Nouvelles Hypocrisy Familial Bond & Romans

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.

"Two families are here today hoping to adopt. You can choose which one you'd like to go with." In my previous life, I chose the Parkers, who owned a small neighborhood store. Life wasn't particularly comfortable, but they cherished me like their own. They fully supported my writing and helped me become a moderately successful novelist. Meanwhile, Sean Lowe chose the affluent Bennett family. Their home was comfortable, but cold and detached. He spent more than a decade trying to earn their affection, but never truly became part of the family. Now that I'd been given a second chance, the moment I saw the Parkers again, I nearly called them Mom and Dad. But Sean beat me to it. He threw himself forward and said, "Mrs. Harper, I want to go with the family that owns the store! I love snacks the most. I'll be good and listen to everything they say!" He buried himself in Claire Parker's arms like a kitten that had finally found its way home. I stopped behind him and didn't move. If my guess was right, he had been reborn too.

My mom, Olivia Taylor, is a selfless and devoted teacher who is admired by everyone at school. But I know better. When I apply for financial aid, she tells me that other students need the money more than I do and says I should learn to care for my classmates. When I win a writing competition, she awards the prize money to Myra Davis, the girl who has made my life a misery, and tells me not to get too full of myself. When I submit my college applications, she secretly rewrites them and offers the spot to the same girl. In the end, Myra pushes me from a rooftop. Mom says I am rotten to the core and deserve to be taught a lesson. Then she marries into Myra's family and becomes her stepmother. When I open my eyes again, I find myself reborn on the very day I apply for financial aid.

To teach me to behave, my parents forged a paternity test and declared I was not their biological son. My sister ignored my pleas and had me committed to a psychiatric hospital. "You troublemaker, why don't you just die?" they sneered. Even the fiancée I loved most watched with icy eyes and used her connections to make sure I suffered inside. After five years, I finally knew how to keep my head down. So why did they suddenly demand I return to the arrogant heir I once was?

On the third day I was brought back to my family, the fake heir, Christopher Parker, gets into a car crash in order to frame me as the mastermind. His mental state has deteriorated to one belonging to an eight-year-old. My older sister, Eliza Parker, thinks that I'm the one who hired someone to hit Christopher with a car. Because of that, she hates my guts and torments me endlessly. In order to take care of Christopher, Eliza eats with him and sleeps beside him every day. As for me, I'm used as the human mat that they can step on anytime they want. I'm arranged to take care of Christopher so that I can atone for my sins. As long as Christopher reveals an aggrieved expression, I'll get whipped ten times regardless of the cause. I thought Eliza would find out the truth sooner or later. But in her haste to cure Christopher, she actually decides to send me to an underground lab as a test subject for their experiments just because the doctors there claim that the medication can help restore Christopher's mental state. Five years later, Eliza finally comes to pick me up. A mocking smile is etched onto her face as she sees how haggard I am. "You should recognize your faults by now. It's been five years, after all. If you dare lay a finger on Christopher after coming home with me, I'll definitely send you back here." I raise my head hazily, tears soon seeping out of my eyes due to how bright the light is. Then, I mutter softly, "There won't be a next time…" Eliza won't have to worry about me seizing a chance to hurt her beloved Christopher. After all, the drug experiments conducted on me for the past five years have already ruined my body. There are only seven days left in my life span.

On matriculation day, I carried my acceptance letter to the campus grounds to register alone. But before I could cross the threshold, the guards drove me back into the street with their anti-riot forks. Humiliated and bewildered, I reached for my phone to call my childhood friend, Daisy Reid. A sharp laughter rippled through the receiver. “Violet, are you truly that blind behind those glasses? The letter you swept off the desk was a forgery I mocked up. Your actual one is still sitting at home.” Panicked, I hastily booked a return ticket and hurried back to search for my letter. I scoured the house for hours, turning up nothing. Just then, Daisy’s personalized ringtone sang out from my palm. “Stop looking. “Bryan has it. He’s over at Millfield now.” Without a moment’s hesitation, I boarded the train to Millfield. But the second I stepped out onto the platform, a video call from Daisy flashed onto my display. “You gullible fool, did you genuinely travel all that way to hunt down Bryan? “It was just a joke. “Truth be told, the guards didn’t chase you off because of a counterfeit letter. I tipped them off that you were hauling concealed explosives…” She swung the phone around, showing Bryan Hawke, another childhood friend, who was dotingly fanning her with a brochure. Directly behind them stood my brother Harry, who was supposedly halfway across the globe on an extended getaway. “Hey Violet, what’s with the face? Learn to take a joke for once,” he teased with a chuckle. I could not move an inch. Turned out his elaborate cover story of an overseas holiday was nothing more than a ruse to escort Daisy to her new college. Gazing at the three laughing faces, something dawned on me. Their cruel entertainment, paid for with my dignity for eighteen years, had run its course.

