เรื่องสั้นแนว Tragic Love และนิยาย Male POV Cheating

One week before the wedding, I accidentally came across a copy of my girlfriend's abortion procedure report. She always insisted she was uninterested in being intimate, yet behind my back, she had secretly aborted another man's baby. Instead of questioning her, I quietly put the report back where I found it. For the next week, I went along with the wedding planning, picking out the outfits and rings. But on the day of the wedding, the bride, waiting endlessly for the groom who never came, lost her mind.

My fiancée was pregnant with her first love’s baby. She expected me to take care of her. Lacey said, “Robby’s in Amabel. His career’s just getting off the ground. You work so close to home. How hard could it be to take care of me?” “Are you keeping the baby?” I asked. She rested a hand on her stomach. “Of course. Don’t take it out on the baby just because you’re upset with me.” I said, “In that case, have it.” With that settled, she moved in. She expected me to cook for her and take her to prenatal appointments. Later, she even wanted her name added to the deed to my house. Six months later, she sent me thirty-seven messages demanding that I get to the hospital. I glanced at my watch and put my phone away. The flight attendant was closing the cabin door.

Queenie Gibbs had a habit of breaking down anything that couldn't be quantified into data, then scoring and evaluating it. Love was no exception. She didn't want children, so I went and got a vasectomy without being asked. Plus five points. When her mother, Charice Gibbs, was hospitalized, I put my entire life savings toward the medical bills. Plus two points. In our third year together, I finally scored high enough to clear her bar for marriage. I'd always believed that as the youngest top-tier data analyst in the country, she simply carried the rationality of her work into our relationship. It didn't mean she didn't love me. Then, the day before our premarital checkup, a notification popped up on her phone. [Subject B: Last night's physical data has been logged.] I tapped it open and found a chart comparing two men. Subject A was me: stability 97, lifestyle compatibility 95, physical attraction 88. Subject B was Bill Hutley, the project consultant who had just joined her company. He scored lower than me on the first two, but his physical attraction was a 99. Below the chart was a video file that had been left open. It was only a dozen or so seconds long, and the footage shook badly. Queenie was pinned beneath him, panting in a way I had never heard before. At the very bottom was one more line: [Recommend increasing intimacy samples.] That night, I pushed the phone in front of her. "'Increase samples.' What does that mean?" Queenie was silent for two seconds. "Exactly what you think it means." "How many times did you sleep with him?" "Seven." She answered methodically, "The first time could have been a fluke, so I verified it six more times." I laughed, but she frowned at me. "You don't need to be bothered by this. In the current overall rankings, you're still number one. Our wedding isn't getting canceled, either." She even explained earnestly, "Marriage is a lifelong decision. I'm just eliminating the margin of error before I get married." In that moment, she was still calculating her margin of error, and I was already done being her sample.

When the earthquake hit, I found myself buried under the rubble, barely clinging to life. My wife, Meghan Hudson, charges into the collapsing office building without hesitation. However, the person she rescues is Gerald Parker, the new technical specialist at my company. Even as she hurries away with the rescue team, she doesn't spare me a single glance. Severely crushed and bleeding heavily, I'm rushed to the hospital for emergency surgery. Yet, Meghan pours all her care and attention into Gerald, who barely has a scratch on him. In the end, I'm completely disheartened and pull out the divorce papers. Meghan goes berserk and tears them to shreds, thinking I'll give in like I always did. What she doesn't know is that this time, I'm truly exhausted.

During a company team-building event, we held a trust fall activity. I stood on the platform with my back to Matthew Walter, my girlfriend's male assistant. My girlfriend, the CEO, held a megaphone and announced, "If you fail to catch someone, that means you don't trust your team." The first time, Matthew failed to catch me, and I slammed into the ground. My girlfriend, Jessica Homer, made excuses for him. "Calum, you're too heavy. Matthew isn't strong enough, so it's understandable." The second time, Matthew failed to catch me again. Jessica snapped impatiently, "Your expression was too serious. You scared Matthew." On the third attempt, I asked to catch him instead. Although I caught him without a problem, she announced to everyone, "Calum caught Matthew, but he let his emotions get in the way. He doesn't pass." Then, she stared at me and said, "Starting tomorrow, you'll be transferred to the logistics department to handle office supply purchasing. Matthew will take over your position as manager." I frowned. "Have you lost your mind?"

My CEO girlfriend promised to marry me if only I handed over my billion-dollar-worth project to her first love. I agreed without hesitation. Yet on the day we were supposed to make things official, she never showed up. I called her 99 times, but she didn't pick up once. Just when I was about to give up, I saw a post from her first love on social media, featuring a picture of them holding their newly issued marriage license. [From school uniforms to wedding vows. A love that never changes.] I quietly liked the post without making a scene. Moments later, my long-lost girlfriend finally called back. "Cyrus got into a car accident trying to save me, and he lost his memory. The doctors say he needs emotional stimulation to recover. Don't worry, though. Once he gets better, we'll get married. You're the one I love most." What she didn't know was that there would be no future for us. The moment she stood me up at City Hall, the system I'd bound myself to declared my mission a failure. I had seven days left. After that, I would be completely erased from existence.

