Plot Twists の短編小説 & Male POV Family Emotions 小説

After I set up the camera, I realized the clients booked for a family portrait were the parents and older brother I'd run from five years earlier. The moment our eyes met, my mother's smile froze. Her eyes went red, and she asked uncertainly, "Remy... is that you?" "You're alive?" With one finger resting on the shutter, I reminded them, "Keep smiling. Look at the camera." My father shot to his feet. "Are you really this spiteful? Five years of hiding from us. What grievance in a family takes five years to get over?" I looked at the dog beside my brother, also named Remy, and couldn't understand what he was angry about. They were the ones who'd spent my whole childhood telling me I existed for one reason: to be marrow for my brother. Even the dog got to be in the family portrait I wasn't allowed in as a child. I gave up on that family a long time ago.

My mom returns my car after borrowing it for a month. The trunk is stuffed with boxes of local specialties from our hometown. I drive it to my friend's auto repair shop for a routine inspection. After checking underneath the car, my friend, Tom Stepney, crawls back out with a pale face. "Henry, who did you piss off lately? Someone cut your brake line halfway through," he said in shock. A chill runs down my spine as I immediately call Mom and say, "Mom, someone cut my brake line." The sound of poker cards being dealt onto the table echoes through the phone. She answers nonchalantly, "I told your brother to do that. Your old car was falling apart anyway." My voice trembles as I ask her why, and whether she realizes it could have gotten me killed. She responds as if it's no big deal, "Emmett's dating a young lady from the city. Her family wants an 800,000-dollar wedding gift. There's no way we can afford that. Your company bought you that accident insurance, right? It pays up to one million dollars. "I only told Emmett to cut the brake line a little. You won't die. That million-dollar insurance payout would be just enough to cover the amount he needs to get married."

On the day I graduated as the top student in the entire state, my parents threw a lavish celebration at a local banquet hall, inviting more than a hundred relatives and family friends. However, the seat of honor at the head table did not belong to me. It belonged to my older brother, Ethan Smith. A huge banner stretched across the room. [Congratulations to Ethan, Our Amazing Son, for Raising the State's Top Student!] Balancing a plate of food in my hands, I slipped into a seat by myself in the corner. Meanwhile, everyone crowded around Ethan. They clinked glasses with him, posed for photos with him, and praised him for raising such an outstanding younger brother. Before the party ended, our relatives handed their graduation cards and gifts to him instead of me. Some of the cards even contained cash, a reward for being such a 'devoted big brother'. Ethan accepted every last one with an easygoing smile. "I just kept him focused on his studies," he said modestly. Just like that, every sacrifice I had made—waking up at four every morning, working through countless practice exams, and studying through one sleepless night after another—became part of his achievement instead of mine. Later, I was awarded a $10,000 academic scholarship. My parents told me to transfer every last cent into Ethan's bank account. "Your brother's leaving for Newvale City to study arts administration," my mother said. "Tuition fees and living expenses aren't cheap. "Besides, you're majoring in education. You're going to be a teacher. You won't need nearly as much money." "I have college tuition to pay too," I protested. My mother slammed her fork onto the table. "Do you have any idea how much we've spent raising you for the past eighteen years? And now you can't even help your brother with this little bit of money?" That night, I packed my suitcase for move-in day. As I was getting ready to leave, my father pulled my college acceptance letter from the drawer, glanced at it, and spoke as if my future had already been decided. "After you graduate, come back and get a teaching job at a public school. Stay close to your brother. He'll need a family member nearby to look after him." It was only then that I finally understood. For the last eighteen years, they had never seen me as their son. I had only ever been the stepping stone they carefully laid beneath Ethan's feet. Once the road had been paved… Who would ever remember that the stone beneath it had once had its own dreams and desires?

