Melodramatic Short Stories & Independence Family Emotions Novels

My mom bought me a house with zero down payment. For five years, I scrimped and saved until I finally paid off the mortgage. But then, she told me she wanted to transfer the house to her first love's son to use as his wedding home. When I said no, she pulled out the property deed and slapped it down in front of me. "The house is in my name. I'll give it to whoever I want. You'd better hand it over willingly, or don't blame me for forgetting we're family." So I pulled out another deed—this one with my name on it—and called 911. "Hello? I'd like to report a trespasser."

On my 18th birthday, I stabbed my father. My father adamantly insisted that he had simply tripped, so I was never charged with a crime. Everyone called me an ungrateful pig. Only one reporter was willing to interview me. "Your father adamantly shielded you from blame. How can you be so heartless?" I smiled faintly. "Live with me for one month. If you can endure that, I'll show you the truth."

Parents like to say every child is a part of them. In our house, I was but a splinter under the skin. Mom and Dad were a blended couple. They could not bring themselves to truly punish my stepbrother and stepsister, so they had me and turned me into their cautionary example. When my brother came last in his class, Dad locked me in a dog crate under the blazing sun to teach him what happened to people who refused to study. When my sister started dating too young, Mom drugged me and dumped me in a homeless encampment to show her what could happen if she was not careful. Then one day, Dad found a takeout receipt in the trash. He forced poisoned food into my mouth and made me swallow. "Today, I am going to teach you all a real lesson. This is what happens when you eat whatever you want behind our backs." Even as I coughed blood and writhed on the floor, Dad threw me into the punishment room. My brother and sister rushed to confess and begged Mom to let me out. But Mom only said coldly, "You two will learn this lesson properly today. When you have learned it, I will let him out." I sat on the floor as blood soaked through my shirt. As my consciousness faded, I finally understood. Dad, your last cautionary lesson had to be taught with my life.

My mother was a control freak of the highest order. To keep a tighter grip on me, she created a burner account, posed as a sympathetic older-sister type, and became the person I confided in online. She even started a thread about it, practically glowing with pride. [He sends me his bank passwords and private photos of his crush all on his own! Once he gets into a top school, I'm applying as his dorm supervisor. When he gets married, I'm hiding under their bed!] I scrolled through the comments. Tons of people were ripping her to shreds. I laughed. She thought she had total control. She had no idea I was feeding her exactly what I wanted her to see. The bank password I sent two days ago was fake. The 'private photos of my crush' were stock images I pulled off the internet. I took my time typing out a message: [Hey, my dad brought a woman home last night. They were making out on the couch. I secretly recorded it. Want to see?] A scream ripped through the wall from the next room. I put my headphones on and leaned back. The show was just getting started.

My sister is diagnosed with leukemia after a medical checkup at the hospital where I work. My bone marrow is a match for her. Out of curiosity, I tell my family I'm the one who's sick. They vehemently oppose to her donating her bone marrow to me. "A bone marrow donation is risky! We can't let your sister put herself in danger." "Don't drag your sister into this just because you're sick. Everyone's life and death is fated—you have to accept your destiny." My sister also refuses to help me, brushing me off with the excuse that she's preparing to conceive. My relationship with my family is strained, so their behavior thoroughly destroys it. When I realize this, I leave the diagnosis report behind and walk out on them.

I was diagnosed with cancer. After much deliberation, I called my husband. He fell silent for a long while. “Most of our mortgage is unpaid, and our children need money for school. You should go for conservative treatment.” I called my mother while weeping. “You’re so troublesome. None of my friends or family have cancer!” I stopped crying and started living for myself. God favored me and let me see reality early in my life. He even gave me a chance to start over.

