Independence Biological Family Short Stories & Novels

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!"

After being reborn, I decide to return my fiancé to his true love. When he holds a singles party for her and doesn't want me to disturb him, I go to Faldora alone. He says I'm an annoyance, so I quit my job without hesitation. He doesn't feel good being in the same country as me, so I immediately migrate abroad. In the end, he tells me he wants to make his true love feel secure. I nod and accept someone else's proposal. Why am I so obedient and compliant? It's because of my past life. In my past life, his true love ended her life after I married him. He blamed me for separating them and subjected me to inhumane torture. This time, I just want to live my life. Later, when I'm taking a stroll with my family, he kneels before me and sobs in earnest. "I promise I'll be with you as long as you leave them, Audrey."

My parents never let me spend my summer or winter breaks in the city where they worked, even when I offered to go there and look after them. I thought they were just worried about me. Dad said eight people shared a single factory dorm room, and even using the bathroom meant waiting in line. Mom said they worked twelve-hour rotating shifts on the assembly line. Sometimes, she and Dad barely had time to eat. Afraid of being a burden, I eventually stopped asking. The year I finished high school, I used the money I'd been saving for ages to buy a train ticket. I wanted to surprise them. I waited six hours at a diner across from their shop before I finally saw them. They were holding hands with a little boy I'd never seen before. Dad wore a spotless jacket. Mom had her eyebrows perfectly shaped. The little boy was dressed in a private school uniform. He tilted his head up and asked, "Dad, can I turn on the projector and play video games tonight?" Standing across the street, I suddenly felt that there was no point in showing them the screenshot on my phone—the one with my SAT score of 1580.

I was the perfect daughter, always obedient and never questioning my parents' wishes. Yet, on the very day I finished my SATs, I became bound to a system that demanded disobedience. Whatever my parents told me to do, the system always made me do the opposite. When they told me to eat less to maintain my figure, the system commanded me to eat until I was stuffed. When they told me to wash the dishes and mop the floors to develop basic life skills, the system ordered me to walk away the moment I finished eating. Watching the shock and disappointment on my parents' faces, I closed the front door through my tears. Sobbing, I tried to reason with the system. "My brother said it's dangerous outside at night. I need to go home." The system didn't care. It forced me to attend a class reunion that evening. Terrified, I protested, "My parents said none of my classmates are decent people! I'm not going! Going out this late is practically asking for trouble!” "You'll die if you keep listening to them!" the system reprimanded me sternly.

My adopted sister, Bianca, screwed up. Big time. It was at a charity dinner. Hosted by the Vitiellos. The most powerful Mafia Family on the East Coast. She spilled hot coffee on the Vitiello boss's sister. Right into her eyes. Almost blinded her. Massimo went ballistic. He’s the cold-blooded Don who runs the whole damn coast. He wanted a hostage from our family, the Costas. Within five days. Or it was war. My mother grabbed my hands. Her eyes were red and filled with pain. “Bianca didn’t mean it. She’s terrified. She’s hiding in her room, shaking so hard she can’t breathe. Valeria, you're tough. You can survive this. Just go to Massimo for a few days. I swear I'll get you back.” My twin brother sighed. “That Don is a psycho. Bianca is too delicate. She wouldn’t last a day. You’ve always been the strong one. Just… do this for her.” Even my fiancé, the man I’ve been engaged to for years, held me. He whispered, “Baby, just take the heat for her. Once this all blows over, I’ll give you the biggest wedding you’ve ever dreamed of.” What a joke. I wasn’t even at the party. But I was the one paying the price. So I gave them what they wanted. I walked right into the Vitiello estate. And then they regretted it. They cried, and begged me to come back.

