Family Emotions Short Stories & Novels

For the third time, Mom complains that the fridge isn't cooling properly. I know she's waiting for me to offer to buy a new one. Mom's always saying I'm the one holding this family together. She constantly reminds me that my younger sister, Celia Kessler, only makes 2,000 dollars a month and can't be expected to help. So everything falls on me. When Mom says her bedroom is too hot, I grit my teeth and buy her a new air conditioner. When Dad complains about his constant neck pain, I scrape a living for a month so I can afford a neck massager for him. Last year, I even paid for most of the renovations on the house, scrimping and saving to cover the cost. I've been working for five years and make 8,000 dollars a month. But by the end of every month, I don't even have 500 dollars left. Seeing that I'm not going to say anything, Mom slams her fork down on the table and shoots me a glance. "They say you have kids so someone will take care of you when you're old. Guess I wasn't that lucky!" My chest tightens, and suddenly the food in my mouth is hard to swallow. I'm about to say something when the front door opens. Celia calls out cheerfully, "Mom, I got paid almost 10,000 dollars! You and Dad don't need to give me the usual 4,000 this month!" I look up, stunned. Celia walks in carrying the latest tablet, and my boyfriend, Bryan Alston, is right behind her. He told me he had a client meeting today. That's when I realize where the money has really been going. Every month, I give Mom an extra 5,000 dollars for household expenses, and she's been giving most of it to Celia. Everyone depends on me, but somehow I'm the one who has the least.

When my body is engulfed in flames, my firefighter father is watching a new movie with my sister. My mother is baking them a cake. I hear laughter in the living room, and I can smell the caramel popcorn in the kitchen. Today is my family's weekly family day—it's a day for my sister and parents to be with each other. The doorbell rings, and the perpetrator gives me a chance to ask for help. My limbs are bound, and stones fill my mouth. I stand at the door and desperately wait for my parents to open it. They don't get up. Instead, they sit on either side of my sister and hug her. "We promised you we'll only be with you on our family days. No one can disturb us." "What if it's Danica?" Ravenna Sutton, my sister, asks. "Her? She hasn't answered her phone in days—who knows where she's off being wild? I'll think of her as dead if she still doesn't return tomorrow!" Ravenna giggles. Mom feeds her some popcorn, and Dad discusses the movie's plot with her. The perpetrator drags me back upstairs and laughs mockingly in my ear. "Looks like I did something unnecessary. They genuinely don't care about you." Smoke permeates every corner upstairs, and the flames start to lick at my body. Mom and Dad protect Ravenna as they run downstairs. They have no idea their birth daughter is screaming in pain amid the blazing fire.

When Joy Staton, my adoptive sister, fainted in the freezer on her birthday, William Staton, my brother, checked on the security footage in rage. The moment he saw that I was the one who took Joy into the freezer, he kicked me inside without hesitation. Before shutting the door, he stared at me in disgust. “You’ve been pushing your luck a lot these days, huh? If I’d been a second too late, Joy would’ve died!” I wanted to defend myself, but William refused to listen and slammed the door shut. I heard him talking to the bodyguards outside. “If she doesn’t apologize, don’t let her out!” But he did not know that Joy had set the freezer to –58 °F. I did not even have the strength to complain about the freezer being cold. William did not know that the sister he once loved dearly had stopped breathing in the freezer. He had killed his only blood relative left in the world.

The year I started middle school, my parents solemnly handed my sister and me each a bank card. "This is your college fund. There's 100,000 dollars in each one. The password is your birthday. Don't touch it unless it's truly an emergency." I listened. I treated that card like a treasure. I never bought a single new piece of clothing. Even my worn-out canvas shoes got patched with glue and worn again. I thought that if I was just responsible enough, I'd live up to my parents' idea of "fairness." Then, after the SATs ended, I wanted to use the money on the card for a graduation trip with my classmates. Instead, the ATM screen flashed a number that burned my eyes: [Balance: $0.00]. At that very moment, my sister posted photos on her social media of a first-class ticket to Iceland. It hit me then. Two identical cards, and only hers had ever held real money. For six straight years, my parents had played a worthless card to string me along — buying my youth, my obedience, my very self. If they couldn't keep things from tipping over, then I'd tear it all down myself. With my own two hands.