On Christmas Eve, my husband's widowed sister-in-law, Roxy, called again. My husband, Damian Caruso, was in his study, listening to his underboss go over the books. I glanced at my husband's phone. Roxy's name flashed across the screen, and I answered. Her voice was sweet and helpless. "Dami, the backyard cameras just caught a man climbing over my wall. I don't know what to do..." I knew that carefully practiced helplessness all too well. I kept my voice even. "Do you want me to send some men to check it out?" There was a pause. When Roxy spoke again, the sweetness had drained from her voice. "Camilla? Why are you answering his phone? I don't need armed men showing up at my house and drawing attention. Dami is the only one I trust." Damian stepped out of his study, and I handed him the phone. I didn't hear what Roxy said, but his expression changed at once. "Okay. I'm on my way." I knew what that meant. Nine months pregnant, and I'd be spending Christmas Eve dinner alone again. Five years of marriage. Five Christmas Eves. The same thing every year. Roxy's calls always came in the early evening on Christmas Eve. Never too early, never too late. Damian grabbed his coat, wearing that familiar look of apology. "Roxy has it hard enough on her own. Marco took a bullet for me. I promised him I'd look after her and the boy." "I'll check on her and come straight back. I promise I'll be home in time for Midnight Mass." It wasn't a question. He was telling me what he'd already decided. For the first four years, I'd argued. I'd cried. I'd asked him why he always left. And Damian always gave the same answers. "We're family. If I can help, I should." "Don't worry. This year, I'll stay the whole night with you." But he had never kept that promise. Outside, the church bells began to ring, and snow started to fall. I watched him walk away and suddenly realized I no longer cared whether he made it back in time. This year, I wasn't going to wait for him.

I have the ability to see how people will die. The day my divorce is finalized, I'm hit by an electric scooter and sent flying. When I wake up, I see a line of text above the nurse's head. It reads, "27 years old. Breast cancer in eight years." I pick up my phone. The first name in my contacts is my ex-wife, Caroline Meyer. After a moment's hesitation, I open her social media. Her latest post shows her and her new boyfriend vacationing in Marencia, captioned, "Forever starts with you." The location tag says it was posted three hours ago. We only finalized our divorce the day before. Later, I get a voice message from my daughter. "Daddy, Mommy says I can't go to her new house anymore. Her boyfriend doesn't like kids." I clutch my phone and head out to pick her up, only to run into Caroline's father, John Meyer, outside the apartment building. Above his head, the words read, "62 years old. Carbon monoxide poisoning in three months." The moment John sees me, he starts yelling. "What a loser! My daughter should've divorced you years ago! Her new boyfriend is young, handsome, and owns three houses. What do you have?" I glance at the words above his head, then slowly delete the warning text message I'd already typed out. After that, I take my daughter's hand and say, "Come on. I'm taking you out for burgers."

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 the college entrance exams, my parents finally agree to take me to visit Everleigh Palace in Jatwick. I pack my bags a full month in advance, meticulously drafting a list of every wish I want to make—wishes for my parents, wishes for my siblings, and wishes for Joel Sutton, my childhood friend. The night before our departure, my younger sister, Yvonne Jarrow, suddenly announces that she wants to go to Novenport to see the ocean. My heart sinks. A second later, Dad pulls out his phone and starts changing our tickets. "The weather's been great lately. It's perfect for a seaside vacation," he says excitedly. Mom immediately swaps out her everyday clothes for swimsuits and hats. "The sun down south is brutal. I've got to pack plenty of sunscreen for Yvonne." My older brother, Stefan Jarrow, starts searching for seaside hotels. Without even looking up, he says, "I've been saying there's nothing fun in Jatwick anyway. Compared to Yvonne, Alice doesn't know how to have fun." I turn to Joel, pinning my last remaining hope on him. He once promised he would take me to Everleigh Palace so we could make a wish together at the old fountain. Now, all he does is cancel my flight ticket for me. "Alice, Yvonne means well. She just wants you to have a more enjoyable summer holiday," he says, his voice gentle but firm. He glances at me before adding, "Be sensible. Don't ruin the fun for everyone." Be sensible. I've been hearing those two words for the past 18 years. This time, I don't want to hear it anymore. Without a word, I cancel my flight ticket to Novenport. Instead, I use all my savings to buy a ticket to Jatwick. Days later, I stand before the old fountain at Everleigh Palace and make my wish with all my heart. However, this time, it isn't for anyone else. I make a wish for myself.