After four years of marriage, I was finally pregnant. I was so excited that I called my mom right away to tell her. Her voice came through the phone ice-cold. "You can't keep this baby! Go get rid of it tomorrow!" I thought I had heard her wrong. "What?" She stayed perfectly calm. "Your brother is still in college. This isn't the time for you to get pregnant. If you have a baby, how are you supposed to support your brother? "Your career is going great right now. Work and save up for a few more years. Once your brother graduates, gets a job, and buys a house, it won't be too late to have a kid then." I was stunned, and the words flew out before I could stop them. "I'm not getting rid of it!" Mom exploded. "That baby is a Garrison! Your brother is the one who carries on the Abbott name! Had you sacrificed his future for some Garrison kid? Don't you forget whose name you were born with!" When my brother was in elementary school, I helped him with his homework. When he was in middle school, I worked a part-time job to buy him designer sneakers. When he went to college, I gave him 1,000 dollars a month for living expenses. Now, I was pregnant with a child of my own, and I was still expected to step aside for my brother's future? I was so furious that I actually laughed. Fine. If that was how it was going to be, I would cut them off for good. I hung up and took them off every shared account and authorized user card in my name.

I was separated from my parents when I was young and grew up in foster care. I don't pick up on hints. I say what I mean. At boarding school, an older girl shoved contraband tobacco into my drawer. "Keep it in here for now. They won't expel an underclassman." I turned around, walked to the headmaster's office, and reported her. Later, when I was working at a fast-food place, my shift lead handed me spoiled cheese. "Slip it into a burger before anyone notices. It won't kill them." I shoved the cheese straight into his mouth. "If it won't kill anyone, why aren't you eating it?" Then, when I was twenty, my birth parents brought me back to the Warren estate and later threw me a belated homecoming dinner. At the dinner, Diana, their adopted daughter, ignored my place card and took the seat at the center of the long table. She held her glass of champagne and looked at me innocently. "Sylvia, I'm so used to sitting between Mom and Dad. You don't mind, do you?" Everyone waited for me to smile politely and sit somewhere else. I asked her seriously, "Why would you think I'd mind? Because that's my seat?" She bit her lip, and her eyes started to turn red. I kept going. "So it is my seat. "Then shouldn't you be getting up?"

After my sister was born, my mother's love turned into a game decided by a coin toss. Mom had a custom gold coin made: the flower side stood for my sister, and the number side stood for me. For ten years, that coin decided who got the bigger slice of cake, who got a new dress, and even who went to the doctor when we were sick. But the number side never once landed face up. I cried, because none of it was fair, and Mom just looked at me coldly and said, "Your luck is worse than hers. Who are you going to blame for that?" The day my acceptance letter from the elite prep school arrived, all I wanted was a steak cooked by Mom. So I secretly swapped in a rigged coin engraved with a number on both sides. The coin hit the floor. Mom spotted the trick at once and kicked me hard, through the doorway and into my room. "You vicious little rotten thing. Get in there and think about what you did!" She didn't know that when she kicked me across the room, my head slammed into the sharp corner of my desk. Blood flooded my vision in an instant, and the pain was so intense I couldn't make a sound. I crawled toward the half-open door in desperation. I got a hand on the panel and tried to pull myself upright to call for help, and then a dead, silent dizziness rolled over me. My legs gave out, and my body, already unconscious, pitched straight forward. The momentum of my fall yanked the wooden door shut with a bang! I lay there limp as mud, and my own weight wedged that inward-opening door shut for good. Mom's furious voice came through from the hall. "So now you've got an attitude? Slamming doors at me? Then you can starve in there! "Don't be scared, Chloe. Mommy's taking you out for a big seafood dinner." Her heels receded down the hall as warm blood spread across the floor, inch by inch. I'm sorry, Mom. In my next life, I'll win with my own luck.

My mother dragged me out of my biological father's brutality, and I thought we had finally escaped. Then she married the Don of the Falcone family. The woman who once fought to protect me completely changed. To secure my stepfather's approval and coddle his beloved Sofia, she stood by and let them turn me into a servant in the house I was supposed to call home. Every time I pushed back, they pushed harder. Every time I begged to be seen, I was met with contempt. My biological father's fists left scars on my body. This family's marks went deeper—into my bones. So I stopped. If they never wanted me there, I would stop breaking myself for their hollow approval. I would take my own life back. In seven days, I would leave. Harvard acceptance in hand—Boston waiting.