My mother-in-law threatened to teach me a lesson about wasting money. While I was visiting my parents, she planned to team up with my sister-in-law and livestream themselves dumping my expensive skincare serum, worth thousands of dollars, down the toilet. "Once a woman gets married, she should learn to be frugal and take care of her household! This stuff is ridiculously expensive. Today, I'm dumping every last drop just to hear it splash!" "My sister-in-law is so vain! Mom is teaching her how to be a good wife!" "Going live at 2 pm sharp! We are cleaning out that wasteful woman's vanity!" The moment I saw the announcement in the family group chat, I started panicking. I immediately called my husband, Chester Lloyd, and begged him to stop them. "Stop your mother! Don't let her pour the stuff in those bottles by the sink down the toilet!" Chester sounded completely unconcerned. "What am I supposed to do? My mom can't stand watching you waste money. "They are just a few bottles of skincare products. So what if she dumps them? Why get upset with an older woman over something so trivial? "Once you learn to stop wasting money and start living frugally, I will buy you a cheaper set." I was frantic. "But ..." Before I could finish, Chester hung up and went back to his video game. The problem was, what she had taken was not skincare serum at all. It was highly concentrated industrial sulfuric acid, the kind that could trigger a violent explosion when it came into contact with water.

My daughter, Bessie Garcia, had very little self-discipline. The only reason she studied at all was that I constantly pushed her. Three months before the SATs, I could not resist sending a question to myself ten years into the future. “Did Bessie get into an Ivy League school? What kind of job does she have now? Please tell me the last three years of hard work were worth it! How far have Meera and I gotten on our trip around the world? Did we have a second child?” A hopeful smile spread across my face. Then, I saw the man on the other side of the screen. His skin was sallow. He was so thin that he was almost unrecognizable. “An Ivy League school? After graduation, she publicly accused you of controlling and emotionally abusing her for more than ten years. The entire internet branded you a sick, controlling father. Meera divorced you and went on to have a child with her first love. As for you… years of staying up late, putting your life on hold, and constantly supervising Bessie’s studies left you with terminal pancreatic cancer. Your daughter and ex-wife have cut you out of their lives completely. You have only one month left to live.” I was stunned. Just then, Bessie’s voice sounded from her room as she talked to someone online. “My dad? He’s a pathetic control freak. His wife doesn’t love him, so he takes it out on me by trying to control my life. The more he forces me to study, the worse I’ll bomb the exams! Watching him lose his mind in rage is the only satisfaction I get. Once the SATs are over, I’m moving out and cutting him out of my life for good!” Tears splashed against the back of my hand. A moment later, I withdrew her from every SATs prep course and sent her a text. [You don’t have to attend those tutoring classes anymore. From now on, I won’t ask anything of you. It’s your life, so you should get to decide how to live it.]

My son, Leo Mancini, went missing in a fire 18 months ago. My husband, Enzo Mancini, held a funeral for him but would never let me see the body. When I kept asking where my child was, he said I needed rest. When I asked for a divorce, he refused to let me leave the estate. So I turned to the people closest to me for help. But one by one, those who promised to help me leave turned on me after watching a video my husband showed them and attacked me.

I was born with a genetic disorder. My father left as soon as he found out, and my illness quickly drained all my mother’s savings. To afford my treatment, she moved me from one stranger’s home to another, until she chose to have a child for money. After giving birth to a baby boy and receiving twelve thousand dollars, she was about to leave, but the man asked her to stay. He promised to raise me as his own and cover my medical expenses. She agreed. They married soon after. She told me I would always be the one she loved most. To prove it, she rarely held my brother and almost never smiled at him. Until the day he accidentally swallowed my medicine. As she frantically tried to save him, she broke down and screamed at me, “Why are you still alive?” I watched them rush to the hospital. Then I went back to my room, picked up the scattered pills, and swallowed them all. Mom, I wouldn't be a burden to you anymore.

Astrid was aware that her daughter, Coco, loved her father. The problem was that the father, Isaiah, did not love her, nor did he love Coco; he only ever allowed Coco to address him as uncle. After Isaiah dismissed the three chances Coco gave him, she decided she was going to leave him for good. It was only then that Isaiah changed his mind and started pleading desperately, “My dear, I want nothing more than to hear you call me your father.”

Ever since I can remember, I was Nina's blood bank. Nina was like a glass princess. One sneeze and she could break. She needed blood all the time just to stay okay. Mom had her tubes untied just to have me to save Nina. My arms were always full of needle marks. Mom and Dad looked at me like they felt bad. "Chloe, you're a good girl. Nina's sick. She doesn't mean it when she gets mad. Be patient with her." I made myself smile. "I know. You can take more. I'm not scared." They turned away and cried. I thought if I stayed good and didn't complain, they'd love me someday. Then I won first place in a painting contest. Nina ripped the bandage off her hand and started crying. "Why are you showing off? Why am I the sick one? I hate you!" Mom shoved me to the ground. "Your sister can't even go to school. What are you bragging about some dumb paper for? How can you be this mean? Why couldn't you be the sick one?" Dad carried Nina out. He didn't look at me. I ran after the car all the way to the hospital. I only heard the doctor say, "Without a full blood replacement, she won't make it three months." I looked at my arm. 'Nina, please don't hate me anymore. If I give you my life, will that be enough?'

