Hypocrisy Regret Short Stories & Novels

On our seventh anniversary, Don Leonardo Luciano gave me an eight-carat pigeon's-blood ruby ring. He told me it was a family heirloom, passed from one Donna to the next. "Camilla, I can't give you a wedding yet, but in my heart, you're already my wife." My eyes filled with tears as I slipped it onto my finger. Then I asked my best friend, Nora Bennett, to examine it after her shift at the auction house. She held it under a lamp and slowly turned the stone. A ring of crimson light appeared inside it. "This isn't a natural ruby." "How is that possible? Leonardo gave it to me. It's a family heirloom." Nora frowned. "Really? I heard every piece of Luciano family jewelry bears a gold lion crest. Does yours have one?" I took off the ring and checked. Nothing. Just then, a new story from Victoria Moretti popped up on my feed. She was the daughter of another powerful mafia family. The photo showed her aboard Leonardo's private yacht. And on her finger was a ring identical to mine. A man stood beside her, his face hidden from view. But I recognized the watch on his wrist. I'd given it to Leonardo. Then I saw the caption. "After all this time, you finally put the family ring on my finger."

Owen Gray and I get into an accident. I'm seven months pregnant, but I save him anyway. I end up in a coma. I wake up after three years. Owen has amnesia, and he's now my sister's husband. My child also calls her his mother. I try everything, but Owen doesn't remember me. Instead, his love for my sister grows deeper. Even our son blames me for waking him and ruining their happy lives. When I finally decide to let go, I overhear a conversation between Owen and someone else. "Shannon was willing to give up her life for you, Owen. If she finds out your amnesia is an act…" "There's only a week to go before my three-year agreement with her sister is over. I'll give Vivian the wedding she wants. Then, I'll act like I've recovered from my amnesia. Luca and I will return to Shannon's side." I'm stunned. I never would've expected Owen to be pretending to be an amnesiac. I look at the diagnosis report in my hands. It's too bad I can't even wait for a week.

In order to stay by Samuel Hudson's side, I decide to give up on the one-billion-dollar reward offered by the system. At the same time, I've used up all of the luck I've accumulated just to trade for a chance to fully heal Samuel's legs. But the price I need to pay is that I have to bind my life force to Samuel's devotion toward me. If he cheats on me physically or emotionally, my soul will be extracted from my body forcibly, leading to my eventual destruction. The moment I go through with the binding process, I find myself hesitating for a moment. But the sight of Samuel kneeling on one knee while proposing to me lovingly makes me believe him. I believe him with my whole heart when he promises to stay devoted to me forever. Because of this, I'm content with being the woman who will endure everything for her lover's sake. So, I tap the "confirm" button firmly. For the next seven years, Samuel and I continue to love each other as passionately as ever. Together, we've overcome countless challenges and survived many low tides together. But on our wedding anniversary, while I'm making soup for Samuel in the kitchen, I begin coughing violently all of a sudden. Soon, I spit out a huge glob of dark blood. Then, I look down to see my body starting to become transparent. In fact, my fingers can no longer touch the glass on the counter. At the same time, alarm bells begin ringing in my mind. [Warning! Samuel's affection level has dropped below the critical threshold. Destruction protocol is now activated.]

At the ceremony where my mother, Helena Marlow, received the Best Homeroom Teacher award, the parents wept with gratitude. They praised her for nurturing the students successfully without ever resorting to harsh discipline, and for helping them all to excellent results. But no one knew that the path to their children’s success had been paved by Mom, using me as a warning to others. When someone in the class stole money, cheated on an exam, or got into a romantic relationship, I was the one punished. During the ceremony, the principal, Ms. Wanda Ambrose, stepped onto the stage to present her award. She asked, “Ms. Marlow, you have so many outstanding students in your class. Which student are you most proud of?” Mom smiled with quiet pride. “They are all like my own children. I love every one of them.” Then she let out a small sigh. “Except for my daughter. She alone fails to live up to expectations and disappoints me every time.” Laughter and applause rose from the audience below the stage. They nodded in understanding and praised her for being so modest. I drifted to her side and looked at the satisfied curve of her lips before speaking softly. “Don’t worry, Mom. From now on, I won’t disappoint you anymore.”

