เรื่องสั้นแนว Familial Bond และนิยาย Hypocrisy Biological Family

After the college entrance exam ended, my younger sister, who had been my only family for seven years, told me calmly, "I left the whole thing blank." I froze and could not get a single word out. A look of vengeful satisfaction crossed her face as she went on, "Jett Sullivan and I never broke up either. I left it blank for him. His grades are awful, so there's no way he's getting into a good college. I promised him we'd spend all four years just having fun." Her words cut straight through me, yet she did not seem to think she had done anything wrong. She met my eyes openly and coldly. "The exam's over now anyway. If you're fine with me dating Jett, I'll still call you my brother. If not, we cut ties for good." She glanced at my trembling hands and paused. "If you still want me as your sister, fine. Give Jett every paycheck you've earned all these years. Think of it as a gift to him."

After bringing me into this world, Mom develops postpartum depression. It lasts for 18 long years. On my fifth birthday, Dad buys me a small cake. Mom hurls it onto the floor. "I almost died giving birth to you, and you actually have the nerve to celebrate?" On my tenth birthday, Grandma forces me to kneel before Mom and press my forehead against the floor. "Your birthday is the day your mother suffered. You should be grateful she didn't strangle you at birth!" On my 15th birthday, I secretly make a wish, hoping Mom will get better soon. After overhearing me, she slaps me across the face. "I'll never get better as long as you're in my life!" On my 18th birthday, my family takes down my birthday candles and changes the name on the cake to "18 Years of Suffering". Mom makes her one and only wish in front of all our relatives. "I hope she never shows her face in front of me again." Grandpa and Grandma urge me to be the bigger person. After a prolonged silence, Dad says quietly, "Maybe your mom really will get better after you move out." I smile and nod before blowing out the candles in Mom's place. After returning to my room, I dig out the birthday cards I've saved for 18 years and carefully write on the last one. "Mom, this time, your wish will definitely come true."

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.

Ever since Mom loses the baby, Dad has been spending his time keeping his late classmate's wife company. So I take scissors to our family photos, cutting him out of every single one. When Mom receives a call from my school, she overhears me telling a classmate that my dad is dead and asking if I can borrow theirs instead. Mom freezes for a moment before admitting, "Yeah, he died young." When family sports day rolls around, Mom catches me slipping a ten-dollar bill to the school guard, begging him to pretend to be my dad for the day. Instead of stopping me, she quietly hands the guard 200 dollars, making sure he attends the parent-teacher conference with me. Whenever an event requires a father figure, Mom simply lets me rent one. Eventually, it dawns on Dad that he hasn't heard anything from us in a long time. He clears his entire schedule for the afternoon to pick me up from school, but my teacher stops him at the school gate. Dad heads back home in confusion. The second he steps through the front door, he overhears me speaking to the maintenance guy. "My dad's dead," I tell him. "Do you want to be my new dad?"

My younger brother and I shared one body, but we had two different souls. Ever since we were little, my family used a lottery draw each month to decide who would stay awake and who would fall asleep. The long straw was mine. The short straw was his. Whenever my brother was awake, our parents and older sister took him on vacations, road trips, and around the world to see places I had never seen. Whenever I was awake, they locked me inside the house and forced me to study day and night. I was the one who took the SAT. I was the one who faced every challenge life threw at us. But every time I succeeded, they would make sure my brother woke up next, so he could enjoy all the praise and rewards I had earned without lifting a finger. Everything changed the day my brother beat a local bully's son so badly that the boy ended up in the hospital. Carla made her decision without hesitation. "Tomorrow is the first day of the month anyway. Since we decide who gets picked, let's wake Harry and have him take the blame for Simon." My parents agreed without a second thought. Trapped deep inside our shared soul, I could only smile bitterly. Watching them protect my brother while turning me into his scapegoat filled me with despair. What they didn't know was that I had one chance to choose eternal sleep. With a broken heart, I made my decision. I would never again be my brother's stepping stone and scapegoat.