While cleaning the house, I noticed my box of new razor blades had been opened. Without hesitation, I had my lawyer draft a divorce agreement and send it to my wife, Rachel Jackman. She called me right away. "Are you kicking up a fuss again? What is it this time?" I fought to keep my emotions under control and said, "One of the razor blades in the drawer is missing."

After work, I bought three movie tickets, but it wasn't until two minutes before the movie started that my girlfriend and my childhood friend arrived. My girlfriend, Sally Clarkson, transferred me the money for it as usual, saying, "That's for Alex's ticket." I paused, feeling a little repulsed as I stared at the transfer notification on my phone screen. Sally would pay for Alex Zims' medical bills when he got sick and pick up the tab when I bought him food. Before I could ask her why she was always paying everything for Alex, Alex handed me a cup of coffee while handily whipping out his payment app QR code. "That's ten bucks, Jim." I was stumped and turned to Sally, but she was staring at her phone like she didn't hear a thing. And seeing that I was silent, Alex quietly withdrew his hand, and that was when Sally looked up at me again. Frowning, she snapped, "Just pay for it! Are you really going to go cheap on ten bucks?!" My brain zoned out for a second, but I soon laughed. In the end, it wasn't as if she didn't hear us—she just didn't care about me.

Three years after I died, Stella, my wife, decided to divorce me and marry her dying ex. She stormed into my old house like she owned the place, forcing me to sign the divorce agreement. Mom told her the truth—I was already gone. Stella rolled her eyes. "Why's he still pretending? Harvey's dying. I just wanna be there for him. What's so wrong about that? If he won't come out, I'm done paying your medical bills." She thought threatening Mom would shake something loose. But what Stella didn't get? Mom had already stopped treatment. She was just hanging on to watch her crack.

On the morning we were supposed to leave for our elopement trip to the stunning Calistia Mountains, my girlfriend, Jeanie Portman, was nowhere to be found. Worried something had happened to her, I drove to her family's house to look for her, only to find the whole neighborhood strung with wedding banners and streamers. A big outdoor reception was underway, the tables loaded with food. Jeanie stood there in a white gown, leaning into my foster brother's arms as she poured him a toast. Relatives showered the two of them with compliments, calling them a perfect match, while my father sat at the head table, grinning so wide he could barely close his mouth. I nearly lost it and started toward them, but my mother yanked me into a corner before I could get there. "What's gotten into you, making a scene like this? His birth parents died saving your father and me. Handing Jeanie over to him is the least we can do to pay that debt back." My voice shook as I demanded to know why no one had told me sooner. My mother just gave me a flat, dismissive look. "Because you're a teacher, and you've got too sharp a tongue for your own good. If we'd told you ahead of time, you'd have blabbed it to the whole world, and then how were the two of them supposed to have a proper wedding? "That's enough. Don't make a scene. "You've got a stable job. You won't have any trouble finding someone else. Don't ruin our family peace over some woman." I looked past my mother, toward the red carpet where Jeanie and my foster brother stood glowing with happiness, then at the relatives cheering beside them. Something inside me went hollow.

After six whole months of renovations, I feel like an outsider in the very home where I'm supposed to be the man of the house. At six feet three inches tall, I have to bend far over the bathroom sink just to wash my hands, and water keeps splashing onto my pant legs. The closet rods are ridiculously low, and even raising my arms slightly causes my elbows to hit the cabinet doors. But when Julian Parker walks in, everything fits him perfectly. At five feet nine inches, it's as if the entire house has been custom-built for him. He casually hangs his jacket by the entrance and leans against the kitchen island. "This counter really is the perfect height. I don't even have to raise my arms to chop vegetables or wash fruit." My fiancée, Claire Bennett, looks pleased with herself as she smiles and agrees. "Of course. We based all the measurements on yours." Only when she sees my expression darken does she offer a halfhearted explanation. "The designer was rushing me, and you were working late, so I just used Julian's measurements. Don't be upset. I'll buy you some taller chairs later. You can wash your hands sitting down, can't you?" I've poured my entire savings into what I thought would be a home for Claire and me, only to discover that she's made it a perfect home for another man. I give a bitter smile. If that's how things stand, I'm done with the house. And I'm done with her, too.