My husband, Chandler Goodwin, claims that he doesn't understand what the phrases "silent treatment" or "giving the cold shoulder" mean. Yet, in the three years we have been married, he has never once spoken to me sweetly. The first time we have a falling out, I remain proud and dignified. We end up ignoring each other for seven days straight. The seventh time we have a cold standoff, I start to panic a little. However, despite trying all sorts of methods, he doesn't back down. The 11th time it happens, I have already learned to work through my emotions myself. Chandler doesn't even need to say anything before I take the initiative to apologize first. I simply think that he's just a naturally indifferent person, that nobody can warm his stone-cold heart. Then, on the third year of our marriage, I accidentally ruin his dress shirt while ironing it. Chandler doesn't say a word, but that very night, he packs his things and moves into a hotel. On the third day of being blocked, I head to his company with a handwritten apology. While passing by his office, I spot him leaning over to shoot his angry assistant a doting smile. "I'm sorry for raising my voice at you just now and upsetting you. It's been 57 minutes since you started ignoring me. Please stop giving me the cold shoulder, alright?" I freeze on the spot, the apology letter in my hand practically burning my fingers. As it turns out, it's not that he doesn't know what the silent treatment means—it's just that I've never been the person he wants to coax.

Jonathan Shaw is busy taking his mentor's daughter, who's burning up a fever, to the hospital on the day I fall. I'm pregnant. I need to undergo surgery to stabilize the pregnancy, but it's risky. However, Jonathan's tone is icy on the other end of the line. "I know you've always been biased against my mentor, Tessa. Still, do you think you can use something like this as an excuse to get me there?" I lose hope in him as a lone tear rolls down my face. "Don't bother saving the child. Help me abort it." My love for Jonathan leaves with our child.

I got pregnant after a relationship lasting eight years, only for my fiance to call off the wedding the night before. When I arrived, I found him changing it to a celebration of his son's first month. I heard his parents speak ill of me, "That Rachel Stone really embarrassed us, getting pregnant even before you got married. I refuse to have such an immoral daughter-in-law like her." Several days later, Sean Wickham let his son's mother put on the most exquisite wedding dress to get their marriage registered. "I have a son anyway," he chuckled. "Whatever happens to the thing in your belly ain't any of my business." The illusion of happiness utterly shattered, I left without hesitation, heartbroken. I didn't want this marriage or the child anymore. I’d go back to my real home in the distant north.

My daughter, Nora Tyler, has congenital heart disease. When her disease relapses once again, I scoop her into my arms and travel to the hospital on foot on a rainy night. By the time I reach the hospital, I accidentally see the note my husband, Lionel Tyler, has left for the doctor. "I don't care what you do, be it dragging the time out to kill Nora or failing to save her life. No matter what, Nora isn't allowed to leave the hospital alive! "Chloe's due date is almost here. I want you to pay more attention to her. Only her child has the right to become the first child of the Tyler family." I can only stare at the note with bloodshot eyes. At that time, the medical staff has already wheeled Nora out from the ER. A white sheet can be seen draping over her body. When I was still pregnant with Nora, Lionel had taken leave for two years just to take care of me. He truly viewed me as the apple of his eye back then. After I gave birth to Nora, he even purchased an island and named it after her. My favorite gardenias filled every inch of that island. The Lionel who once refused to take any other woman but me as his wife and had prioritized me more than his own life… is also the same man who has personally killed his own daughter just because his first love, Chloe Meyer, is pregnant. My heart has officially died. After leaving a divorce agreement behind, I go home and inherit my family business. Now, Lionel can never hope to reach me ever again.

I'm only eight years old when two men try to abduct me. A teenage boy bravely rescues me from the human traffickers. It is only after he brings me to the police station that I find out I'm the daughter of the Garner family—and that he, Shane Garner, is my adopted older brother. The Garners organize a party to officially welcome me home. On the day of the party, Cassidy Garner, the daughter they've raised in my place, runs out of the house in a fit of anger and gets run over by a car. After her death, the Garners shut me out and refuse to even look at me. Shane is the only one who stays by my side. He becomes the only person I can count on. Then, on my 18th birthday, he ships me off to a psychiatric facility to be locked up. "If you hadn't told Mom and Dad that Cassie lashed out at you, they wouldn't have scolded her, and she wouldn't have run out of the house! You're going to stay right here and atone for her death," he declares. After five grueling years of torture, I finally jump off a building to end my suffering. Suddenly, I open my eyes again and find I've returned to my eight-year-old self. I've gone back in time to the day of my kidnapping. After seeing the anxious-looking teenage boy in front of me, I grip my kidnapper's hand and say, "They're not human traffickers! They're my family."