The day I get my acceptance letter to Kellerton University, I scroll through the class group chat and find a photo of my younger brother, Corey Hollis, kissing my girlfriend, Piper Ashton. Piper brushes it off like it's nothing. "It was a graduation party. We were playing spin the bottle, and I lost, so... we kissed." This isn't the first time. A year earlier, I caught my first girlfriend, Naomi Drake, making out with Corey. I couldn't stop picturing their mouths all over each other, so I bombed the exam. Back then, Piper didn't hesitate. She ripped up her own acceptance letter to a top-tier school and told me, "Logan, I've liked you since we were kids. Don't worry. I'll retake the year with you." She stayed with me through the darkest summer of my life. I genuinely believed she was different from Naomi, so I never imagined she'd betray me for the same person. I stare at her lips. My stomach turns, and the ache behind it hits so hard I can barely breathe. Then, she twists the knife deeper. "Oh right, Logan, I forgot to tell you. I can't go to Kellerton with you anymore. My parents say the job market out there isn't great, so I switched my application at the last minute. "I'm going to Branton University instead." Corey already has his acceptance to Branton Arts Academy too. My head buzzes. She's the one who wants to go to Kellerton. That's why I gave up my spot in a top-two school to follow her. Then, she just changes her mind and only bothers telling me now. I clench my teeth and force the word out. "Why?" She looks irritated. "Didn't I just say? The job market near Kellerton isn't great." I laugh bitterly. What I really want to ask is why does everyone always choose Corey over me?

On the very first day my biological parents brought me home, the fake heir framed me for stealing and even got my fiancée to break off our engagement in front of everyone. Then my entire family told me to get out and go back to the countryside. Completely devastated, I wandered to the swimming pool, ready to end my life. That was when the Ragdoll cat at my feet, the fake heir’s beloved pet, suddenly spoke. 【For fuck’s sake! Don’t jump, you idiot!】 【In our last life, that two-faced bastard drove you to your death, stole the multi-billion-dollar inheritance your grandmother left you, and then tortured me to death too!】 I froze, one foot already hovering over the water. The cat smacked a paw against the ground impatiently, hatred blazing in its bright blue eyes. 【And that bastard’s biological parents are serial killers! The evidence is hidden inside the teddy bear in his room!】 【So quit trying to kill yourself, go find the evidence, and let’s take him down together!】 I stared at the cat, completely dumbfounded. But after a moment, I changed my mind. If my family wanted to throw away their real son so badly, then I’d make sure they lived to regret it. I turned around, marched into the kitchen, grabbed the biggest meat cleaver I could find, and kicked open the fake heir’s bedroom door.

I was the most famous lawyer in the city, with a constant stream of clients. However, my career took a hit after I adopted my daughter — all because of her toxic, rebellious nature. When I took a child abuse case, she told the victim’s family, “My father loves taking cases with little girls, because he loves little girls.” When I hosted a seminar online, she barged into the camera and said, “Don’t believe my father! He uses his work to harass victims.” Today, I joined a speech competition on behalf of my law firm. The audience was filled with VIPs. I told her again and again not to act up. She promised, then turned to wail at the national panel of judges. “My father said he’ll send me back to the orphanage because I won’t let him molest me. Are you sure you want him to represent you?” I looked up at her triumphant, vicious gaze and stayed silent. This time, however, she would soon regret it.

At school, I had a nickname. They called me "Mister Wait-Your-Turn." I waited for the sneakers my brother had grown tired of, the backpack my sister thought was ugly, and the phones my parents had already cracked the screens of. Even when it came to taking a shower, I had to wait until everyone else was done. A week ago, Mom had promised me, "On the day of your college entrance exam, you won't have to wait your turn for the shower." So when I finally stumbled into the bathroom, drenched in sweat and smelling awful, I thought my turn had finally come. I was halfway through working up a lather when someone started pounding on the door. "Come out. Let your brother go in." My eyes stung, and I couldn't tell whether it was from the steam or something else. I stood there without moving and gritted my teeth. "But you said I wouldn't have to wait on the day of my exam..." The pounding grew louder. Mom's voice came through the door, edged with impatience. "Let your brother go first. You can wait a little longer!" My hair was still covered in foam, and I'd barely managed to pull my sweat-soaked clothes back on when Mom dragged me out. My brother smiled at me. It was the kind of smile that seemed to say sorry, but there was far more triumph than apology in it. He said he wouldn't take long. His version of "not long" was eighty minutes. By then, my sweat-soaked clothes had dried completely, and the foam in my hair had dried up. After my brother came my sister. After Mom came Dad. The temperature on the water heater dropped from 113°F to 32°F. That was the moment I decided I was done waiting.

