Historias cortas y novelas de Homewrecker Melodramatic

The day before my period, I found a note on my fiancé's phone. [Her period starts tomorrow. I already packed pads and painkillers in her bag.] I smiled. It was such a small thing, but it felt thoughtful. The next day, a dull ache twisted in my lower stomach. Pale and uncomfortable, I dug through my crossbody bag. Nothing. Dark red blood stained my pants. Students pointed behind me and whispered with awkward laughs. I figured he'd just forgotten at the last minute. Then the new intern teacher posted on social media. [Just started working, and my supervising teacher is literally the sweetest! He even got me pads and painkillers. This period has been pain-free!] The photo showed a pack of pads, an ibuprofen tablet, and a mug of ginger tea. The painkillers were mine—the ones I'd kept stocked at home for years because of my cramps. The pads were the only brand my skin could tolerate. I turned off my phone and stared at the engagement ring on my finger for a long time. Then I stood up and headed to the principal's office to apply for the overseas teacher exchange program. Seven years. He still couldn't remember my cycle. And now, he never would have to.

Vivian was wheeled out of the delivery room for the third time after a massive hemorrhage. The baby was stillborn. The doctor told her that her womb had been damaged by too many pregnancies. She would never carry another child. Numb and hollowed out, Vivian dragged herself toward the morgue to see her baby one last time, and that was when she saw her husband Ethan standing in the corridor, talking quietly to one of his men. "Don, your wife's baby was a perfect marrow match again. One more extraction and Claire's son will be cured." Vivian froze mid-step, every nerve in her body going still. Then came Ethan's voice, light and almost amused, and it shattered something she didn't know was still whole. His man hesitated, something pained moving across his face,"If Claire's boy pulls through, then losing those three kids was worth it." "Don, if the Donna ever finds out what really happened to those babies…" A cold shudder ran through Vivian, and her eyes locked on Ethan. But the curve of his mouth turned sharp, almost cruel. "She won't. I'll make it up to her, get her pregnant again with a healthy one this time. She'll be too busy with the baby to go digging." "And if she does find out, then what?" "Her mother gave her life for mine. That debt has chained me to her for ten years, and I can barely breathe under it. But now there's someone I actually want to protect. She has no right to stand in the way." Something softened in Ethan's face then, something Vivian had never seen turned toward her. "Claire was my brother's wife, and I'll never forget that he died protecting this family. So protecting his widow and his blood are our family’s and my duty." "She's the only person who's ever made me feel like a husband. Like a father." "I have to take care of her."

Since it's already the end of the year, I'm slacking off at my job. That's when I come across a forum post on the Internet. "My husband has gone on a business trip on his own. This is the photo he sent me when he updated me on his situation. Everyone, can you please take a look at the photo and tell me if there are any problems with it?" The Internet users are quick to go into their Sherlock Holmes mode. Still, they aren't able to spot any problems with the photo. But a comment is quick to catch my attention. "Am I the only one who thinks that this post is a clickbait? Could it be that a disloyal jerk who's cheating on his wife wants to proclaim his devotion toward her but is scared that he might get caught? Maybe that's why this photo is uploaded here instead so that everyone can help him find out what's wrong with this photo!" As soon as the comment is posted, the original poster deletes the post instantly. This makes me frown. At the same time, my husband, Gavin Prescott, sends me a photo on WhatsApp. "Honey, here's my daily update! Your darling husband is still devoted to you as always!" As I stare at the photo, which is exactly the same one that was posted on the Internet, I feel my heart sinking. This is definitely not a coincidence!

I spent six months and over $20,000 to plan a family vacation. However, when my mate's childhood sweetheart Ethan heard about our trip, he wanted to join us. Chloe didn't hesitate. She cancelled my spot in the protected convoy and gave it to him instead. She forced me to travel alone through deadly Shadow Pack territory — a thirty-six hour journey where three wolves had died last month. The whole family supported Chloe's decision without a thought for my safety. So I changed my travel plans. I headed north instead of south. I spent three months enjoying myself, ignoring their mindlink messages. That's when the family started to panic...