I returned to the small Mississippi town I had left years ago for my high school's centennial celebration. My childhood friend, Emma Brooks, had stayed behind and found a job there. When she saw me arrive in a Rolls-Royce Cullinan, her eyes lit up. She immediately asked to borrow the SUV for her wedding. Back in high school, I used to pay for all her meals. But this time, I refused. She scoffed, "Seriously? You won't even lend me a lousy car? Or did you just rent it to show off?" I told her the truth: it belonged to my company, and I couldn't lend it out without permission. She rolled her eyes and stormed off. By the time I got back to my hotel, the alumni group chat was blowing up. Emma had told everyone I was some rich man's lover in New York. She claimed he'd bought me the car, then dumped me and sent me home after I caught some disease. My former classmates couldn't distance themselves from me fast enough. Someone even suggested I be banned from the celebration. But none of them knew why I'd really come back. A venture capital firm had sent me with a massive donation. Ten million dollars would go toward a new academic building at my old school. And I was also there to fund the private high school where Emma worked.

The day before the start of a new semester, Gianna Sutton, my online girlfriend, tells me she lost me to her best friend in a dice game. I haven't even figured out what's going on when she suddenly adds me to the group chat with more than a hundred people. I notice the newly made announcement pinned to the top. "Congratulations to Natalia, our campus belle, for winning herself a 220-pound boyfriend!" Just then, someone posts a photo of me from high school. I am wearing an oversized uniform in the photo, my stomach pushing against the desk before me. I am so overweight that my eyes are barely visible. Those in the group chat immediately go wild. "That thing can't be human! It's clearly a pig in disguise!" "I actually feel kind of bad for Natalia. I mean, imagine having to complete couple tasks with a pig like him." "It's a total mismatch between a total knockout and an absolute beast!" It doesn't take long before someone sets up a betting pool over whether I'll show up tomorrow night. Gianna drops 4,500 dollars, betting that I won't show up. "I hope you won't blame me for this, Natalia. You're the one who rolled a six and won him in the game." Natalia Dafforn, the campus belle, remains completely silent. Cameron Gunter, the acknowledged scion in the freshman group chat, suddenly tags me. "You're definitely showing up tomorrow, right, Zachary?" I look at the messages piling up in the group chat and smile. I have already lost 145 pounds—from 275 to 130—just to meet Gianna in real life, something no one is aware of. In the past two months alone, I have been asked for my contact info more times than in my past 18 years combined. I quietly throw down 450 dollars, betting that I'll show up on time. Then, surrounded by everyone egging me on, I simply send one message. "A bet is a bet."

The day our family went on vacation to an island resort, my younger sister, Alana Fisher, climbed over a safety railing to get the perfect photo. She lost her footing and, in her panic, dragged me into the ocean with her. The rescue crew was about to pull me out first since I was closer when Mom suddenly took a yellowed paper coupon from her wallet and tossed it toward me. "Corinne, let Alana get on the rescue boat first! This is the last thing your father and I will ever ask you to grant!" When I was seven, I couldn't afford birthday presents for my parents, so I drew a hundred wish coupons by hand. Each one read: [Redeem this coupon for one wish. Corinne has to say yes, no matter what.] Years later, when Alana wanted my bedroom, they used one. When she decided she wanted to be an only child, they used another. From then on, I wasn't even allowed to call them Mom and Dad. I had to call them Mr. and Mrs. Fisher. Even the college tuition I'd spent three years working part-time to save was taken from me with the ninety-ninth coupon and used to pay for Alana's dance training. Now, only one coupon remained. I stared at it floating on the surface of the water and suddenly stopped struggling. Then I slipped the only rescue line around Alana and pushed her toward the boat myself. My parents were too busy wrapping her in a blanket and checking her for injuries to notice anything was wrong with me. As the rescue boat headed back to shore, not one of them realized my calf had already cramped so badly that I could barely hold on to my flotation board. Mom only turned back long enough to shout, "Corinne, hang on! We'll come back for you!" I watched them disappear into the distance, a bitter smile pulling at my lips. When I was seven, I believed that if I granted all one hundred wishes, Mom and Dad would finally love me the way they loved Alana. It wasn't until the freezing ocean water closed over me that I finally understood. A hundred wish coupons hadn't been enough to make them choose me even once. But they had been enough to cost me my life.

The last time I argued with my husband, he slammed the door on me and left. I was so upset that I died from a heart attack. Meanwhile, he took his lover and her son traveling to take his mind off things. The entire time, our daughter, who was just a child, was abandoned at home for seven days with my corpse. At last, when Eliott remembered me and my daughter, he returned home to see my corpse. Having fallen sick, my daughter was all skin and bones. When Eliott realized his mistake, he hugged our daughter tightly and broke down crying in front of my grave. My daughter pulled away from him and hid behind my gravestone. She hissed sharply at him, “Who do you think you are? Don't disturb Mommy’s rest!”