A note under my daughter's pillow reads, "This is our little secret. Don't tell your dad." I hold the note in my hand, and the tips of my fingers turn cold. My buddy, Liam Lywood, is my childhood friend. He always wears my old T-shirts and frequently stays at my house. My wife, Gina Stroud, often praises him. "Now this feels like a real home." Yet my five-year-old daughter, Trixie Glasby, now looks at me like I'm a stranger. It turns out, the man I treat as a brother is sleeping with my wife. And the daughter I cherish has already been brainwashed by those two shameless people into turning against me! When I slap the note down in front of Gina, she snaps instead, "What are you imagining now? Liam takes better care of Trixie than you do!" I smile. Apparently, they've forgotten who really owns this house.

After earning my architect license, I posted a celebratory update on social media. When I got home that evening, I found my uncle, Cameron Mitchell, and my cousin, Parker Mitchell, waiting for me. I hadn't heard from them in ages. "Adrian, I heard you're working for a major construction firm now," Cameron said, puffing away on his cigarette. "Well, Parker's getting married and needs a new house built. Draw up the blueprints tonight so construction can start tomorrow. "You're in the business, so you might as well handle the site supervision and material procurement, too. Take care of everything!" I'd barely sat down before he dumped a huge responsibility on my shoulders. "Uncle Cam, I specialize in industrial architecture. That's completely different from building a private home in the countryside." At that, Cameron's face immediately fell. "What's the difference? Isn't it all just laying bricks and stacking walls? "Did all those years of education go straight down the drain? Can't you even handle a simple country house? I think you've gotten yourself an important position and forgotten what family means." Out of consideration for our family ties, I agreed to his request. But after I finished building the house, why did he come crying and begging me to tear it down as soon as possible?

On the day I'm sentenced to death, my parents, Herbert Meyer and Aileen Wagner, hold a press conference to announce their adopted son, Justin Meyer, as Meyer Corporation's new successor. My sister, Tiana Meyer, and Justin get engaged, and they finally become a real family. As for me, I've exposed Justin for who he really is, only to be branded an ingrate and disowned by my own family. After being reborn, I no longer want their love. I live only for myself.

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.

All because I talked to a girl from school, my parents decided I was too young to date and sent me to a behavioral correction camp over winter break. I spent 14 days there before they came for me. When Mom reached for my backpack, I flinched and dropped to my knees. "Mom, I'm sorry. I'll carry my own things. Please don't touch me. You're the opposite sex." Her expression soured. "I told you to watch out for girls out there, not treat your own mother like one of them." I kept my head down and said nothing, because responding to the opposite sex was also a violation. On the drive home, Dad noticed me sitting rigid and perfectly still. He laughed, pleased. "Look at him. He's so well-behaved now." "It worked even better than I expected. We'll have our family dinner tonight and send him back in the morning. They need to straighten him out for good." I said nothing. I just turned and looked out the window. There would be no tomorrow. Tonight was my farewell gift to them.

I worked as a caregiver at a psychiatric hospital. One day, during a quiet shift, I came across a post from my husband's widowed sister-in-law. [Just launched my first AI-generated short drama! Hope you'll check it out and support me!] I tapped on the video attached to the post. The villain's face was identical to mine. I immediately messaged her and demanded that she take the video down. Instead, she posted our chat in the family group. Then she added: "If it really bothers you, I'll delete it. It's just a shame my first attempt at starting a business has already failed..." My husband replied almost instantly: "Don't delete it!" Then he tagged me. "So, what if you played a vicious villain? That's called making sacrifices for art." "This is the first business your sister-in-law has ever started. Stop being so dramatic." My mother-in-law chimed in as well: "Your sister-in-law is trying to build something of her own. What's wrong with supporting her?" "What do you mean she used your face without permission? We're family. Why make such a fuss over something so trivial?" "She used all of our faces, and none of us complained. What, do you think your face is worth more than everyone else's?" What they didn't know was that I was an undercover investigative journalist. So yes, my face really was worth more than theirs.

My younger brother, Leroy Graham, ended up becoming deaf and mute following an accident that occurred after his university entrance exam. Since then, his fiancée, Emilia Barton, communicated with him exclusively through sign language. I handed him money and told him to get his driver's license, then assured him I would pay for his university tuition fee. Emilia translated it as, "Your sister is mocking your disability and says you can't even drive.” When he picked up a summer job at a construction site, I had Emilia ask him to quit the construction work and work as an intern at my company instead. Again, she had twisted my words, "Your sister says she would be embarrassed to have you work at her company and that you're only good for construction work." At one point, he got into an accident at the construction site, which ended up crippling his legs. I cried out through the ICU glass, "Leroy, the doctor says it’s still possible to recover from this. I’ll spend everything I have to pay for your surgery!" Emilia looked at my brother, frowned, and signed to him again. "Your sister says that even if they performed surgery on you, you’d still end up being a burden to her. She wants you to sign the consent form to get amputated to make her life easier." My brother glared at me, biting his lip so hard it bled.