While I was playing house with my daughter, she held up a doll and said it was Papa, then pointed to a robot and said it was Mommy. "Then who am I?" I asked her. Her eyes lit up, then she clapped her hands and laughed. "You're the other man!" I froze where I stood. "Who taught you that?" My expression frightened her, but she pouted, unconvinced. "Godpa said so! He said the other man is the one nobody loves. He said he feels sorry for you, and he made me promise not to tell you." The moment she finished speaking, a message came in from my wife. [Honey, I'm so sorry. I didn't get the bonus, so I can't take you out for Valentine's like I promised. I've let you down again.] I stared at the message and did not question my daughter about it. That night, when I left for my part-time job, my best friend Calvin Reddick came to pick her up again. I asked the restaurant owner for the night off, took the last 200 dollars I had, and hailed a cab to follow him. His car finally stopped in front of a mansion. From the back seat of the cab, I watched my wife, who was supposed to be out working as a designated driver, walk out arm in arm with another man. My daughter ran happily into his arms, calling him Papa over and over, while Calvin stood by and smiled at the scene. The three of them went inside, talking and laughing. Tears slowly blurred my vision. For years, I had been working from dawn until late at night, washing dishes and hauling stock in a restaurant kitchen to help my wife pay off her debts. My hands were covered in calluses. As it turned out, she had never gone bankrupt at all, and she had even built a luxurious home with another man. Even my best friend had known, and he had been covering for them all along.

Weeks before our wedding, I discover that my fiancée, Renee Flores, is pregnant with Chad Patterson's child. He's a younger man she met in college. When I see the words "Four weeks pregnant" on the report, I finally give up on her. It turns out our six years together mean nothing compared to a single request from Chad. So I call off the wedding and join a national research facility where all outside contact is prohibited. On our wedding day, Renee arrives at the venue only to find it empty. She falls apart and desperately searches for me.

Ever since I was a child, I could enter the dreams of the people closest to me. However, I could only do it three times in my entire life. I used my first chance when I was ten. In my father's dream, I saw him holding another woman and telling her he had fallen out of love with my mother long ago. Heartbroken, I ran to tell my mother everything. Three months later, they divorced, and I moved in with her. I used my second chance at sixteen. In the dream, a wealthy man held my mother's hand and promised to marry her. He had only one condition: she could not bring along her unwanted baggage. He was referring to me. The next day, my mother left me $30,000 and disappeared without a trace. Two dreams. Two losses. Both times, I had lost someone I loved the most. After that, I swore I would never use my final chance, not even if it killed me. Fortunately, I met Jade Smith in college. We had dated for ten years and been married for five. I thought we knew each other better than anyone else in the world. Recently, she had been sleeping poorly. She kept her phone glued to her hand and often looked at me as if she wanted to say something but could never bring herself to. I wondered if something had gone wrong at her company. I was also worried that she might be sick. On our wedding anniversary, I finally gave in and used my last chance to enter her dream. However, I saw no signs of bankruptcy or a terminal illness. Only one person appeared in her dream: the new intern at her company. When he worked late, she braved the rain to bring him an umbrella. When he had a stomachache, she searched half the city for medicine. When he casually mentioned wanting to see the ocean, she took him there countless times. In her dream, he asked her, "If you weren't married, do you think you could ever fall for me?" She remained silent for a long time before finally nodding, her voice thick with tears. I jolted awake, my eyes wet and cold. That was what my three chances had been for. Three dreams, three people I loved, and three times I was destined to lose them. Only this time, I would not wait for her to walk away from me. I would be the one to leave first.

Five years after falling into the abyss of depression, I finally felt like a human being again. I was back to talking, laughing, eating on my own, and my wife Stella Anderson and I were even expecting our second child. During our New Year's Eve family dinner, my wife’s godbrother, Lucian Smith, got trashed and started boasting through his alcohol-slurred breath. "Must’ve been five years ago." He smirked. "I was going through a brutal breakup, so I took my car out for a reckless joyride while the street cameras were down for maintenance." Lucian took a slow sip of his drink, his expression turning into a sneer. "You won't believe it. Right as I floored it, this stray cat flew right out of nowhere and slammed into my front bumper. It squealed once and bolted off into the dark." He shook his head in disgust. "Stupid animal ruined my custom wrap and scared the hell out of me. You guys better keep an eye out. Don't end up like Spencer, dragging home bad luck like a damn plague. Makes me sick just thinking about it." Lucian tossed the story out like it was nothing more than a minor, gross inconvenience. Around the table, everyone broke out in chuckles, nodding along and telling him to visit a church or grab a lucky charm so no evil spirits would haunt him. I stood there right in the middle of the noisy crowd. I looked at Lucian’s smirking face, my mother-in-law Camila Anderson's fond, doting eyes, and the tolerant, helpless smile on Stella’s face. The blood drained from my face instantly. It was as if every single one of them had forgotten. My daughter, Evelyn West, died in a hit-and-run five years ago.