On my birthday, my girlfriend of ten years, Bella Dixon, tells me she wants to propose. I arrived at the spot, overjoyed, only to see smoke everywhere as my mom, Hannah Moore, screams from inside the house. Trauma from the fire three years ago overwhelms me again, leaving me breathless. To save Mom, I claw my hands raw over the short distance of 16 feet, leaving a trail of blood behind me. When I throw open the door, trembling, I see Mom laughing heartily with her godson, Jasper Wilder. Disgust fills her eyes when she sees how pale I am. "Thanks to Jasper's exposure therapy, you're finally desensitized. Hurry up and thank him." Jasper turns off the sound effects on his phone and leans against Bella's shoulder, laughing and giving me a playful wink. "Jason was such a good sport. Though all that blood, ash and bodily waste was pretty disgusting. Hannah, thanks for your support. I finally have enough material for my PTSD treatment case study." Bella steadies Jasper, then meets my disbelieving gaze. She says casually, "Jasper is only trying to help you. Instead of avoiding it, facing a real-life situation like this is much more effective." The sight before me makes my breath hitch, and I can't even form a complete sentence. "Alright, go clean yourself up. Hannah and I are taking Jasper out to celebrate first." As I watch the three of them leave, my legs finally give out, and I slump to the floor. I have PTSD from that fire years ago, when I tried to save her. Yet she shows me no sympathy and thinks of me as a burden. Even Mom is willing to put on an act with an outsider and use my traumatic experience as research material. In that case, I may as well leave your world for good.

My mother-in-law is extremely frugal. She reuses paper others have discarded, carefully saving the unmarked portions. She even takes the black waste oil from the kitchen range hood and uses it to cook our meals. She says, "Frugality is a virtue—it brings blessings!" I try tirelessly to convince her otherwise, throwing out all her filthy items to protect my family's health. But while she praises me to my face, behind my back, she uses my baby's food scissors to clip her grimy toenails. My child eventually dies of a lung infection, leaving me heartbroken. My mother-in-law, however, points her finger at me, saying I'm unlucky and that I've brought misfortune to their family. Even my husband blames me. In the end, they use a knitting needle to pierce my throat and stab me to death. When I open my eyes again, I find myself back on the day I first see her picking up dirty paper. The first thing I do is hide all the high-quality tissue paper I had stocked up on before my pregnancy, pretending I knew nothing. She calls these blessings, right? Fine. The blessings of this miserly frugality—she can reap them all herself!

I'm a privileged only child hailing from the wealthy coastal region. In fact, my family has just received three brand-new apartments from the government after they've bought up our old property for redevelopment. On Christmas Eve, my cousin, Patrick Snyder, brings his girlfriend, Kelsey Randall, back for dinner. She stares at me for a while before gasping in shock. "Hang on, you look really familiar! You must be 69goddess, right? I saw your videos on a porn site before! You really have an amazing figure!" The atmosphere at the dining table goes eerily silent at that moment. My relatives all shoot me disgusted looks simultaneously. Dad is so pissed that he tosses his newly-shelled crab away. Meanwhile, Mom can barely catch her breath after hearing the news. Patrick shields Kelsey from me while looking disdainful. "You bring nothing but shame to the family, Jillian! Don't go around telling others that you know me from now on!" I wipe my hands with a napkin slowly. Then, I shoot a wide smile at the pretentious Kelsey. "Have you forgotten that I'm the one performed the gender-affirming surgery on you, Kelsey?"

My family is the most harmonious one around because we're a blended family. Both my parents treat their children and stepchildren "equally". When money goes missing at home, my mother, Jessica Evans, always slaps me without even thinking of suspecting my older sister, Susan Chase. After meals, my father, Damian Chase, allows my older brother, James Chase, to rest. However, he threatens to take away my meal privileges if I don't wash the dishes. Even after they get into arguments, I always end up the sole outlet for their frustrations. Unsurprisingly, my mental state deteriorates. When Mom discovers the scarring on my arms, she looks at me with disgust. "You're too young to be acting depressed," she tells me. So, amid juggling most of the household chores and enduring the most verbal abuse, I slit my wrists one night. As a result, my parents finally stop being biased. For the first time in over a decade, I have my own room, even if it's just a study spanning several dozen square feet. I am also no longer invisible in their eyes, and I am actually allowed some privacy—at least, until James and Susan get into a huge argument. When I come home, my room has been converted back into a study. My belongings are piled up like trash in the living room. Mom informs me calmly, "James and Susan's rooms are too close, so his gaming sessions have been affecting her sleep. Be sensible. We've played along with your suicidal antics for long enough, so stop making things difficult for us." This time, I don't make a huge fuss like before. It's because I can no longer hear anything around me, and I no longer want anything either.