My sister came home three years after she went missing. But every time she saw me, she lost control and tried to kill herself. She blamed me for failing to protect her. My parents begged me with tears in their eyes. "Move down to the basement. We owe her this much. Don't hold it against her. Once she gets better, you can move back upstairs, okay?" I agreed. Seven years passed, and I slowly became invisible in my own home. Then, this Christmas, Mom finally invited me to celebrate with the family. I had barely picked up the knife to cut the cake when my sister suddenly screamed. I jumped up, but before I could react, my sister snatched the cake knife and slashed her own wrist. Mom lunged at me and grabbed my arm. "Who told you to pick up the cake knife? Don't you know she can't stand the sight of knives? Are you trying to kill her?" Her yank sent me tumbling down the stairs. Mom and Dad were too busy comforting my sister to hear my neck snap. As they crowded around her, I finally realized the truth. No one in this family cared if I lived or died.

My brother, Dylan Skinner, was diagnosed with kidney failure and needed a transplant. My mother shoved a voluntary donation form in front of me and tried to force me to sign it, but I refused. I told her that my immune system was weak, and I wouldn't survive with only one kidney. She answered with two hard slaps across my face and started yelling. "Dylan is dying, and you're still thinking about yourself? How could you be so selfish?" To force me into it, she stormed into my advisor's office, grabbed my research samples, and said she wouldn't give them back unless I agreed. As I met her hate-filled gaze, something inside me went completely numb.

For ten years, I woke at three every morning to knead dough for my breakfast stall, all so I could put my daughter through college. Hot oil splattered across my arms day after day, leaving scars on my forearms that would never fully fade. But today, just when I desperately needed the money to keep my stall open, I discovered that the $200,000 in my bank account was gone. It was not until I got the bank statement that I learned the truth. My daughter had reconnected with her biological mother back in middle school. All these years, she had been secretly transferring money to her. When I confronted her over the phone, I cried so hard I could barely breathe. "That money was our retirement savings!" But she only laughed impatiently. "Stop saying you raised me. You didn't even give birth to me. My biological mother is the one who gave me life. Consider the money you spent on me your way of showing her respect." The call ended with a cold beep. It felt like a blade had been driven straight through my heart. I rushed home like a madwoman to find my husband. I thought he would at least feel sorry for us losing our retirement savings. Instead, he sat calmly on the couch and took a sip of coffee. "Blood runs thicker than water. Stop being so selfish." That $200,000 was the money we needed to survive. And he was actually lecturing me about blood ties, when he was nothing more than her adoptive father too.

I died on my birthday, but neither my parents nor my husband noticed. They were too busy pouring all their attention into planning my twin sister, Esme Shaw's, birthday party. While she was surrounded by people helping her pick out a gown, I was tied up and thrown into the basement. With what little strength I had left, I forced my broken fingers to press in the code—9395. It was a signal my husband, Edwin Grant, and I had once agreed on. It was a straightforward way to call for help in the event of danger. I never thought I would actually need it one day. But when I sent it, he didn't believe me. His reply was cold, "Claudia, just because I didn't take you shopping for a new dress, you've decided to put on a show? "You can still wear last year's gown. Stop making trouble. I'll see you at the party later." What he didn't know was that Esme had already shredded that gown into pieces. And what he couldn't imagine was that the moment after he hung up, I was already gone. So, when the celebration began, I never appeared. But when everyone saw the birthday gift I had prepared for Esme ahead of time, the entire room lost its mind.

A real heir who boasted of having watched 500 short dramas about real and fake heirs came to live with my family. He developed a high fever that wouldn't break during a torrential downpour on his very first night with us, earning endless sympathy from our parents. "I know every trope in those short dramas like the back of my hand. How could a villainous side character like you, who does nothing but throw tantrums, possibly be a match for me?" he bragged. After that, he drove the butler who had cared for me since I was a child back to the countryside. He also turned my closest cousin against me, so much so that my cousin slapped me in front of everyone. He trampled all over my dignity and became the apple of my family's eye within a year. He was just as dismissive when I got engaged to the young heiress from Kingsbridge. "It'll be easy for me to make her hate you. All I need to do is pull one little trick. You'll see!" During the engagement party, he pulled me toward the stairs and started shrieking, intending to accuse me of pushing him down the stairs. However, the triumphant look on his face morphed into shock when he lunged forward. He blurted angrily, "Are you kidding me? Who has a staircase painted on the floor?"