Leon, drink up. Finish every drop in this glass." As my wife, Alice Carr, holds a glass of warm milk, she keeps staring at my Adam's apple intensely. Every night, she needs to watch me finish the entire glass of milk. At first, I think this is Alice's way of showing me her love. That is, until something occurred last month. Back then, my neighbor's fire alarm blared extremely loudly due to a fire breaking out. Yet, I had slept like a log the whole time. Only then do I realize that something is wrong with the milk. Last night, I pretended to go on a business trip. When I secretly go home in the middle of the night, I find out that my bedroom door is locked. When I peek through the gap in the door, I feel my hairs rising on their ends. It turns out that Alice isn't asleep at all. She's standing on the balcony while holding my pillow and burying her face into it. Then, she inhales the scent deeply, as though she were a drug addict. Her shoulders keep trembling violently the whole time. It's one thing if Alice is madly addicted to my scent. The thing is, the pillowcase is a part of the bedroom set that my mom has dug up from my childhood home last week. I never have a chance to use that pillow, so there's no way my scent lingers on the pillowcase. Suddenly, Alice halts in her actions and raises her head. She looks up at the moon while licking her lips in an euphoric haze. Then, she mumbles softly, "Your dad's scent… is fading away…"

Before my best friend Scott Hawkins died of cancer, his greatest concern was the online girlfriend he had never met in person. He clutched my hand, tears streaming down his face. "Ian, her depression is severe. I'm afraid losing me might push her over the edge. Can you keep using my account for a while, gradually distance yourself, and end things once she's had time to adjust?" With tears in my eyes, I promised him I would. For the next three years, I pretended to be Scott. I helped her through another depressive episode, supported her as she got her career back on track, and then gradually began distancing myself. Today, I finally decided three years was long enough. She'd had enough time to accept that the relationship was over and move on. So I typed, [We shouldn't talk anymore. It's over,] and hit send. At that exact moment, my fiancée's phone lit up on the coffee table. The breakup message I had just sent appeared on her screen.

After my son was abducted, my husband took me to an adoption center to bring home a baby boy born the same year as the child we'd lost. I poured every ounce of love I had into raising him. He had a sensitive stomach, so I pushed through my chronic back pain to cook him special meals every single day. When he spiked a fever in the middle of the night, I carried him twenty miles through the rain to the nearest hospital. When he couldn't focus in school, I was constantly at his classroom door, flattering his teachers and bringing them gifts, just to get them to pay a little extra attention to him. Fifteen years of grinding sacrifice, and it all came down to one moment at his college acceptance party. "I couldn't have gotten into Harvard without my mother's love and hard work," he said into the microphone. He raised his glass, eyes drifting toward where I was sitting. The cameras flashed as I started to rise from my seat, matching his silent lip movements. And then I heard a name I didn't expect. "She is Rachel Lynch." I froze. That was my best friend's name.

To save my unconscious Alpha fiancé, I got trapped in a glacial crevasse on the frozen mountain. I tried to reach him through our bond ninety-nine times, but he blocked me out completely. When he finally found me seven days later, his first words were an accusation. "Elara damaged her eyes trying to save me, and you just had to cause trouble right now!" "You're a trained mountain warrior. How could you get trapped in a small crevasse for seven days?" "I've had enough of your games. Let's break off our engagement." He thought I would cry and argue like before. But I just nodded. "Okay." He didn't know I hit my head when I fell trying to save him. In seven days, I would completely forget him. But when I finally left him completely as he'd promised, he went crazy, searching the world and begging me back.

On Christmas Eve, my husband's widowed sister-in-law, Roxy, called again. My husband, Damian Caruso, was in his study, listening to his underboss go over the books. I glanced at my husband's phone. Roxy's name flashed across the screen, and I answered. Her voice was sweet and helpless. "Dami, the backyard cameras just caught a man climbing over my wall. I don't know what to do..." I knew that carefully practiced helplessness all too well. I kept my voice even. "Do you want me to send some men to check it out?" There was a pause. When Roxy spoke again, the sweetness had drained from her voice. "Camilla? Why are you answering his phone? I don't need armed men showing up at my house and drawing attention. Dami is the only one I trust." Damian stepped out of his study, and I handed him the phone. I didn't hear what Roxy said, but his expression changed at once. "Okay. I'm on my way." I knew what that meant. Nine months pregnant, and I'd be spending Christmas Eve dinner alone again. Five years of marriage. Five Christmas Eves. The same thing every year. Roxy's calls always came in the early evening on Christmas Eve. Never too early, never too late. Damian grabbed his coat, wearing that familiar look of apology. "Roxy has it hard enough on her own. Marco took a bullet for me. I promised him I'd look after her and the boy." "I'll check on her and come straight back. I promise I'll be home in time for Midnight Mass." It wasn't a question. He was telling me what he'd already decided. For the first four years, I'd argued. I'd cried. I'd asked him why he always left. And Damian always gave the same answers. "We're family. If I can help, I should." "Don't worry. This year, I'll stay the whole night with you." But he had never kept that promise. Outside, the church bells began to ring, and snow started to fall. I watched him walk away and suddenly realized I no longer cared whether he made it back in time. This year, I wasn't going to wait for him.