“I know you’re the best divorce attorney in the city. Please…I need your help.” A young man holding a small child suddenly rushed into my law firm and fell to his knees in front of me. Just as I reached out to pull him up, a barrage of bullet-chat comments suddenly flashed across my vision: “Classic tragic romance trope. The male lead gets tortured relentlessly before he dies.” “Once he gets dragged back this time, both he and the kid are done for. The female lead is going to live the rest of her life in regret.” “He’s so naive, thinking a lawyer can solve this. The female lead is literally the wealthiest woman in Crestwood City. There’s no way she’s letting him get a divorce.” Then, the very next comment struck me right between the eyes: “Too bad this lawyer is just cannon fodder. Not only does he refuse to help, but he doesn’t even realize this guy is his long-lost older brother!”

After I started college, my mother announced that she would be giving me my living expenses in installments. "Hank, you're grown up now. To teach you how to manage your money, I've decided to give you your living expenses in installments." At first, I assumed she meant she would send my allowance once a month. At worst, maybe once a week. But on the day I checked in, she walked around the cafeteria, then transferred $6.80 to my bank account. I stared at her in confusion. "Mom, you sent the wrong amount." She shook her head with a smile. "Silly boy, that's your lunch money for today. I already picked out the cheapest meal for you. Just get the set lunch from that place. From now on, you can apply to me for the cost of each meal based on this amount." I was completely stunned. So when she said "installments," she did not mean monthly or even weekly. She meant every single meal. But by the third day, I was standing at the breakfast counter, struggling to come up with the $1.50 I needed for an egg. When I asked my mother for money, she refused. Instead, she simply said, "I paid for your brother's house in full yesterday. I don't have any extra cash on hand right now. Missing one meal won't kill you, will it?" The cafeteria lady looked at me with surprise and pity. That look burned a hole straight through my already fragile pride. That day, I held the egg the lady had given me and searched for a part-time job. Yet, when I no longer needed my mother, she was the one who panicked.

I am the Hogan family's long-lost biological son, while Jared Hogan is the impostor who grew up in my place. Then, Jared unexpectedly acquires an "Academic Leech System". All he has to do is enter someone's name, and whenever he takes an exam, their score becomes his. He mistakes me for the other Riley Hogan, the STEM prodigy who has dominated Elmland High's district rankings for three straight years, and eagerly locks the system onto my name. With three months left before the college entrance exams, Jared spends every class scrolling through videos and every break playing games. He boasts that he could get into any prestigious college with his eyes closed. When I warn him that the exams are no joke, his fiancee immediately jumps to his defense. "Jared is a genius. What would some country bumpkin like you know?" My parents take his side, too. "Jared was born brilliant. Stop being jealous of him!" What none of them know is that Elmland High's famous Riley Hogan is a girl. She has already accepted early admission to Oaklum University and isn't taking the entrance exam at all. As for me? I'm just an art student who spends every waking hour painting. On score-release day, Jared invites the press to broadcast his results live, ready to unveil himself as the nation's newest academic genius. As I watch him bask in the cameras, I quietly tuck away my acceptance letter from Westbridge Academy of Art. So he wants to steal my score? Fine. He can have all 8 points. Consider it a graduation gift from me.