I'm the middle child. My older sister, Jessica Carter, is a straight-A student. My little brother, Tommy Carter, is the baby of the family. I'm the one everyone overlooks, yet Mom and Dad are always praising me in front of other people. "Riley is such an easy child. She never asks for new clothes and is perfectly happy wearing Jessica's hand-me-downs." "When there are only two pieces of bacon left at the table, she won't even reach for them. She just keeps her head down and eats her toast as if she hasn't noticed." "Jessica shuts herself in her room to study, and Tommy hogs the TV. But even at ten years old, Riley insists on doing the dishes and sweeping the floors. We can't get her to stop." The day before Christmas Eve, Dad comes home beaming. "My bosses gave me four tickets for a cruise! We're taking a Christmas cruise to Cranford!" Mom looks around at all of us before asking quietly, "But… who's going back to Grandma's place to spend Christmas with her?" All four of them turn to look at me. I raise my hand at once. "I'll stay with Grandma!" Dad gives me a thumbs-up. "That's my girl! We can always count on you. Take good care of Grandma." But they have no idea what was waiting for me… By the time I got to Grandma's house on Christmas Eve, she's already dead. Mom, Dad, I'm sorry. I've let you down. You trusted me to take care of Grandma, but I've failed you… I sit beside Grandma's cold, lifeless body, lost in thought for what feels like forever. Then I quietly open the cupboard and take out the bottle of pesticide. I've made up my mind. I'm going to punish myself the only way I know how—quietly, without making a fuss.

I was checking out at the grocery store when my payment was declined for insufficient funds. My paycheck, which had landed in my account that morning, was gone. I called Marcus Dean to ask him about it. That was when I noticed he'd texted me three minutes earlier. Marcus: [Hey, babe. Ryan's 4,000 dollars short on the down payment for his car. I went ahead and used the money in your account to cover it.] I stared at the message, frozen in place. After expenses, Marcus and I usually managed to save about 700 dollars a month between the two of us. But now, five years into our marriage, our savings account was back to zero. Again. During our first year of marriage, his brother Ryan started college. Marcus covered all four years of his tuition and wired his mother, Rachel Cole, another 7,000 dollars on top of that. The second year, he wanted to renovate his parents' house. The renovations cost 11,400 dollars. We didn't have enough saved, so I even had to borrow 1,400 dollars from my own parents. During the third and fourth years, Marcus always found some excuse to hand over whatever we managed to save each month, about 700 dollars, to his family. This past New Year's, we'd agreed that we were finally ready for a baby. He promised he'd start saving more. But now my paycheck, the one that had just come in, was gone. Five years of marriage, and he'd handed every dollar we'd saved to his brother. And there I was, stuck at the checkout counter over a 6.10-dollar grocery bill, unable to move forward or turn back. Then another text came in. Marcus: [Babe, Ryan's still short on the car money. Think you could ask one of your coworkers to lend you some?] I didn't answer. I went home and handed him a set of divorce papers. Marcus stared at me in shock. "Why?" I shrugged. "No reason. We're getting a divorce."

A boy in my sister Lily Bennett's class slaps her. Dad is furious. He storms straight to the school and demands that the teachers explain how they could have let something like that happen. Mom completely forgets about maintaining appearances. She floods the parent group chat with angry messages, refusing to let the matter go. My brother, Evan Bennett, is even worse. That evening, he shows up outside the school with seven or eight of his friends and corners the boy responsible. By the time Evan comes home, he says the kid has been "taught a lesson". But Lily isn't grateful. Instead, she pouts. "You guys made such a huge deal out of it that everyone at school is making fun of me now. Nobody wants to hang out with me!" Mom instantly panics. She stays up making 45 cupcakes so Lily can take them to school and give one to every student in her class. Dad and Evan apologize over and over again. They even send her a huge cash gift before they finally manage to make her smile again. The next day, one of Lily's cupcakes ends up on my desk too. I stare at it for a long time. Then, for the first time, I finally work up the courage to say something. "Mom... Some kids at school are bullying me." Mom is in the kitchen making Lily's favorite soup. She doesn't even turn around. "Oh, Ashley, kids your age make such a big deal out of everything. What if they're only joking around with you?" I try Evan next. "Evan... They take my lunch money. They rip up my tests..." He's busy playing one of Lily's games for her, trying to get her to the next rank. His eyes never leave the screen. Dad overhears me from across the room. "If you leave people alone, they usually leave you alone," he says dismissively. "Maybe think about whether you're doing something to provoke them." So, I go back to my room. I spend the entire night thinking about what he said. I try to figure out what I've done wrong. I can't think of anything. The bullying only gets worse. One day, the same group corners me in an alley after school. They humiliate me, take pictures meant to embarrass me, and hurt me badly enough that I become seriously ill. I call home again and again. No one answers. Eventually, the bullies leave me there. Before they go, I hear them talking about how badly I've been hurt. One of them mentions another kid who supposedly died after suffering similar injuries. By the time I make it home, I'm bruised, exhausted, and barely holding myself together. I open the door. Mom, Dad, and Evan are gathered around Lily. She's standing in the middle of the living room in a brand-new princess dress, turning from side to side while everyone admires her. But today is my birthday. I don't say anything. I still have a little money left in my pocket, so I turn around, walk to the bus stop, and use it to buy a ticket across town. I find myself standing outside a funeral home. There is a security guard near the entrance. I walk up to him and look at him quietly. "Sir," I say, "I think I'm going to die. Can you help me arrange a grave?"

