เรื่องสั้นและนิยายในฉาก Homewrecker After Death

On my birthday, all because I spent ten bucks, Dad drags me out to kneel in front of the store owners. "Go beg them to give us a refund!" Tears burst from my eyes, but he doesn't give me a chance to fight back. Just like that, he forces me to kneel my way down the street, from the candy shop at one end to the stationery store at the other. Piece by piece, we return everything until we get the ten dollars back. A crowd gathers around us, pointing and whispering. The color drains from my burning face. Once we get home, Dad pulls out a yellowed bankbook and points at the balance with a blank stare. "Read it. How much is that?" I grit my teeth and force the words out. "T-Twelve dollars." Dad finally snaps. He slams the bankbook against my chest as his voice cracks with bitter disappointment. "Then do you have any idea how long it takes your mom and me to save the ten bucks you blew today? Joshua Kirkland, you are a massive disappointment! We are poor. Don't you ever forget that!" I sob and tell him I understand, promising never to spend another dime. The next day, I cough up blood at school, and the school doctor asks if I need to go to the hospital. I squeeze the bloody tissue in my hand and choke back a sob. "I can't go. My parents don't have the money…"

To shield my sister from a street thug's iron bar after she cut class, my right leg was shattered. The infection that followed left the doctors no choice but to amputate. From that day on, I spent ten years in a wheelchair. Consumed with guilt, my sister massaged my stump every single day. My parents wiped their reddened eyes and promised that everything they owned would go to me someday, to make up for what I had lost. Then my sister won the highest international ballet award, and the whole family wept with joy. Before the ceremony, she looked at my wheelchair. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. "This is the greatest moment of my life. If a cripple tags along, what will the press write about me? "Dad, Mom, just this once, let the three of us go together, looking our best. Please?" My parents caved in the end. Before they left, Mom was afraid I might fall, so she lashed me to the wheelchair with hemp rope. "Be good, Audrey. I put all the knives and scissors away. Don't move around. We'll bring you back egg tarts from Belem." I sat obediently in the middle of the living room and watched the front door close, then heard the lock turn from outside. That night, the old electric blanket in the bedroom short-circuited and caught fire. The flames burned their way from the bedroom into the living room. I could not break free of the ropes. I could not reach the door handle. I could not find a single thing sharp enough to cut myself loose. The fire licked up my one remaining leg. The pain was beyond anything I had ever known. I sobbed through the smoke, begging my family to save me. They hung up. On the television, my sister stood in the spotlight, her smile radiant and dazzling.

When I found out I was suffering from heart failure, I was given ten days left to live. For the first time in my life, I smiled because I could finally repay Don Santos for taking me in. To repay Frank Santos' debt, I became his daughter's personal maid in private for 12 years, although I was his adopted daughter in name. I willingly endured all of Principessa Jackie Santos' tantrums. Jenny made me stay in the dark, damp basement and never allowed me to share the table when the family had their meals. On several trips that I had accompanied her on, Jenny left me behind on the outskirts on purpose and made me walk back on my own. I snapped out of the memories and dragged my exhausted body to see Don Santos for one last wish. I hoped to be buried with my real parents after my death, but when I arrived at the door, I heard the Donna, Marie Delgado, speaking to him. "Jenny has suffered enough for all these years. Isn't it time for us to tell her the truth?" What truth was she talking about? I was about to knock on the door, but I stopped when I heard their conversation. "Jackie is our adopted daughter, after all, and she has a sensitive soul. If we aren't hard on Jenny now, what should we do if she bullies Jackie by flaunting her status as our real daughter? "Now that she has labored away for Jackie for so many years, we'll let her return to her rightful place as our Principessa two weeks later, on her birthday." I was stunned. I was their real daughter, but they had watched me be abused for 12 years just to protect the feelings of their adopted daughter! "I can't wait for two weeks…" I would not live long enough to see that day.

The year my sister turned fifteen, my father, Grant Davis, became obsessed with holding auctions at home. Everything in the house, from a plate of meat to a turn with the washing machine, from school lunch money to after-school activity fees, had to be won by bidding with family credits. I worked odd jobs until I dropped, sleeping only three hours a night, and finally saved up a thick stack of family credits, the paper soft and warped from my sweat. All Melody had to do was sit on the couch and shed a few tears, and my father would stuff fistfuls of credits into her arms. "Girls deserve to be spoiled. Can't have Melody feeling left out." That day, the item up for auction was an old necklace that had belonged to my grandmother, Ruth Bennett. Eyes burning, I pushed everything I had onto the table. "Eight thousand." Melody tossed out ten thousand without a second thought, her voice sweet and wheedling. "This necklace would go perfectly with my new dress." I begged my father through tears. "This is the only thing Grandma ever left me. Please." My father slapped me so hard my ears rang and my vision blurred. "Highest bidder wins. That's the rule! You're too poor to win, so don't blame anyone else!" Melody snatched the necklace, gave it a look of disgust, and casually tossed it into the roaring fireplace. "Oops, the fire's getting low. This'll make good kindling." I threw myself at the fireplace. The back of my hand split open instantly from the heat, the skin blistering and peeling away. They left, slamming the door behind them, complaining that my screaming was bad luck in the house. Later, I couldn't stop thinking. If I put my own life on the auction block, how many credits would you bid?

