Contos e Romances de Family Emotions

When I went to get a replacement copy of our marriage certificate, the clerk at the registrar's office told me, "This certificate is a forgery. There's no record of your marriage in the system." "But Michele and I got married four years ago, at St. Mary's Church. We had witnesses..." I steadied my breathing. "Please check again." The clerk sighed and clicked her mouse a few times. "We found a registration for Michele Corleone, but the spouse listed isn't you." My voice shook. "Who's his legal wife?" The clerk answered without looking up. "Rita Greco." Before I heard that name, I'd still been telling myself the system might have made a mistake. But of course it was Rita, Michele's childhood sweetheart. Suddenly everything made sense. In the four years I'd spent as Michele's wife, he'd never once held my hand in public. No famiglia galas, no formal introductions. Some of the Corleones didn't even know my name. I'd asked him why, and he'd told me, "It's to protect you. In the underworld, the less visible you are, the safer you are." I'd believed him. Now I finally understood. The marriage I'd poured everything into, the one I'd believed in for four years, had been fake from the very beginning. I'd never once been let into his real life. And as the woman who'd made that mistake, only one path was left to me. With trembling fingers, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn't touched in four years. [Papa, I want to come home.]

"Today is supposed to be a good day. We're choosing Wendy's dowry. Stop standing there bringing bad luck down on us!" My mother pulled my sister back in disgust, afraid the blood I had coughed onto the floor would splash the silver-bound chest. When a forest elf girl is born, her family plants a bonded tree for her, a tree that lives and dies with its owner. When a daughter marries, her eldest brother takes the old branches the tree has dropped on its own and builds her a dowry chest, a sign symbolizing a lifelong covenant of love and kinship. The chest is filled with gowns and with whatever the family gives her, and the larger the chest, the deeper the blessing. My brother cut my tree down and damaged its roots as well. "Wendy's tree is too thin and weak. It isn't worthy of the Royal Court. I had no choice but to saw yours into boards and put together a respectable chest for her." My sister stroked the silver-bound chest made from my ancient tree like a highborn princess. The whole family gathered around her to pick out what would go inside, as though they had forgotten that I was a bride that day too. My voice shook. "Then what about me?" My mother looked at me shaking there, and her face filled with disgust. "You insist on marrying that short-lived human. A wicker basket is dowry enough for you." Only in that moment did I understand that to them my life mattered less than Wendy's dignity. So I no longer had to treat them as family.

I was the only she-wolf in the Frostfang Pack in the past hundred years to shift at just twelve. I even earned honors in battle. But my family saw my early shift as an unforgivable sin. When my sister found out, she burst into tears and threw herself into our mother's arms. "It's all right, Elsie. None of this is your fault. Your sister took too much from you before you were even born." My mother frowned and kissed the top of Elsie's head again and again. My father shot me an irritated glare. "Freya, you know Elsie can't shift. Did you really have to rub it in her face?" Even the priest stood before the whole pack and blamed me for Elsie's condition. He claimed I'd taken too much from her in the womb, leaving her too weak to ever shift. To them, I had been guilty since birth. So I walked away. I found a pack that truly accepted me. And when I finally returned to Frostfang, I came back as North Ridge's Alpha heir.

My father was a judge, but he fell in love with a killer. His lover ran my grandparents down with her car. He found her not guilty in court. At the time, his power was absolute. No one dared to go against him. That homewrecker lived in luxury and got whatever she asked for. My mother lost both her parents, suffered betrayal, and was driven mad by everyone's ridicule. Thirty years passed. I fought with everything I had and became a Supreme Court justice. During graduation season, I sat on the interview panel as presiding justice. Across from me was a poised, immaculate young woman. She was the finest graduate the law school had produced this year. Looking at that familiar face, I glanced down at the surname on her file. When I saw it, I froze. I stared at it for a long time. Then I raised my head and looked at the young woman who bore a faint resemblance to me. “We won’t be hiring you.”