The day I get into Harton University, one of the top colleges in the country, everyone in town is proud of me. "Lindsay, you wouldn't be where you are today without your mom!" "Your dad is gone, and your mom had to raise you all by herself. It couldn't have been easy!" "We've all seen how much she's done for you over the years. Good deeds really do get rewarded." Mom smiles and tells me to get a bottle of good liquor from the cellar for everyone. I go down there, but instead of finding the liquor, I uncover a merit ledger hidden amongst the bottles. It is written in Mom's neat handwriting. "May 17. I deliberately poisoned our neighbor, Mr. Lowe, and killed him to gain blessings for my daughter's studies and help her become the top student in the country."

While I was on vacation with my parents, we stood on the deck overlooking the sea when my father suddenly asked, "Mother duck says quack, quack, quack, quack. But?" I was about to reply, "Only four little ducks came back," when he kicked me into the water. "What's taking you so long to finish a song? Are you cognitively arrested or what?" he barked. Cold water filled my lungs like lead as I bobbed in the waves. "Help me, Dad! I can't swim!" My mother told the captain to steer the superyacht away instead. "Then stay in the water a little longer. Self-preservation may finally make you learn to swim. That's what you need. Real grit and adversity to unlock your potential." I flailed my arms and fought to stay afloat, but panic took over. My right leg cramped and refused to move. I could only watch the superyacht fade into the horizon. I drifted for a while before I could catch up with my parents' superyacht. I wished I could tell them how many ducks came back, but they would never hear my voice again.

After my dad has retired, I give him 5,000 dollars for his living expenses every month. Coupled with his monthly pension of 2,000 dollars, I thought Dad would be living a great life back in our hometown. Little do I know that the hospital calls me the next day, telling me that Dad has fainted from low blood sugar due to starvation, which leads to him getting sent to the ER. I'm stunned, to say the least. How can Dad starve to the point of getting hospitalized when he's living off 7,000 dollars per month? So, I rush back to my hometown overnight. In the ward, Dad is all skin and bones. He's lost so much weight that his cheekbones can be seen protruding. The moment he sees me entering the ward, he tries to get out of bed. "I want to get discharged! I'm not staying in the hospital! I don't have any money to get hospitalized!" I quickly stop Dad. "Dad, you get 7,000 dollars per month! Why don't you have any money at all?" He glares at me hatefully. "I don't have 7,000 dollars per month! Every month, you give me 200 dollars! You even stole my pension from me! As if I have any money to get hospitalized right now! "If not for the fact that I got up early just to rummage for junk over the past few years, I'd have died of starvation a long time ago!" Everyone in the ward turns to look at me. Meanwhile, my mind goes blank. The thing is, I do give Dad 5,000 dollars every month. I really want to explain the truth to Dad, but he's already crying about how I've kept his money for myself. He also claims that I don't care about him when he gets sick, and that I'm a total ingrate. Someone has recorded the whole outburst. Naturally, the tagline "Ungrateful Son Keeps Father's Money All to Himself" goes viral the next day. My name, my workplace, and my address are quickly dug up by the angry Internet users. Someone even goes so far to splash red paint onto my front door. Because of that, I get fired from my workplace. My landlord doesn't hesitate to kick me out as well. Feeling very dazed, I walk on the street, only to get hit by an incoming truck. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day I transfer the 5,000 dollars to Dad.

