Historias cortas de Plot Twists y novelas con Hypocrisy ambientadas en Biological Family

My parents want my sister, Rachael Booth, to marry rich so badly they try to talk her into dropping out of high school during her senior year. I do everything I can to stop them. "Mom, Dad, women can take care of themselves these days. Besides, wealthy families care about education too!" They back down because of my words. But later, Rachael never marries into money. Instead, she falls for a hooligan in college and ends up in an abusive marriage. Mom screams at me, "This is all your fault, you jinx! If we hadn't listened to you, Rachael would be living the high life right now!" Dad is just as furious. "You just want to ruin her life, don't you? You just can't stand to see your sister happy!" Rachael buys into their narrative completely, genuinely believing I am the one who ruined her future. One night, she kills me with a knife. When I open my eyes, I realize I'm right back to the day Mom is trying to convince Rachael to give up on college.

Every month on the 15th is the day I swap lives with Melody Foster. 18 years ago, a hospital mix-up places our IVF embryos in each other's mothers. After the truth comes out, my biological parents want their real daughter, and my adoptive parents want theirs. They arrange for Melody and me to rotate between the two homes on a monthly basis, switching every 15th. From then on, I become the burden neither family wants. In whichever home Melody stays, there are endless snacks and drinks, thousands of dollars in monthly allowance, and the sunny bedroom is always reserved for her. In whichever home I stay, there's nothing but plain meals and a windowless storage room. 18 years later, I find out I have kidney failure, and Melody turns out to be a compatible donor. My adoptive parents toss me a form to sign away my right to treatment. "We raised you, and that's more than enough. Go ask your real parents for money. You're not getting our daughter's kidney, so don't even think about it." My biological parents fall to their knees, begging. "We know we've failed you, but losing you we can live with. Melody is our whole world!" Just then, I get a call from the hospital. "Sorry, we mixed up the records again. The one with kidney failure is actually Melody." Everything clicks into place. I sell the jewelry my grandmother left me, buy a camera and a full set of gear. From now on, I'll be a lone traveler, roaming wherever the road takes me.

Ten years after my wealthy family took me back, I died in the rental house my billionaire parents had dumped me in. My son was three. Just to mess with me, the kidnapper gave me three chances to call for help. If even one person was willing to come see me, he'd spare my child. The first call was to my father, the man who'd spent fifteen years searching for me. He was busy directing the staff as they set up my adoptive sister's birthday party. When he picked up, he barked, "Estelle Emerson, seriously? Can you go one week without causing a scene? It's your sister's birthday. I'm busy. Don't kill the vibe." The second call was to my mother, the woman who brought me home and changed my name from Dixie to Estelle. But Vera snatched the phone and laughed so hard she could barely get the words out. "Estelle, seriously? If you're gonna make something up, at least make it believable. You look so broke you probably don't even have fifty bucks. What kidnapper would pick you?" The third time, I called Luca's father, my legal husband. He said he was in a meeting and didn't have time to play games with me. He also said that if I behaved myself, he'd agree to take me home for dinner next week. After the final call ended, I looked at the grinning kidnapper in despair and sent the last two messages of my life. A photo of myself covered in blood. And a short message, every word sincere. [I'm really going to die. In my next life, don't bring me home.]

I am the daughter of the Alpha of the Blood Moon Pack, my parents are very rich, but I have nothing. When black magic was eating away at me with a month to live, I asked to borrow ten dollars and they said I was "not worthy." I dragged my sickly body to buy the cheapest herbal medicine, but I saw them spending billions of dollars to celebrate my foster sister Vivian's 18th birthday. Tears streamed down my face, I just wanted to spend ten dollars on a piece of fabric and make my own ceremonial robe, even though I wouldn't live to be eighteen.

Mom's hearing comes and goes. She never hears me when I tell her I want to buy a new pair of shoes because my old pair has a hole. But when my sister, Stella Woodson, mentions that she wants to eat a birthday cake, she immediately gives me some money and tells me to run through the rain to buy one. Only two shrimps are left on the table. I carefully ask if I can have one. The next second, Mom peels both shrimps and puts them on Stella's plate. She then turns to me with a confused expression, asking, "Did you say something, Luna? I didn't hear you." I hang my head in embarrassment and push the mashed potatoes around on my plate, mumbling that I didn't say anything. Later, Mom makes plans to take Stella to Destinyland to enjoy the night scenery. My body aches terribly. I carefully tug on Mom's sleeve and say, "I'm in a lot of pain, Mom." Mom gives me her usual response. "What did you say, Luna? I didn't hear you." She impatiently swats my hand away before I can get another word in, saying, "Stella and I are leaving now to handle some urgent business. Behave yourself while you're home alone."

While we're having our dinner on Christmas Eve, my mom suddenly asks me loudly, "Do you have your chastity?" I look confused. "What?" My mom just smiles very smugly. "I knew you were the adventurous type! You must have lost it because of someone else!" After that, she shoots my husband, Louis Hartson, a knowing look. "You don't know about this yet, right? Before Yvonne married you, she was an absolute player in the dating pool. Her father and I couldn't keep her under control at all!" I widen my eyes in shock. "What are you talking about?" My mom is even happier when she sees how angry I am. "Oh? You have the guts to do it, yet you're too cowardly to admit to it?" I can only clench my fists tightly under the table after hearing my mom's slanderous accusations. Since she likes spreading baseless rumors about me this much, I'm not going to keep her secret for her anymore.

Mom and Dad have been divorced for ten years. One day, I come across a discussion thread. "Are all children of divorce having it hard?" I join the discussion. "Not always. Personally, I'm living pretty decently. After my parents' divorce, my sister and I were separated—one of us went to live with our paternal grandparents, and the other with our maternal grandparents. "For the last ten years, my parents have visited me once a year. Although they usually only stay for a few days, I can tell that they still love me." Within a minute, someone replies to my comment. "Girl, are you sure? My parents are divorced as well, but they can't bear to leave me at all. I've been with them since I was a kid. On weekdays, I stay with my mom. On the weekend, I go to my dad's. "Honestly, it's like they never divorced at all. LOL." I tap into her profile. The pinned post is a photo of Mom, Dad, and my sister, Hazel Foster. They hug her from either side. The caption reads, "A divorce can end a marriage, but it can't erase the bond we share. I'm glad I'll always be their precious baby." Meanwhile, this morning, Mom replies to me, "Your dad and I have been divorced for so long. Just get him to drop you off at college. It's awkward for me to be there." The next second, I receive Dad's reply. "Ask your mom. I'm a man. What do I know about things like orientation and college? I'll visit you someday when I'm free." I go back to the discussion thread and write back to Hazel. "You're right. Whether or not a child of divorce gets to live a normal life depends entirely on whether the parents still want their child in their lives." After closing the page, I open my email and sign up for an international volunteer program. My destination is a field hospital in a war zone five thousand miles away, where I will spend the next two years. There's no need for me to wait until Mom and Dad have time for me again. I'm never coming back here.

My boyfriend’s cousin went to live at his place after her divorce. Not only did she have a five-year-old, but she was even pregnant. She regarded my boyfriend as her support as if it were her right and blamed me for everything. She thought I had taken away her cousin. At a family gathering one day, her son splashed a drink at me and yelled, "You’re not allowed to steal my dad!"

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.

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.