Three months had passed since I was brought back to the Tervo pack. Melissa Blackwell, the fake daughter, kicked me out of the car in a downpour—again. By the time I got home, I was soaked through. My birth father, Thorold Blackwell, was teaching her about wolves. My birth mother, Seraphina Blackwell, had simmered apples in red wine for her and watched her with a tender smile. The room was full of laughter until I walked through the door. Thorold turned his attention back to his book. Seraphina picked up the cups and went to the kitchen. Melissa rolled her eyes at me. "You really are clingy, aren't you? No matter what I do, I can't shake you." I gripped the hem of my dripping clothes, swallowed the lump in my throat, and went to my room. In that small, dark room, I could hear everything outside the door. Melissa asked coyly, "Mom, Dad, she's your biological daughter, after all. Isn't it a little cruel to treat her this way?" Seraphina soothed her. "In our hearts, you are our only daughter. Blood doesn't mean a thing." Thorold nodded. "Exactly. And even if she doesn't like it, where else is she gonna go? Her adoptive parents are the lowest kind of Omegas. Letting her stay here is compensation enough." I stood up and laughed out loud. So that was it. They thought I would endure everything because I had nowhere else to go. What they didn't know was that my adoptive parents were not the Omegas they imagined, and I didn't need their pack. If this house had no room for me, I would go back to my real home.

When it came time to fill out our college applications, my family focused all their attention on my brother, who suffered from severe claustrophobia. My mother pored over the dorm room sizes at several universities in our city. "Let's just stay local," she said. "It's closer to home, and it'll be easier to take care of Cyrus." Maya Simmons, my girlfriend of three years, even changed her first choice, giving up a university where she had planned to study political science and law in favor of a local teachers college. "Don't worry, Mrs. Lockwood," she said. "I'll stay here and keep him company. I'll look after Cyrus for you throughout all four years of college." My father looked at her, visibly moved, and praised her again and again for being so loyal and devoted. Only after everyone had finished filling out their applications did they finally turn to me, still sitting off to the side. My mother spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Jasper, just apply to the special education program at the local community college." My father nodded in agreement. "Right. You're already used to playing nanny for him anyway. Study special education, and you can spend the rest of your life taking care of your brother." I stared down at the application in front of me as the cold feeling in my chest deepened.

In the seventh year of living apart from my wife, Sharon Shaw, I come to see her, only to have the key break off in the lock again. I hurriedly call her, and she says, "Maybe you grabbed the wrong key again. Go to a hotel and get some rest. I'll open the door when I get back." I look down at the sticker on my key and freeze. I didn't bring the wrong key. The only other possibility is that she has changed the locks. Before I can dwell on it, my dad, Ryan Jarquin, suddenly calls me. He laughs merrily and says, "Of course Sharon isn't home. She came to visit me first thing this morning with a whole bunch of things." My best friend, Steven Morgan, calls me next. He sounds drunk over the phone. "She's getting her nails done with my girlfriend right now. Women are such a hassle." After that, I get a call from my sister, Greta Jarquin. She says, "Sharon is such a busy woman. She finally found some time today to help me with an investment." My mind goes blank. What they don't know is that five minutes ago, the security guard at the entrance told me the owner of this unit had just come home. I don't ask any more questions. Instead, I call a locksmith. Suddenly, I really want to know what secret my entire family is hiding from me.

Over the holiday weekend, I brought in a specialist surgeon from out of town to operate on my grandson, Ben Xander. I personally paid the $20,000 surgical fee. But that night, my son Ryan called me in a panic. “Dad! Ben’s surgery is tomorrow! Why haven’t you paid the hospital yet?!” I didn’t have time to figure out what had gone wrong. I’d checked everything myself. I immediately transferred the money to the hospital again. But the next day, the hospital still claimed they hadn’t received the payment and said they were going to cancel Ben’s surgery. Panicking, I rushed to the hospital cashier. But after checking the system, the billing clerk on duty told me there was no record of any payment on Ben’s account. The surgeon I’d brought in immediately went cold. “If you don’t want the surgery, then cancel it now. Don’t waste my time.” Terrified that any further delay would put Ben in danger, I withdrew $20,000 in cash that very night and personally took it to the hospital cashier. But the next day, Ben still died without ever getting the surgery. Ryan held Ben’s body in his arms and sobbed. “Dad, did you really hate him that much?” That night, Ryan set the house on fire and burned us both alive. Even as I died, I couldn’t understand why the hospital had never received a single payment I’d made. My daughter-in-law, Lina York, died in the line of duty when Ben was one. After that, I helped Ryan raise him. They were both my whole world. How could I possibly have hated Ben? When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Ben was admitted to the hospital.