Jethro Miles was an orphan sponsored by my dad. The moment I laid eyes on him, I flipped. Despite my family's objections, we dated for seven years, even as my dad threatened to disown me. Eventually, my dad relented and consented to our marriage. But as we exchanged rings, a young woman in a white dress burst into the venue, staring at Jethro with tears in her eyes. He chased after her, abandoning our wedding. Later, I learned that the woman was his childhood friend from the orphanage. Jethro desperately tried to explain, "Nancy grew up with me. She is like a sister to me. She's been through abuse and divorce. Please, give me time to help her, okay?" Tears blurred my vision as I watched him plead so fervently, my heart plummeting into despair. I managed, "Okay." Jethro took care of Nancy and her son as if they were his real family. What he didn't know were the two secrets I'd kept from him when my dad finally agreed to our marriage: I was pregnant, and I was dying.

The year my younger brother, Leo Mercer, comes into the world, I instantly turn from the apple of Mom and Dad's eye into a ghost. I remember how Mom used to stay up all night out of guilt just because a mosquito bit me. However, later, when Leo knocks over a pot of boiling water and leaves my back covered in blisters, her only priority is telling him not to blame himself. When I was 17, a fire accidentally breaks out at home, and Mom and Dad immediately carry Leo out of the house. I'm left behind and nearly burn to death before Mom and Dad finally remember they have a daughter. Even though I'm ultimately saved, I end up with a four-inch scar across my abdomen. Mom and Dad hold my hand, with tears in their eyes, as they explain that Leo has been diagnosed with uremia, and they took one of my kidneys without my consent and gave it to him. I take in the joy and gratitude in their eyes at having me back and foolishly believe that my sacrifices can earn me their love. Sure enough, when Thanksgiving comes in the year I turn 18, Mom gives me the first slice of pumpkin pie. I look up, pleasantly surprised, only to find cold calculation gleaming in her eyes. "Daphne, your brother only has one kidney. If he doesn't have a house, he'll never be able to find a wife. Now that you're 18, it's time you get married. We'll use your wedding gift to help him buy a house." Dad actually looks me in the eye for once. "We've already accepted the wedding gift. You're getting married tomorrow." My fingertips are reddened by the heat of the plate, and tears roll down my cheeks and drip onto the pie. At that moment, I finally realize that Mom and Dad aren't blind to my existence; they simply don't love me.

The day I was finally welcomed back into the Salazar family, Nathaniel Salazar—the frail adopted son they'd raised in my place—died from heart failure. My sister, Alyssa, shaved her head and withdrew from the world, claiming she wanted to soothe Nathaniel's restless soul. My parents had lost two children in a single night, and they blamed me for both. To make amends, they decided my heart would one day be donated to a distant young relative suffering from the same condition. After all, that little boy had been Nathaniel's favorite person in the world. From that day on, I was forbidden from drinking, smoking, staying up late, or doing anything that might damage my health. They called it redemption for my brother. For ten years, I lived like a spare part, a replacement waiting for the day I would finally be needed. Then, three days before the transplant surgery, I saw Nathaniel in the hospital. He was alive. He was curled up against Alyssa's shoulder, acting spoiled while our parents watched with indulgent smiles. Alyssa gently stroked his hair. "Don't be scared, Nathaniel. Jordan's healthy heart will be yours soon. After this, you'll never be sick again." I lowered my eyes to the results of my pre-surgery examination: stage IV stomach cancer with multiple organ failure. Not a single organ was suitable for transplantation.

Mom was a world-class micro-expression expert. She always said no lie got past her. To replay every emotional moment of Maya and me, she packed our house with HD security cameras. When Maya scraped her knee and burst into tears, Mom called it real pain. But when stomach cramps twisted my face, she pointed at the monitor and picked me apart. "The mouth twitch. The darting eyes. Classic attention-seeking." That day, I'd accidentally eaten something I was deadly allergic to. My throat swelled shut. I could barely breathe. Panicking, I clawed at my neck and crawled to her feet, begging for help. Mom adjusted her glasses, flipped open her notebook, and calmly wrote everything down. "Rapid breathing. Bluish skin. Sophie Schneider, your acting's gotten better again. Too bad your micro-expressions gave you away." To punish me for lying to her, she shut off the house's panic button, locked the front door, and took Maya to a concert. "If you love putting on a show so much, keep performing for the cameras. We'll see how long it takes before you admit you were wrong." I curled up on the cold tile, shaking in pain, and looked at the camera's blinking red light. My vision faded. Mom, you spent your whole life reading people. But you never understood your own daughter.