On Mother’s Day, I was driving an intoxicated wealthy woman home when she suddenly said, “You know, I stole my husband from another woman.” Then she handed me a photo. The moment I saw it, my entire body went numb. The man smiling with his arm around her looked exactly like my husband — who had supposedly died eight years ago. After my husband, Cedric Foster, died in an accident, he left me drowning in debt and caring for his comatose mother. To pay everything off, I worked a day job and drove for a rideshare service at night. When creditors came knocking and I had no money left, I sold my blood more times than I could count. “Handsome, isn’t he?” said the woman with a smug smile. “He was married back then, but for me, he walked away from his wife and abandoned his family.” As we entered an exclusive luxury neighborhood, the woman rushed toward two figures waiting ahead. The moment I recognized them, every drop of blood in my body seemed to freeze. I could barely breathe.

After coming back home for the family gravesite visit over the holiday weekend, I was busy loading all the luggage and supplies into the car. That's when my mom casually dropped, "There's no more room in the car — you'll have to call an Uber and meet us back." I just stood there for a second. It's a five-seater, and with my parents, my older brother, my younger sister, and me, that's exactly five people. My brother Derek and sister Chloe were already in the back, laughing and goofing around together. My mom shrugged and said, "The back seat's too small — three people would be cramped. You came back on short notice this time, and your brother and sister need to rest." At that point, I stopped overthinking it and just rolled with it.

On the first day of our honeymoon, Dante Moretti, the Mafia Don I had just married, and his childhood sweetheart left me at a gas station. They had driven for twenty minutes before realizing I wasn’t in the car. When he called, panic filled his voice. “Ariana, why didn’t you get back in? I thought you were in the back seat.” Bianca’s voice came clearly through the phone. “She isn’t a child, Dante. You don’t have to turn around for her.” I laughed bitterly. I had lost count of how many times he had left me behind for his childhood sweetheart. When I remained silent, irritation crept into his voice. “Don’t start, Ariana. I’ve sent one of the guards to pick you up. Just wait for the guard.” In the past, I would have forgiven him and waited. But this time, I didn’t want to. I canceled the rest of our honeymoon and removed the wedding ring I had worn for less than three days. Then I called my father for the first time in five years. “Father, I want to come home.” His voice trembled. “Ariana, the Bellini family has been waiting for you.”

I was born into the Valerie family, with the noble blood that could give a vampire a powerful hybrid heir. I was meant to marry Ethan, heir to the Prince. But the night before the engagement, his younger brother Adrian knelt in the rain in front of me. “Elena, I’d give up everything.” “I love you. You’re all I want.” So I broke the engagement, let my family disown me, and married him without a backward glance. Then I got pregnant. He started keeping me at arm’s length, finding reasons not to touch me, not even willing to stay in the same room as me. Until the night I heard him tell his men: “Once Elena has the baby, we’ll hand it over to Ethan and Sophia.” “Sophia’s health is fragile. I can’t bear to put her through a pregnancy.” That was when I finally understood. Adrian had never loved me. He’d married me only to free up the place beside Ethan for my cousin Sophia. Even the child I’d struggled so hard to carry had already been promised away to the woman he truly loved. I rested a hand on my belly and called my father. “Dad, I was wrong about him.” Adrian thought I’d stay trapped in his web of lies forever. He had no idea. Two months from now, I would vanish from his world for good.

Two years ago, I got pregnant for the first time. At ten weeks, a silver lock-shaped charm appeared outside our front door. There was no shipping label and no sender. Ian Shaw laughed at me for worrying. He said a friend had probably sent us an early gift for the baby. But that night, I developed stomach pains. By the time I reached the hospital in the early hours, the baby no longer had a heartbeat. A year ago, I got pregnant again. I told no one, not even my mother. In the eighth week, an identical silver charm appeared in the nursery we hadn’t used yet. The doors and windows were locked, and the security cameras showed no one entering. That time, I fell in the bathroom and lost the baby too. Now I was pregnant again. Before dawn in my seventh week, a nightmare woke me. My fingers touched something cold beneath my pillow. A third silver lock charm lay there. I held it in my shaking hands. Who was trying to kill my baby?

After successfully completing the mission, I return to my original world. I awaken from my vegetative state to find my now-grown children waiting at my bedside. My husband pulls me into a tight embrace. My parents and mother-in-law are overcome with tears of joy. Just as I'm about to say goodbye to the System and choose to remain in my original world, a woman who looks almost exactly like me pushes open the door. My children rush over to her, calling her "Mommy" affectionately. Everyone looks at me awkwardly. The woman gives me a provocative smile. I stop the System. "Let me think about whether I want to stay here."