On the day, my husband, Eugene Doyle, receives the offer to further his studies in the city, he serves me divorce papers instead. I, Maria Johnston, am eight months pregnant with his child. He tries to console me. "Maria, ever since my elder brother, Edgar, passed away, Janice has had nobody taking care of her. She can't survive on her own. "I'll marry her for the time being, just on paper, until she manages to find her footing in the city. After that, I'll come back and marry you again." Everyone assumes that I will patiently and obediently wait for Eugene to return because of my pregnancy. However, I tear up his written oath to me and terminate the pregnancy that same day. Then, with the offer letter for the National Archeology Certification in my hands, I leave our little village and disappear from Eugene's life. Five years later, I become a successful archeologist and return to the same village for a survey. My current husband, Rupert Kingston, can't come at the same time as me due to an emergency meeting, but he has informed the villagers to welcome me with open arms ahead of time. To my surprise, I meet my ex-husband instead. He says, "I know that you lost your baby at eight months. There's no need to be ashamed about it. It's about time you came back after running away from home all those years ago. "Janice is about to give birth. We need you to be her nanny."

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.

After I was betrayed by my boyfriend, Cole Chapman, five years ago on New Year’s Eve, we reunited at our college reunion. Everyone pressured us to play Truth or Dare. Cole lost first. He picked Truth. Someone asked him, “What’s the most satisfying time you turned someone’s power back on them? He glanced at me mockingly and said with a sense of superiority, “I drained my ex’s savings to pay for my PhD. The day I got my permanent residency, I reported her for illegal work, which got her deported.” The crowd went wild. They thought I would break down crying. However, I just smiled and spun the bottle. When it was my turn, Cole asked me, “Do you have any secrets your ex never knew?” “Yes.” “What is it?” he asked with a smile. I smiled back and replied, “I was working illegally back then because my family cut off my credit cards after I refused an arranged marriage. “Just yesterday, my dad bought the multinational corporation that hired you as my wedding gift.”

My mom wants me to report every single detail in my life to her every day. I only get to receive my allowance once I do so. One phone call is equivalent to me receiving one cent. "My dear daughter, I love you so much, you know. Just let me know whatever you're doing every day. Only then can I relax." I don't have the heart to let my mom down, so every day I put all of my effort into coming up with something. That way, I can only gather enough money to buy the cheapest food in the cafeteria. But the food isn't enough to sustain me, leaving me hungry every day. Finally, I break down emotionally. That is, until I receive an allowance from my dad, who's supposed to be dead for many years…

In the third year of my marriage, I endure a full day of painful labor to give birth to my first child. However, my husband steals the baby to give to his true love. I try my damnedest to stop him, but all I get is a barrage of insults. "It's just a baby! I'm the one who planted the seed, so I get to decide who gets the fruit!" I'm overwhelmed by grief as I watch my husband leave. However, he shares a happy post on his social media. "Mother and daughter are safe." His true love comments, "Thank you for giving me a child, Jaspie. I'll be the happiest woman in the world with you two by my side." Clueless friends bless them and wish them well. I silently comment, "Give me back my child." All I get is another round of insults. Then, I'm blocked. I don't want to endure this anymore. I hire a lawyer to draft divorce papers before making a police report. "Officer, I want to report my husband for child trafficking."

When Edna Crossby ditches the marriage registration for the fifth time, I block her contact number and social media accounts on the spot. If she's in any of the social gatherings, I turn down the invitations right away. I'd rather take the long route than walk past the cafe Edna frequents. If she attends a team-building session, I take the day off without hesitation. Even when Edna shows up on my doorstep with gifts in hand on Christmas Eve, I pretend that I'm not home at all. I don't answer any calls from her. I don't respond to texts she sends me. Just like that, I completely fade away from Edna's world. In the past, Edna used to be the focus of my life. My emotions fluctuated all the time because of her. When Edna flakes out on me for the fifth time, I finally snap out of my lovesick stupor. I don't want to live life like this anymore. Rather than getting abandoned time and again, I might as well live my life on my own happily.

In my previous life, after I got divorced, the court awarded me custody of our newborn son, as he was still nursing. On the other hand, our daughter would live with my ex-husband. I raised my son to be humble and polite. He was admitted to MIT. On the day the results were announced, various media outlets rushed to interview me to ask about my parenting secrets. Meanwhile, my daughter dropped out of school and eloped with a hooligan. She got pregnant before she was even sixteen, becoming a negative example of teenage delinquency. At thirty, she was still sponging off her father, having achieved nothing in life. My ex-husband's dream of having a successful daughter was shattered, much to his shame. He came to confront me at my son's college acceptance party. He insisted that I had passed on bad genes to our daughter, which caused her failure. During the argument, he stabbed me in the chest and then jumped to his death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the courtroom on the day of the child custody ruling. This time, my ex-husband spoke before I could, asking the judge to grant him custody of our son. I immediately realized he too had been reborn.