From as far back as I can remember, I knew my mom hated me. She gives me sleeping pills when I'm three. When I'm five, she tries pesticide instead. But I'm hard to get rid of. By the time I'm seven, I've already learned how to fight back. If she refuses to give me food, I flip the table so no one can eat either. If she beats me up until I'm on the ground, writhing in pain, I go after her beloved son the same way, leaving him bruised and bawling. That's how we stay locked in battle until I turn 12. Everything changes when my youngest sister is born. I'm clumsily trying to help with her wet diaper when Mom suddenly shoves me against the wall. The look in her eyes holds both disgust and fear. "What were you trying to do to my daughter? I knew it. You take after that monster of a father. Why didn't you just die with him?" I hold my aching head. For the first time, I don't fight back. I believe she's right. My existence is a mistake. I should never have been alive.

My brother-in-law, Calum Russell, throws away the expensive New Year's gift that I buy. Putting a hand on my sister's pregnant belly, he tries to drive me out of the house. He says, "I pretended that I didn't know you were adopted because you used to help support the family's finances. But now that the house is about to be demolished, we will get a huge compensation for it. I have to kick you out, or you'll be taking my son's share!" I look at my parents and my sister in confusion, but none of them take my side. They just look at me with disgust and tell me to be grateful that they raised me for so many years. They demand that I sign the adoption termination agreement quickly and get out. I let out a sigh. Suppressing my anger, I sign it and leave. What a pity! If they had waited just a few more minutes, I would have told them that the demolition is fake. But what's real is that I have just won a lottery of 200 million dollars.

I died on the day I was supposed to receive the Silvermoon Devotion Medal from the pack. My family, though—they were busy celebrating my little sister winning the "Pack's Best Neighbor" award at her birthday party. While she made her wish for the whole family to love her forever, I dialed my fated mate, Alpha Theodore, begging for help. He cut me off with an impatient snap— "Diana, this is the most important moment of Elara's life. Quit pulling those petty stunts for attention." It was the ninety-ninth time he'd chosen her over me. But there won't be a next time. Because I'm already dead.

Alexander Morrison doesn't love me, nor does he love our daughter. The only person he loves is his first love, Charlotte Clarke. To maintain his perfect image in Charlotte's eyes, he only allows our daughter to call him "Uncle Alex". This continues until Charlotte becomes pregnant and goes abroad to marry someone else. Alexander drinks himself into oblivion and finally decides to marry me. When he comes home, our daughter gives him 100 forgiveness coupons. I tell him that once those 100 coupons are used up, I'll take our daughter and leave him forever. He holds us both tightly in his arms, swearing he will never make us sad again. During the initial few years of our secret marriage, he indeed does exceptionally well, as not a single coupon is used. That is, until Charlotte returns to the country with her daughter. Every time he abandons me and our daughter for Charlotte and her child, I tear off one forgiveness coupon. Now, only three coupons remain.

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.

Since I can remember, I have been a liar. That is the conclusion my mother made about me. After my twin brother, Daniel Benson, and I are born, she becomes obsessed with a so-called scientific parenting method. So, she puts a lie-detecting collar on each of us. Whenever we lie, the collar lights up in red. The moment it turns red, she presses a remote and shocks me. She says it will help form muscle memory to correct the bad character in me. Daniel's collar is always green. Even when he tears my mom's favorite clothes to shreds and calmly claims a dog does it, the collar still glows green. But I am different. Even if I just say, "Mom, I’m thirsty," The collar would suddenly flash a blinding red light. Then, a current shoots through my neck and into my body, making me tremble in pain. At first, I try to explain. But my mom always says the same thing. "The machine doesn't lie. You have to feel pain to learn. I'm doing this for your own good." After being shocked thousands of times, I slowly start to believe that maybe I am truly born a liar.

On Thanksgiving, I was feeding my five-year-old brother, Preston Foster, when he suddenly said he'd dreamed about the future, "Westfield Steel stock is going to shoot up thirtyfold in three days!" I didn't understand what he was talking about, so I ignored him. But three days later, the stock really did jump thirtyfold. "I dreamed about it three days ago. Reed heard me too. He kept it from you on purpose. He's bad luck! If you beat him to death, our family will finally start making money." My father, Robert Foster, flew into a rage. He strung me up and beat me for an entire day and night. My aunt, Mallory Foster, managed to save me before it was too late, but by then, one of my legs had already been broken. From that day on, Preston became the family's miracle child who could see the future, while I became the one they blamed for everything. To make up for what I'd supposedly done, I dropped out of school young and went to work despite my damaged leg. I worked myself sick to buy my family a new house and even paid for Preston's wedding. Years later, on another Thanksgiving, he laughingly admitted the truth, "I never actually made that prediction back then! Who knew Reed would be dumb enough to believe I did? And all that stuff about him being bad luck? I made that up too." I broke down and demanded an explanation, but my family acted as though I was the one causing trouble. "Preston was just playing a joke. Why are you making such a big deal out of it? It happened years ago. Do you really have to tear this family apart over something so old?" I lost all hope and jumped to my death. When I opened my eyes again, I was five years old. This time, I would be the miracle child who could see the future.