The day my twin sister was found, my parents decided that, to make up for everything she had missed, I had to sell all the love I had received over the past eighteen years to a memory bank and deposit the coins into an account set up exclusively for her. My mother's hugs were worth 800,000 coins. My brother's protection was worth 900,000. My fated mate's marriage proposal was worth one million... Every memory had a price. If I refused to sell even one, I would be branded selfish and deemed unworthy of remaining in the family. My Alpha father pushed the bill toward me. “Ten million. All this love should have belonged to your sister in the first place.” “She suffered out there for eighteen years, while you enjoyed eighteen years of love in her place.” I thought they just wanted to teach me a lesson. Until I discovered that once a transaction was completed, the memories sold to the bank could never be recovered. After I sold the memory of my mother singing me to sleep, I could no longer recognize her voice. After I sold the memory of my brother helping me through my first wolf-shifting, even seeing him injured stirred nothing in me but a sense of unfamiliarity. And when I sold the memory of my fated mate proposing to me, he finally panicked. Grabbing my hand with red-rimmed eyes, he asked why I couldn't even remember him. I didn't answer. Because I had already forgotten who he was. For the final transaction, I sold the last memory I had left. It was the night I was six, when my parents had shielded me with their own bodies at the risk of their lives and promised they would never abandon me. I looked at the remaining balance on the bill and sold that promise, too. Once the transaction was complete, my parents sent a message in the family group chat. “Lydia, the test is over.” “We were only afraid you'd become spoiled and refuse to accept your sister, so we wanted to see if you were willing to make sacrifices for her.” I stared blankly at the messages. I didn't recognize a single one of them.

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.

The year I turned twelve, I was learning to swim when the lifebuoy was snatched from me by my little sister Mia Lawrence. By the time they pulled me out, the oxygen deprivation had taken my hearing for good. The incident made me the new family’s darling, in Mia’s place. My big brother Josh Lawrence kept the shotgun seat of his car off-limits to all but me. My second brother, Ethan Lawrence, reserved a front-row seat in my name at every single one of his concert. And Samuel Lawrence, the youngest of my brothers, would accept Mia’s gifts only to toss them in the bin the moment she turned her back. Even Brian Ferguson, betrothed to her since childhood, spent three painstaking years learning sign language so he could communicate with me. For a decade, I was convinced I was the apple of everyone’s eye. How foolish of me, as I learned the fateful day the Fergusons came to discuss the pending union. Mia’s eyes were rimmed red. “I’ve given up all that’s mine for ten years,” she said. “Not this time, not Brian. I can’t give him up too.” Mom reached for her hand at once, choking back tears as she turned to me. “Elaine, please. Let this one go. Whatever Mia owed you, it’s been more than made up for." Dad’s voice was low, final. “This union has always been meant for Mia, not you.” Josh’s jaw tightened. “You’ve taken over a decade of her life. Isn’t that enough?” Ethan quietly agreed, “She’s been left out in the cold all these years.” Samuel lifted the ring from where it sat before me and set it down in front of Mia. “Time to put things back in their places.” And last of all, Brian, who would not meet my eyes, signed the verdict. “I only stayed close to you to make it up on Mia’s behalf. It was always her I wanted as my wife.” The truth hit me then. Ten years of being adored, of being first, none of that had been love. All had been but a grand performance, a debt dressed up as devotion. I shredded the marriage agreement that night. By morning, I’d signed away my old life for a teaching position in a far-flung village. With me out of the picture, now everyone could shower love over Mia, guilt-free at last.

When I touch someone else's personal belongings—things they have had direct contact with before—I can hear the items voicing their owner's thoughts. The day of my grandma's funeral, I clutch the emerald bracelet she wore for over 30 years and hear it shout, "The house mustn't go to Michael! He hit me!" Michael? That's my uncle's name, and right now, he's bawling his eyes out in front of Grandma's casket, seemingly grieving even harder than everyone else.

