me home—18 years after my abduction—they announce their bankruptcy and plunge into massive debt. Over the next two years, I'm forced to drop out of school and work three jobs a day to pay off the family debts. I even lose hearing in one ear after a brutal beating from a debt collector. Through it all, Mom and Dad hold me close in the middle of the night, weeping and apologizing for failing me. Foolishly, I believe them. I tell myself that as long as our family is together, I can endure anything. Desperate to hear again, I buy a used hearing aid on a secondhand goods platform for 9.90 dollars. The comments section congratulates me on snagging a rare steal. But the seller replies indifferently, "This is something my housekeeper doesn't want anymore. I'm just giving it away as charity." Swallowing my pride, I travel to a massive luxury villa to pick it up. After taking the hearing aid from the young woman, I bow my head in deep gratitude. But as I look up, my gaze catches Mom and Dad in the garden behind her. They were calling out to her, saying, "Stephy, hurry back after meeting with that peasant. And be careful not to get your hands filthy."

In my past life, I toiled away at the Lincoln family and treated my in-laws like they were a king and a queen. I also gave my stepson the best education possible and helped him get into a renowned college. Yet, I later ended up dead on the street. My stepson said, "You're not my mother. You'll never be her!" He breaks my legs, kicks me out of the house, and watches as I starve to death. It's only after my death that I find out he's the illegitimate son of my husband and his true love! When I open my eyes again, I'm back to the day my husband, Simon Lincoln, brings my stepson home.

On the day of my college graduation, I had just signed a contract with a prestigious company when my dad burst into my room, grabbed the paper, and ripped it to shreds. "Why waste your time with a crappy $8,000-a-month job? You've already been hired by the world's top financial conglomerate! A base salary of $100,000 a month, plus a luxury penthouse the moment you start! What other young woman fresh out of college gets that kind of treatment?" I stared at the flimsy piece of paper in his hand. It was stamped with a cheap-looking plastic seal that read "Global Stellar Consortium". I shook with rage. "Dad, that’s just a fake image generated with AI. This company doesn't even exist!" My dad merely snorted and shoved his phone directly into my face. On his screen was a screenshot of a prompt he had fed into an AI chatbot. Prompt: [Issue an offer letter for my daughter from the world's number one corporation. Make sure it's the highest position possible.] AI: [Operation complete. Your daughter has been officially hired as the South American President of the Global Stellar Consortium.] My throat went dry as panic set in. I tried to reason with him. "Dad, the AI is just playing along with your prompt to write a fictional story! It's a chatbot; it doesn't actually recruit people!" He simply whipped out a $200,000 transfer receipt and waved it triumphantly in front of my eyes. "What do you know?" he sneered. "The AI is real! It even gave me the payment code to cover your mandatory Employment Security Deposit!"

The day I get my acceptance letter to Kellerton University, I scroll through the class group chat and find a photo of my younger brother, Corey Hollis, kissing my girlfriend, Piper Ashton. Piper brushes it off like it's nothing. "It was a graduation party. We were playing spin the bottle, and I lost, so... we kissed." This isn't the first time. A year earlier, I caught my first girlfriend, Naomi Drake, making out with Corey. I couldn't stop picturing their mouths all over each other, so I bombed the exam. Back then, Piper didn't hesitate. She ripped up her own acceptance letter to a top-tier school and told me, "Logan, I've liked you since we were kids. Don't worry. I'll retake the year with you." She stayed with me through the darkest summer of my life. I genuinely believed she was different from Naomi, so I never imagined she'd betray me for the same person. I stare at her lips. My stomach turns, and the ache behind it hits so hard I can barely breathe. Then, she twists the knife deeper. "Oh right, Logan, I forgot to tell you. I can't go to Kellerton with you anymore. My parents say the job market out there isn't great, so I switched my application at the last minute. "I'm going to Branton University instead." Corey already has his acceptance to Branton Arts Academy too. My head buzzes. She's the one who wants to go to Kellerton. That's why I gave up my spot in a top-two school to follow her. Then, she just changes her mind and only bothers telling me now. I clench my teeth and force the word out. "Why?" She looks irritated. "Didn't I just say? The job market near Kellerton isn't great." I laugh bitterly. What I really want to ask is why does everyone always choose Corey over me?