My father-in-law, Arthur, was the rightful heir to the Mosby family fortune. When he insisted on marrying, Judith, my mother-in-law, who ran a small neighborhood restaurant, everyone said he had lost his mind. One morning over breakfast, Arthur suggested that we stop by Judith's restaurant. "Judith came home yesterday with a burn on her hand." Concern flashed in his eyes. "She refused to tell me what happened." The tenderness between them warmed my heart, so I immediately agreed to take him there. But while we were waiting in line, a broad-shouldered man suddenly shoved Arthur hard. "Move it, old man! You're blocking the way!" I caught Arthur before he fell and shook with anger. "What gives you the right to insult him or cut the line?" The man sneered and tossed a foul-smelling used napkin at our feet. "Because my wife owns this place! I can do whatever I want. Keep talking and I'll have her throw both of you out!" The air went still. All the color drained from Arthur's face, and the luxury bag he had just bought for Judith slipped from his hand. I froze. Could the woman Arthur had adored all his life really be having an affair?

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.

While I was cleaning my son's room, I accidentally saw the chat history on his computer. Naomi: [Babe, if your mom finds out you switched your first choice from Hoovard University to a vocational school for me, she's going to be furious.] Jon: [That's exactly what I want. She needs to learn she can't control everything.] Jon: [Vocational school isn't so bad anyway. Anywhere you are is happiness for me.] Naomi: [Babe, I love you! I'm going to treat you so well. Mwah!] I read those few short lines over and over, terrified that I had misread them or misunderstood. Then my son's shout came from behind me, "Mom, why are you snooping on my computer? Don't you know what privacy is?!"

After twenty years of knowing and loving my destined mate, Alpha Martin, we were finally about to get married. On the eve of the wedding, He skillfully picked out the lipstick shade I wanted from my makeup bag. That's when I knew: Alpha Martin had someone else. That girl was wearing the custom evening gown I'd prepared for the wedding banquet, clinking glasses with Alpha Martin in a mate's toast. Our friends surrounded her, respectfully calling her "Luna." I didn't cause a scene. Instead, I called the hospital. "Dr. Fabian, please dispose of the eggs I had frozen." Then I sent a message to that girl. "Yvonne Jimenez, would you like to marry Martin Daniels in my place?"

After eight years of marriage, my husband ignored my protests and brought his so-called cancer-stricken first love into our home. “You heartless woman! You don’t have an ounce of compassion! You’re not even worth a single strand of Luna’s hair!” Even my son chimed in, shouting that if I didn’t let Luna Miller in, he wouldn’t acknowledge me as his mother. That was it. I was done. I divorced him and accepted an invitation to return to the design world—back to the top where I belonged. But then they saw the forged cancer diagnosis. And suddenly, the tears came. “Baby, I was tricked! It was always you—I’ve only ever loved you!” “Mom, don’t leave me! I’m your only child!” I didn’t even look at them. Who let these crazy dogs in? They’re in my way—I’ve got an award to accept.

The day our college acceptance letters arrive, Mom drops two screenshots into the family group chat. One is a first-class plane ticket to Jossvale, with my name on it. The other is a second-class train ticket to Harbury, with Annie Fuller's name on it. Mom lets out a long sigh. "Your dad and I made sure to book you first class this time. Annie's stuck on the crowded train, so you can't throw a fit again and say we're playing favorites." My older brother, Vincent Moore, is helping Annie pack. All her favorite snacks have been crammed into three big suitcases. He snorts. "Exactly. First class costs a fortune. Don't tell me you're so petty you're jealous of Annie when she's taking the train." I keep my head down and say nothing. Last night, in Dad's study, I saw a purchase agreement for a new apartment and the family's full travel plan. They're not just sending Annie off to university as a family—they've also bought a fully furnished place right across from her campus. Her name's on the deed, too. Annie is the only child my parents' best friends left behind. She's been living with us for eight years, and for all that time, I might as well not have existed. I've always fought tooth and nail for every scrap of affection, insisting on having whatever she has. But now, I finally understand that an unloved child can cry all they want and still come away empty-handed. I pull out my phone and sign a government-sponsored scholarship agreement. It's a fully funded eight-year program abroad, from undergraduate studies through a doctorate. I'm forbidden from returning home during that time. I'll give my family what they want and go far, far away.