A nurse, who has won a prestigious award for her career in the past, reveals a truth before passing away. "I don't have any regrets in this lifetime. The only thing I'm sorry about is the fact that I've helped switched babies for a woman ten years ago. "That woman came from a wealthy family, and yet she intended to show her child tough love. That's why she chose to swap her baby for the one belonging to a pair of beggars living in the slums. "I helped her conceal the entire incident. For that, I feel very sorry for that woman's biological child." At the moment, I'm sitting in a hut amid the rampant weeds. Scars criss-cross over every inch of my body. My gaze remains numb as I quietly apply medication to myself while listening to the news. Suddenly, someone knocks on the front door. When I open it, I see a wealthy-looking woman dressed in fancy clothes. "Ella, I'm here!" She pulls me into a hug, her eyes already red-rimmed. "From today onward, the tough-love parenting is over! Now, I'm going to take you home!" The old radio keeps emitting crackling noises as it repeats the nurse's final words. For a moment, I'm stunned. Then, I push the woman away and conceal my limping leg. My eyes are as hollow as the abyss. "You got the wrong person, ma'am."

"Today is supposed to be a good day. We're choosing Wendy's dowry. Stop standing there bringing bad luck down on us!" My mother pulled my sister back in disgust, afraid the blood I had coughed onto the floor would splash the silver-bound chest. When a forest elf girl is born, her family plants a bonded tree for her, a tree that lives and dies with its owner. When a daughter marries, her eldest brother takes the old branches the tree has dropped on its own and builds her a dowry chest, a sign symbolizing a lifelong covenant of love and kinship. The chest is filled with gowns and with whatever the family gives her, and the larger the chest, the deeper the blessing. My brother cut my tree down and damaged its roots as well. "Wendy's tree is too thin and weak. It isn't worthy of the Royal Court. I had no choice but to saw yours into boards and put together a respectable chest for her." My sister stroked the silver-bound chest made from my ancient tree like a highborn princess. The whole family gathered around her to pick out what would go inside, as though they had forgotten that I was a bride that day too. My voice shook. "Then what about me?" My mother looked at me shaking there, and her face filled with disgust. "You insist on marrying that short-lived human. A wicker basket is dowry enough for you." Only in that moment did I understand that to them my life mattered less than Wendy's dignity. So I no longer had to treat them as family.

On the third New Year’s Eve since I reunited with my parents, I bumped into their former adopted son, who stole the happy life that I was supposed to have for the past twenty years. Adam Scott was once an arrogant, wealthy young man. However, he was now working as a food delivery rider. As he was more than ten minutes late delivering the food, he kept apologizing to me. “Sir, I’m really sorry. The roads are slippery because of the snow. I fell and spilled your food. “I can compensate you twice the amount. Please don’t leave a negative review for me.” Before I could speak, my parents already teared up and comforted him out of habit. “Don’t worry about the food, Adam. Are you hurt? It’s New Year’s Eve; come in and join us for dinner.” My hand tightened around the doorknob as I reminded them, “Mom, Dad, we only have enough utensils for three people.”

It was my son's engagement party. However, my husband stopped me from giving my soon-to-be daughter-in-law her gift. "His mother will do the honors. This is not your place." I thought he was joking until he put his arm around his childhood sweetheart and sat down together around the main table. "I know Bianca mishandled your baby, but she had postpartum depression, and it was an accident. "She gave you Jason to make up for her mistake. It's time for them to be a family again. She has atoned for her sins." My nails dug into my palms hard enough to draw blood. Just when I was on the brink of losing it, my son raised a toast to her. "Someone has stolen your place for 30 years, Mom, but you'll never have to suffer again." Right now, my husband and son were like strangers I'd never met instead of my family. A bitter smile curled my lips. We'd spent more than three decades together. Time had left its mark on my graying hair, yet I was treated as nothing more than an outsider in a place I was supposed to call home. Perhaps this home was too small to fit all of us. Since that was the case, someone had to bow out and that someone… was me.