After my younger sister went abroad, I married the mafia Don in her place. Five years after we married, we became each other’s greatest enemies. He hated me for driving my sister away and scheming my way into becoming his wife. I hated him for always treating me as a stand-in, never once acknowledging me in front of the world. My lack of status brought humiliation to my vain parents, and from that moment on, their love for me turned into hatred. In the end, he and my parents left me behind on a snowy mountain while celebrating Christmas with my sister. In the bitter cold, I died together with the child I never got to meet. Meanwhile, my sister basked in everyone’s love and had the happiest Christmas of her life. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day my sister returned from abroad. This time, I would not beg Gideon or my parents to love me ever again.

I stumble across a man's official relationship announcement on my social media following my sudden breakup with Tiana Sharp, my ex-girlfriend. I notice the man's wedding photo in the announcement video, where he smiles broadly with his arm around Tiana. He even includes a caption—"Class dismissed. Marriage in session. Eight years in the making." I am immediately dumbfounded. I see the comment sections are packed with well-wishes for the couple, with familiar profile pictures popping up one after another. Tiana even comments, "You were worth the wait." I scroll further and spot a comment from Calvin Guest, my best friend. "It's finally official! I've been rooting for this couple since forever!" As I read the comments, my hands tremble uncontrollably. It turns out that while Tiana and I have been together for 11 years, she's also been dating the person she's been teaching for eight years. Calvin and my other close friends know, yet they help her keep me in the dark. I keep rereading the comments, a suffocating tightness clenching my chest. I return to the post and leave a comment. "It turns out you two had a thing going for eight years during my 11-year relationship."

I'm the Donna of the Vitale family, the wife of Domenico Vitale, the woman everyone is expected to bow to. Yet whether I need to access family funds, arrange a car, make a doctor's appointment, or even prepare a gown for a party, I must submit an application first. The woman who approves every request is Camilla Marino, Domenico's most trusted secretary. He says this is family protocol. As the Donna, I should be the first to follow the rules. Things change when I suffer a massive hemorrhage during my pregnancy. My request for emergency medical treatment is pending approval, yet I have already waited longer than I should have. I call Domenico and beg, "Domenico, please. Tell Camilla to approve it. We're going to lose our baby." He gently scolds me for trying to bypass family protocol. "Do as Camilla says." Just like that, he hangs up. That night, I lose my baby, as well as whatever love I have left for Domenico. I file for divorce and leave with nothing but a few clothes I owned before the marriage. He's convinced I'm doing this out of jealousy toward Camilla, that it is a calculated scheme to make him come crawling after me. He even tracks me down at my new place of work and publicly orders my medical treatment to be stopped, certain that once I lose the Vitale family's money and protection, I'll have no choice but to beg him. Trembling, our private physician tells him the truth. "Don Vitale, Signora miscarried a long time ago."

My mate, Alex, had a childhood friend named Emily who was a healer. When she discovered that I was a highly sensitive person, she volunteered to put me through what she called 'desensitization therapy.' The first time, she told me I needed to learn to control my emotions, so she locked me in a noisy bar's storage room for an entire night. The second time, she said I needed to overcome my tactile sensitivity. She drenched me in ice-cold water and forced me to stand in the freezing wind for three hours. Alex was present every single time. Each time, he told her, "Thank you for all your hard work, Emily. I know how much you're doing for her." Then came the banquet, where she poured an entire vial of wolfsbane-laced potion into my champagne and announced that this would be my final desensitization therapy session. I clutched my swollen throat and collapsed to the floor. I couldn't speak or catch my breath. Alex merely frowned and said coldly, "Elena, this is for your own good. Just get through this one last session." Lying among the shattered glass, I closed my eyes and pressed the beacon badge I had never used before. When Dad finally burst through the doors, tears I'd held back for three years streamed down my face. It was time to end this.

On the third day of Nathan’s silent treatment, I miscarried. I lay alone in the hospital and called my fiancé three times. He accused me of trying to get his attention and impatiently hung up. That night, he stayed with his assistant, Chloe, to redesign our wedding decorations. The next day, he handed her the wedding I had designed myself, gave her my position, and ordered me to complete the handover. I didn’t argue. I didn’t try to prove myself right. I simply handed over every file, submitted my resignation, and accepted a new job. “I knew giving someone like Emma the silent treatment would work. Look how obedient she is now. She’s only behaving because she’s afraid of losing you.” Nathan believed her completely and praised Chloe for being clever. Then he found me alone and told me that the wedding would go ahead as planned. After we got married, he promised he would be a responsible father—and expected me to remain as obedient as I was now. I looked at him and returned his ring. “You don’t need to be a father anymore.” His smile disappeared. “The baby is gone. And I’m no longer your fiancée.” I placed my resignation papers in his hands. “You already signed them.”