After I donated my kidney to my movie star girlfriend, she finally agreed to marry me. On our wedding day, Vanessa Laurent left only a video of herself jumping off a cliff, then disappeared. I led a desperate search and rescue at the mountain base for three days straight. Even when a falling boulder crushed my leg, I kept going. When I finally dragged myself to the scene with my last shred of strength, I found Vanessa tangled up with Mason Miller, her late sister's husband. Her usually cold expression was flushed, her thighs red and swollen. When our eyes met, she did not even flinch. "Today is my sister's death anniversary. Mason was going to kill himself to follow her, so I had no choice but to sleep with him. From now on, I'll fulfill my duties to both of you." Mason looked down at me with contempt. "You don't mind if I consummate with Vanessa first, do you? You can wait for your turn." Everyone expected me to explode, but I just smiled. "Of course." I was done with Vanessa. I would never be with her again.

On our anniversary, I stood in the doorway holding the diamond ring I'd just bought, waiting for Crystal Linley to finish her video call. She casually took the ring box, set it aside without a glance, and checked her watch. "The client wants last-minute changes to the proposal. Go ahead and eat without me." I sat down at the table alone. The food tasted like nothing. At midnight, her childhood friend posted a photo of the two of them on Instagram, out on a yacht. Crystal was wearing the dress I'd given her, leaning against his shoulder with a glass of champagne in her hand. The caption read: [She said if I ever come back to her, she'll drop everything and run to me.] I calmly liked the Instagram post. A second later, my phone lit up. "Don't get the wrong idea!" Crystal's voice was frantic. "I swear, next anniversary..." I let out a long breath. "There won't be a next anniversary."

On the night of our engagement banquet, Mandy Sutton's boyfriend, Lenard Johnson, sends my fiancee, Sarah Lindt, a video clip of him jerking off. It also comes with a text message. "Using my hand doesn't feel good at all. I miss your tight little mouth." I want to call that jerk on the spot and cuss him out. But Sarah, who has flown into a state of panic, quickly stops me out of anger. "Are you dumb? It's obvious that Lenard has sent all of these things to the wrong person! He's my best friend's boyfriend, for crying out loud! There's nothing going on between us! Must you be so paranoid, Jonathan? "You're the one that's oozing negativity and dark thoughts, so stop assuming that everyone else is the same as you! Put that jealousy of yours away and stop embarrassing me already!" To think that Sarah is actually accusing me of being jealous and paranoid when she's the one who has cheated on me behind my back! I merely chuckle coldly before forwarding the video clip to our mutual college group chat. At the same time, I've withdrawn my sponsorship from Sarah's company. I'm quite curious, though. Without the support of a jealous, embarrassing man who has zero confidence like me, just how long can Sarah maintain her image as a strong and independent businesswoman?

My wife, Natasha Simpson, cheated on me while she was pregnant, but she ended the affair immediately. Her entire family stood up for her. "She's changed. She knows she was wrong. She's pregnant, and that's your child." Pressure came at me from every direction. Everyone expected me to forgive her and be a devoted husband. However, the disgust I felt after her betrayal drove me into depression. Because she was pregnant, I had to keep my temper under control. I endured the racing heart and sleepless nights and forced myself to suffer in silence. The only outlet I had left was an increasingly obsessive fixation on cleanliness. She always spoke to me gently. "It's okay. I'll follow your rules. Once the baby is born, we'll put all this behind us and live a good life together." From then on, she disinfected everything she touched. She had to wear gloves whenever she touched me, and we slept in separate rooms. Yet she never complained. "It's okay. I'm the one who wronged you..." Then, one day, I complained about a strand of hair on the floor. She finally snapped and tore off the protective clothing she had been wearing. "Enough! I cheated, but I ended it. Do you really have to punish me like this? Look at yourself. Do you even look normal anymore? Am I really that disgusting?" She deliberately trashed the house. She smashed plates and kicked over trash cans, all to punish me for my obsession with cleanliness. With her entire family behind her, she took advantage of the fact that I would compromise for the sake of our child and pressured me once again to forgive her betrayal. Something inside me finally broke. I started vomiting blood and was rushed to the hospital. Strangely enough, I felt relieved. "Let's get a divorce, Natasha."

In order to keep Sam Anderson from being fired, my lawyer wife, Blair Reid, drugged me before the hearing and handed my important case over to him. Blair then handed one of my major cases over to Sam. “The effect of the poison will only last for a day. Once the case is over, I’ll make it up to you.” I watched as Blair pulled an all-nighter to draft an outline for Sam and promote him. She also brought him around to network with other lawyers. After some time passed, Blair said she felt sorry for me. She told me she would immediately promote me to a partner at the law firm. However, she went crazy after realizing I did not get my voice back.