Despite scoring 1580 on the SAT, the acceptance letter I received was from a community college. Mom glanced at it and smiled. "Both brothers going to the same school? You can look after each other. That's great." All the color drained from my face. "Mom, did you change my college application to a vocational college? With my score, I could've gotten into Bellwether University!" Mom turned her head and explained casually, "Do I not know you? Getting that score was pure luck. After all, you've never been as smart as your brother, even when you were little. "I'm only thinking of what's best for you. I was afraid you'd go to Bellwether University and get crushed by all those geniuses. You're better off being a big fish in a small pond at a community college, where you can win scholarships and help support the family." She said it as though it were perfectly reasonable. With one casual remark about how she was only looking out for me, she'd turned ten years of hard work into a joke. My head spun. I grabbed the edge of the table and saw my younger brother, Mikael, playing with his newly purchased Apple bundle. The familiar figure on the receipt caught my eye: $10,000. Exactly the amount of scholarship money my school had awarded me. My voice trembling, I turned to my parents. Mom merely clicked her tongue. "What's wrong with an older brother spending a little money on his younger brother?" Dad looked up and placed a phone case in my hand. "I got you a gift too. You did well on the exam this time. Keep it up." I stared blankly at the cheap phone case in my hand. It wasn't even the right size for my phone. Tears spilled uncontrollably from my eyes. My parents acted as though they hadn't noticed. They patted my shoulders and reminded me to take good care of my younger brother when we got to school. I wiped my tears and silently returned to my room. Then I called Bellwether University's admissions office. "About the early admission offer you mentioned before... Is it still possible for me to accept it?"

I host a late-night campus radio show and have been on the air for three years. I take calls about cheating, scandals, and even people threatening to end their lives. The final night to submit college choices is also my last night on the air before graduation. At 11:30 pm, an anonymous call comes through. It's a guy. "Host, I changed my sister's college choices for my mom tonight," he says. "I have two sisters. Ever since we were kids, the older one has been better at everything than the younger one. "She gets better grades, she's prettier, and even strangers praise her. "This year, my younger sister is just 20 points short of the cutoff, while my older sister is certain to get into a top university. "So I changed all my older sister's college choices to schools she can't get into. That way, she has to wait a year and apply again. "She's smart anyway. If she takes the exam again and reapplies, she can get into an even better school. It all works out in the end." He pauses. "We just want my little sister to win for once. That's not too much to ask for, is it?" I grip the microphone but say nothing. Suddenly, another guy's voice comes through the line. "Host, I'm the older sister's boyfriend. We've been together for three years. Honestly, I do feel bad about this. "Could you play her a song? She listens to your show every night. If she hears it and comes to see me tomorrow, we can still talk about which schools she should apply to. "If she doesn't hear it, then I guess it doesn't matter." I take a deep breath and reach out to end the call. Suddenly, the producer cuts to a piano piece. I freeze, my blood running cold. It's the song I taught my childhood best friend to play, note by note, back when I was 16 years old. Only the two of us know this song.

Ever since I was little, my mother, Cynthia, used me as a living cautionary tale whenever she wanted to teach my older brother, Oliver, a lesson. When Oliver bullied a kid at school, she made me shave my head and pick up trash so he could see what it was like to be humiliated and laughed at. When Oliver stole an action camera from an outdoor gear store, she made me kneel in the snow and apologize to the manager so he'd learn what shame felt like. Lately, Oliver had become obsessed with extreme sports and started messing with pills from who-knows-where. To make the lesson stick, Mom secretly mixed something that would make me throw up and a muscle relaxant into the vitamin capsules I took after breakfast every day. She figured a dose that small would only make me throw up and give me diarrhea, just enough to scare my brother. But I had a bad cold and had already taken cold medicine. The combination of drugs soon left me struggling to breathe. I collapsed on the rug, convulsing. Dad rushed me to the ER, but on the way, we hit a police checkpoint. He'd already passed the breathalyzer when Mom shouted at the officers, "You need to check him again! He's on sedatives. How did you miss that?" She pointed at me in the back seat, my face already turning blue, then jerked her chin toward Oliver. "See that? Are you ever going to swallow random pills people give you again?" Oliver burst into tears and swore he'd never touch those pills again. Only then did Mom look satisfied. What she didn't notice was that her living cautionary tale could barely lift a hand. Mom, you're always complaining that Oliver never learns his lesson. Maybe losing me will finally teach him the lesson you've been trying so hard to drill into him. Would that make you happy?