When I was eight years old, my younger brother, Evan Gunn, extracted my artificial heart's battery to charge his phone. By the time my parents, Ethan Gunn and Andrea Alston, found out, I was already blue in the face and on the verge of death. Even after my life was saved, I was left with severe complications. From that day onward, Evan became all but invisible in our parents' eyes. They no longer smile at him or talk to him, instead focusing all their attention on me. Dad travels abroad to work, all so he can cover my heart's monthly maintenance costs. Mom quits her job to watch over me around the clock. She becomes a vegetarian in the hopes of trading her sacrifice for a longer life for me. I think to myself that even though I wasn't born healthy, I at least have parents who love me. At least, until the power suddenly goes out on the day that Evan is filling out his digital college application form. Seeing as the submission deadline is fast approaching, Mom doesn't hesitate to extract my heart battery and power the computer with it. As my heart pressure drops rapidly and my heart beeps in warning, I try to stop her. "Mom, you can't. My heart's going to—" Mom slaps me harshly with tears in her eyes and yells, "Evan has suffered for ten years because of this damn battery! There are backup batteries around the house! Must you insist on using this one? "You've already ruined his childhood! Are you now going to ruin his future as well? How could you be so cruel?" She snatches my battery away and locks me in my bedroom. Finally, Evan successfully submits his application. As their excited cheers ring out from the living room, I collapse heavily onto the floor. My heart's shrill alarm falls silent. I murmur, "Mom, now I'll never burden you again…"

The day I took over the Ashford family, a man from another world took over my body. He used my identity as head of the Ashford family to fawn over my three adoptive sisters and devote himself to winning them over. "The original owner of this body was far too cold-hearted. A thoughtful man like me, who knows how to treat women well, is the one who can win their hearts." But his efforts ended with my three adoptive sisters pushing him into the ocean after the nanny’s son shed a few tears. When I opened my eyes again, my two sisters were already storming in to accuse me. "Stop pretending. You knew Cade is afraid of water, yet you still pushed him into the pool.” "You only swallowed a few mouthfuls of water. Don’t think this little pity act will win you any sympathy!" "Kneel down and apologize to Cade right now." "Smack!" I slapped them both across the face. Then I wiped my hands. "When did the people living under my roof start thinking they could challenge me? The Blackridge mining project needs workers. You two will do."

On the morning of the college entrance exam, my daughter surprised me by asking for a ride to school. She was usually much closer to her mother, so when she suddenly turned to me, I canceled my work plans without hesitation. “Don’t be nervous, Ivy. I’ll be right here when you’re done.” I watched her walk into the school, then returned to my car. When the test let out, students streamed through the doors. Some looked confident, while others seemed crushed. I waited anxiously for Ivy. But as the crowd thinned, she was nowhere to be seen. I assumed the test had gone badly and she was too upset to face me. I hurried over to a school security officer and asked him to help find her. He radioed the staff and had her name called over the intercom, but she still didn’t appear. Growing frantic, I showed him a screenshot of her registration details and asked him to check the room listed there. He went inside without hesitation. When he returned, his face was dark with anger. “Are you out of your mind? There’s no Ivy Young on the roster for that room! “There’s no one by that name taking the college entrance exam at this school!”

After swallowing my fourth painkiller, I spent the entire morning sitting in my hotel room in the wedding dress Curtis Bradford had picked out for me. The car that was supposed to take me to the ceremony never showed up. Instead, I came across a livestream of a wedding that had gone viral around town. On-screen, Curtis slipped the pink diamond ring I had begged him for onto the bride's finger. The bride was Shannon Cobb, my biological sister who had disappeared ten years ago. Curtis looked straight into the camera. "Leslie, I know you're watching. "Ten years ago, you lost Shannon and put her through hell. I only let you believe I was going to marry you because I wanted you to know what it feels like to be abandoned." The camera panned to my parents and my brother, Richard Cobb, who were supposed to be helping set up my new home. Richard looked into the camera and said, "You've had ten years of our love and attention. Give back everything that should've been Shannon's, and we'll consider your debt paid." I stared at the happy family on the screen, completely numb. Then I closed the livestream and threw the keepsake I had gotten for Curtis into the trash, along with my wedding ring and veil. None of them knew I had been diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer the month before. Even with painkiller injections, I could barely stay on my feet that day. All I wanted was to marry Curtis before I died and let my parents and Richard see me happy one last time. But that wasn't going to happen anymore. I only had three days left. I might as well find somewhere quiet and wait for the end.