Retired teacher Ryder Jensen appears on a talk show. His former students are spread across every field, with many becoming CEOs and renowned scientists. But when asked who left the deepest impression, his smile turns bitter. "The one who completely ruined his life. He was the top student in his grade, yet he dated the class' bottom-ranked delinquent. To save his future, I intercepted his love letter, rewrote it as a scathing roast, and read it out loud at a parent-teacher meeting. That broke them up. "But things didn't go as planned. He failed his exams, while that delinquent made it into a top-tier college and became a financial tycoon. Life has a cruel sense of humor." Saddened by the story, the host asks if Ryder has any words for that student. Ryder lets out a long breath, tears welling in his eyes. "He wouldn't hear me anyway. He was diagnosed with leukemia and couldn't afford the treatment. He passed away three years ago." The interview segment is clipped and posted online, instantly blowing up on social media. Meanwhile, Eliza Woods, the woman at the heart of the story, has no idea. She just wrapped up an international finance conference and is rushing to buy a top-tier graphics card for her fiance, Theo Holland.

Being locked away by my parents as a child left me with severe claustrophobia. Every time it flared up, I not only lost my voice but also lost my ability to use the mind-link with anyone in the pack. In my parents' eyes, a strong werewolf should have gotten over something that happened so long ago. Each time I lost my voice, only Alpha Caius Thorne stayed by my side. He kept notepads and pens throughout the estate and kept our conversation pinned to the top of his messages. He even learned sign language just for me. When another episode struck, I signed to him with trembling hands. "Does this ever make you tired of me?" My mate's scent enveloped me, calming my restless wolf. "Never. If anything, I'm glad we have a language that's just ours." Then Sage Mercer returned. She was a human healer and one of my closest friends. She tricked me into entering an underground stone chamber and locked me inside. The sealed space triggered another episode. I couldn't call for Caius, even though he was standing right outside the door. All I could do was sign frantically. But he acted like he didn't understand and stood there as Sage sealed the heavy stone door. Panic took over. I shifted into my wolf form and threw myself against the door with everything I had. Again and again, I slammed into it until my body was drenched in blood, yet not a single cry for help escaped my throat. Then I heard Sage speaking to Caius on the other side of the door. "Elara has to face her trauma head-on. Protecting her every time this happens won't help her get better. "A Luna represents her pack. With a condition like hers, she'll only hold you back. "Once she can call out for help on her own, we'll let her out." Caius said nothing. I understood his silence for what it was: agreement. So that was how Caius really saw me. A burden. But they had forgotten this underground chamber was designed to hold untamable beasts. Once the heavy door was sealed, almost no fresh air could get inside. No matter

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.

I was born a liar. That was the label my mother gave me. In the Dark Moon Pack, every pup carries a Lunar Mark on their wrist. Green means truth. Red means liar. My twin sister Maya slashed Mommy's ceremonial dress with a blade and blamed the pack hounds. Her wrist stayed soft and green. My mark went crimson when I said I was cold. "Mommy, I'm telling the truth. Please believe me." Elena would crouch down, look me in the eye, and say the same thing every time. "The Goddess's mark is absolute, Selena. Your own heart betrays you." She never touched me. She just looked at my wrist with disgust. No matter how honest I tried to be, my heart would race when I was scared. And every time my pulse spiked, the mark turned red. I lied when I said I was hungry. I lied when I said I loved her. I lied when I cried. After enough years, I stopped fighting back. I started to believe her. Maybe I really was broken. Maybe I was just born wrong. The night I died, I wrote one last line in my Penance Journal. "Mommy, help me. It hurts. Please — just believe me once." She never saw it. She had already locked the door and walked away. I'm sorry, Mommy. I died still trying to get it right. In my next life — will you hold me?

“After drinking the potion, your wolf scent will be completely altered and your mate bond will be broken. Are you sure you want to do this?” The witch looked at me in surprise. "I'm sure." I nodded calmly and drank the potion without hesitation. My Alpha mate, Lucas, marked me three years ago but never held a formal mating ceremony because he spent three years designing a wedding dress for me himself. That was until a week before the ceremony, when I watched Lucas with my own eyes as he draped that Luna gown over my sister, Seraphina—who had been missing for three years. Even my beloved Beta twin brothers, who doted on me the most, were gathered around Seraphina. Seraphina and I were twin sisters. I had a crush on Lucas for ten years, but I knew Lucas had always loved her. However, three years ago, when the pack was on the verge of extinction after an attack by rogue wolves, Seraphina ran away, abandoning everyone. When everyone was in despair, I fought with all my might to protect everyone until Lucas and my brothers returned. I almost died in that battle. Lucas, trembling, held my hand and asked if I would be his mate. He said I had saved the entire pack, that I was the bravest she-wolf. My brothers also swore that Seraphina, that coward, had been banished from the family. They said that from now on, I was their only sister. Until two days ago, when Seraphina returned. She claimed that she didn't run away but left to lure away a more vicious pack of rogues. She said she had been poisoned with silver toxicity during the fight and only had a month to live. Lucas and my brothers believed her without hesitation. To make up for the three years they "owed" her, and to fulfill Seraphina's "dying wish," they decided—to give my Mating Ceremony to her. After drinking the potion, I sent a message to the Alpha King of the Northern Territory: I am willing to join the Northern Territory. Help me stage a fake death in a week.

Every time my wife, Jocelyn Seacross, visits her childhood sweetheart, Levi Anderson, who is terminally ill, she hints to me that maybe we should get a divorce. She says it's because Levi's dying wish is to have a proper place in her life. Today, she hints at it again. I don't kick up a fuss and simply say, "Okay." Because this conversation has already happened 99 times. This is the hundredth time this conversation has come up, and I finally find a reason to convince myself to let her go—our child is dead. Now, all that remains between Jocelyn and me are two certified copies of the marriage certificate.

On the third day after my death, Eliza Sutton received the call to claim my body. She was resting in another man's arms. She said nonchalantly, "He's dead, huh? Just cremate it and call me afterward." My body was fed to the flames and reduced to ashes. When the staff were done, they contacted Eliza again. Irritation flashed in her eyes as she snapped, "I heard you. I'm on my way."