My wife, Whitney Shaw, is a copycat. Whatever her friends buy, she has to buy too. If they get new watches, she gets one. If they change cars, she changes hers too. Last year, her best friend started keeping a young lover, so Whitney quickly finds one of her own. "Claire and the others are all doing it," she says. "If I don't, it'll make me look like I'm doing worse than them." The day I'm rushed to the ER after a serious car accident, she's busy celebrating the 100-day anniversary of her relationship with her lover. "Claire's spending the day with hers, too. If I don't do the same, how embarrassing would that be?" I curl up in agony, begging Whitney to sign the consent form for my emergency surgery. Instead, she complains that I'm ruining her fun and blocks me for three months. Later, her friends' husbands all file for divorce and walk away with half their wives' fortunes. Whitney, on the other hand, rushes home that very night and breaks up with her lover. "Honey, I've thought it through," she says, busying herself in the kitchen with an apron. "From now on, I'll be a model wife, just like others." I stare at the divorce agreement she previously had drawn up because of her lover. "What a coincidence," I say, flashing her a faint smile. "I've been copying others lately, too. I've decided to follow their example and get myself a new wife."

Seven days after my father suffered severe burns and was declared brain-dead, Daniel Shaw revived him in front of thirty million viewers. Three minutes after he opened his eyes, I pulled out his ventilator. The cardiac monitor let out a piercing alarm. The color had barely returned to my father’s face before it flushed red again, and the veins in his neck bulged one after another. He opened his mouth like a fish tossed onto dry land, his fingers clawing desperately at the bedsheets. Outside the hospital room, reporters were still livestreaming. Thirty million viewers watched me send my father, the man who had just survived a medical miracle, back to his death.

I head home early for Thanksgiving, wanting to surprise my family. The moment I step through the door, my sister, Lilith Brooks, calls 911. "I need to report a break-in. There's an intruder." It isn't until the police rush in and snap handcuffs onto my wrists that I finally panic. "Dad, Mom, Rosa! Tell them! It's me, Samuel!" My parents just shake their heads in unison. "We don't know him." Even Rosa Monroe, my partner of five years, turns her face away. "He's probably just some obsessed underclassman with a crush on me." After 15 agonizing days in jail, my best friend, Harley Smith, finally posts my bail. With bloodshot eyes, I pour my heart out to him about the sheer insanity of it all. "Harley, how could my own sister call the cops on me? This joke has gone way too far…" He stays quiet, driving me straight to a five-star hotel. I'm about to ask him why we're here when I freeze. Through a massive glass wall, I spot Rosa and my twin brother, Xander Brooks, locked in a romantic embrace amid a sea of roses. Meanwhile, my parents are raising their glasses to toast the guests. Harley lets out a heavy sigh. "The truth is, Xander is the one Rosa has really loved all these years. That day was supposed to be their engagement party, but when Xander saw you walk in, his depression flared up so much that he almost jumped off the roof. "You just happened to show up early and almost ruined everything for them. You got to have Rosa for five years. Just step aside and let them have this." Confetti bursts around them, raining down as tears slip silently down my face. It turns out everyone was protecting Xander from me. I was the only fool left in the dark.

I have a bad habit. I always say I’ll do something, but whether I actually follow through is another story. When I was eight, my adoptive father stole an e-bike and told me to keep watch. I patted my chest confidently. “Don’t worry. If anyone comes, I’ll tell you!” Then I squatted by the curb and got distracted watching a trail of ants. Twenty minutes later, my adoptive father was hauled away in a police car, along with the stolen battery. Later, I was kidnapped. The trafficker told me to sit still and keep quiet. I nodded eagerly. “Okay, sir!” Then I rolled down the window and waved at everyone outside. “Hi! My uncle told me not to make any noise!” By the time we’d driven three blocks, the police had received more than a dozen calls. As the officers dragged him out of the car, the trafficker broke down. “I’ve been doing this for ten years, and I’ve never had a job go this horribly wrong!” That was how my DNA ended up in a database for missing and trafficked children. Four years later, my wealthy biological parents found me. On my first day in their mansion, the girl who had taken my place came to me holding a bracelet. “Nina, this bracelet has been in the Bennett family for generations. You’re their biological daughter, so it rightfully belongs to you.” I agreed without hesitation. “Sure. I’ll take it!” Then she ran crying into Mom’s arms and claimed I’d stolen the bracelet Grandma had left her. My brother flew into a rage and kicked open my bedroom door. “Nina Bennett! How dare you steal Fiona’s bracelet and humiliate her?” I looked up at him in confusion. “What bracelet?” “Don’t play dumb!” He was about to have my room searched when the butler rushed in. “Mrs. Bennett, this bracelet has been sitting in the foyer the whole time. One of the housekeepers nearly put it away with the costume jewelry.”

Nine years after my hands were burned beyond restoration, I woke in the middle of the night with pain shooting through my fingers. I lay there, barely able to move, when I heard my mother talking on the phone in the living room. "Hey, you've had a hard time too. You've been taking care of him all these years. He was such a gifted pianist, and now look at what he's become…" My mother let out a quiet laugh. "A hard time? You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this day." There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Then she continued, "I was the one who hid his passport. And I was the one who started the fire." The voice on the other end went silent. "I only meant to make him miss his flight. I never thought the fire would get out of control. I never meant for him to end up like this." After a pause, I heard my aunt's faint voice. "But his hands…" My mother was silent for two seconds. When she spoke again, her voice was colder than before. "Maybe it's better this way. With his hands ruined, he can't play the piano. He can't go abroad. He can't leave me here all by myself. "All these years, he's had to rely on me for everything, even eating and getting dressed. Don't you think he'll be grateful to me for taking care of him?" I lay completely still in bed, my ten twisted fingers throbbing as if the flames were licking at them all over again. So that was the truth. I had not been trapped in this house for nine years because life had dealt me a cruel hand. My own mother had burned my future to the ground with her own hands. Lying there in the darkness, I kept thinking about all the possibilities. What if I had not rushed back when that phone call came the night before my flight? What if the fire had never taken my hands? What would my life have looked like? Then I opened my eyes again. I had returned to the day I received my visa.

After spending another year preparing to retake the SAT, I tried to register, only for the system to tell me I couldn't. According to its records, I'd already enrolled at Briarwood University and had been attending college for a full year. But on the day the exam results came out last year, Mom had clearly told me, "Conor, you only scored 1280. You're more than a hundred points short of getting into Briarwood." That same day, Cassidy Vaughn patted me on the shoulder and encouraged me, "Conor, take another year and try again. I'll be waiting for you at Briarwood." My hands shook as I opened Briarwood University's official social media page. The pinned post read: "Meet Conor Hale, Outstanding Freshman Representative of the Class of '25..." But I was Conor Hale! In the photo, the "Conor Hale" standing there was smiling proudly. My own mother stood on his left, while Cassidy had her arm linked through his on the right. So I'd gotten into college all along. My own mother and my childhood sweetheart had joined forces to steal my future.

After the accident, I came home in clothes soaked with blood. Mom and Dad took one look at the bandages covering me and immediately asked what had happened. I clenched my fists and said, “Car accident. My phone’s emergency SOS automatically sent my location to my emergency contacts and tried calling them. Mom, you hung up. Dad, you never even checked the alert.” I thought they would apologize and promise that they would never ignore an emergency alert again. Instead, Mom frowned. “Why would you put down my number? You know I have a heart condition. What if I suddenly got an emergency alert like that and passed out from the shock?” Dad waved a hand dismissively. “My blood pressure is high. I can’t handle that kind of shock either. Take my number off the list.” I stood there, stunned. Everyone in the family had me listed as their primary emergency contact. When Grandma fell out of bed in the middle of the night, when Dad was rear-ended by someone on the highway, when Mom had a sudden episode of heart palpitations... No matter what I was doing, the second I got an SOS alert from them, I would call for help and rush straight over. At the beginning of September, my younger sister started college. Mom and Dad had practically fought over who would get to be her primary emergency contact, each insisting they were the better choice. When it came to me, their whole attitude changed. I lowered my eyes and asked softly, “Mom, Dad, if I died because neither of you answered when I called for help, would you regret it?”

The day I finish my college entrance exam, I drag my suitcase back to my parents' house downtown. When Mom opens the door, the first thing she says is, "Now that your college entrance exam is over, stay home for a while." She says a while, not for good. There are three children in our family. My older brother, Samuel Stroud, and my younger sister, Isabelle Stroud, have always lived with our parents, while I was raised by my grandparents. Samuel has his own study, while Isabelle has her own bedroom. I sleep in the living room. Everything they give me is temporary. My toothbrush is disposable, my slippers are disposable, and even my towel is disposable. I don't even have a key to the house. "You don't come home often," Mom always says. "What do you need a key for?" So every time I come back, I stand outside the door like a guest, waiting for someone to let me in. But this time, they finally give me a key. Samuel places it in my palm with a smile. "We're going on a trip for a few days. You can stay home and get some proper rest." On the coffee table sit four plane tickets, neatly arranged in a row. They're for Dad, Mom, Samuel, and Isabelle—but not me. I look down at the key I've waited 12 years to have, and suddenly, I laugh. I finally understand why they gave it to me. It isn't a key meant to welcome me home. It's a reminder that it's time for me to leave.