I'm a capybara. Yet, after taking a single nap, I wake up as the scion of the Kensington family, Drake Kensington. When I crawl back to the sprawling 32,300-square-foot villa, my entire family's scared stiff. Matthew Kensington, the Kensingtons' adopted son, points at me and screams, "There's a ghost!" Without even looking up, I deadpan, "Oh, yeah, I'm whatever you say I am." He passes out on the spot. Drake's biological father, Garrett Kensington, slams his fist down on the table and snarls, "Look at you! Do you look anything like the heir to the wealthiest family? Have you seriously forgotten how to walk?" I give his question some serious thought. Crawling does take less effort than walking, and having a lower center of gravity does make me feel safer. Hence, I answer truthfully, "Yeah, I have. Can you teach me?" Drake's older sister, Sage Kensington, strides up to me. "Drake, did you get water in your brain? You've been screwing around for a year, and now you come crawling back and pull this stunt just to get attention?" Come to think of it, I really did gulp down a ton of seawater earlier. I can still hear it sloshing around in my ears. I nod at her vigorously. "Yeah. My brain's full of water. Lots of it. It hasn't even dried out yet. Do you want to hear it slosh?"

I have always been a stickler for the rules. In elementary school, our class holds an election for class president. The teacher ignores the vote and appoints the principal's son instead. I follow the school's rule that whoever receives the majority vote should win, gather all 42 students, and take the election straight to the principal's office to redo the vote. When I grow up and start working, my boss hands me a thousand-dollar expense receipt and orders me to file a ten-thousand-dollar reimbursement claim. I refuse, as it violates company policy. The manager laughs. "Here, whatever the boss says goes. Learn to bend when you can, or the company may decide it needs someone more obedient." I nod, write down my boss' exact words in the approval section, and forward the invoice to the tax authorities. "This is a new company policy. It's not my call. I'm sure you can decide whether it passes inspection." After that, no one ever asks me to break the rules again—not until the Sylvester family finds me, 25 years after I've gone missing. On the day I'm to be officially acknowledged as their biological son, I discover something strange in the family records. Among my parents' children, the adopted son who has taken my place is listed above me. "The day Mom and Dad adopted me, they added my name to the family records," Cameron Sylvester explains casually. "It'd be a hassle to change it now. You're not going to make an issue out of this, are you?" I look at him without an ounce of humor on my face. "What exactly are you asking me not to make an issue of? That your name is listed above mine so you can keep calling yourself my older brother, or that you have no intention of returning everything that belongs to me?" Cameron's smile stiffens. Dad frowns. "It's just an order of names. Do you really think we'd cheat you out of your inheritance?" I raise my eyes to him. "So, am I to understand that my parents know perfectly well that our family charter says the eldest legitimate son inherits the family business, yet they still intend to hand the right of succession to an outsider? "That'd violate the family charter. Don't you think so?"

In my past life, I threw myself in front of a truck to save my father. I ended up with both legs shattered beyond repair, permanently disabled. He looked down at me in my wheelchair. "You're nothing but an embarrassment to the Carrington name." Then he brought his mistress and her son into our home without a shred of shame. At the company gala, he replaced me with his illegitimate son. "We can't have people asking questions at the banquet. Brandon will go in your place. It's not like we're taking anything from you." My mother was framed by the mistress and died in a psychiatric facility. I was locked in a basement, cut off from water and medication, and left to rot. The mistress became the celebrated Mrs. Carrington, and the illegitimate son became the sole heir. When I opened my eyes again, I was back, one second before the truck hit my father.

My sister, Ruby O'Brien—the family's formidable CEO—had just landed herself a top-tier celebrity boyfriend. Now the two of them were filming a reality show right in her house. All I wanted was to go home and collapse on the couch. Instead, I wound up as his living control group. While he worked out, I lay there. While he read books, I lay there. While he cooked gourmet meals, I still lay there. The internet wanted my head on a platter. [Poor Josh, stuck with a useless future brother-in-law!] [Someone drag that lazy bum off the screen. We just want to watch Josh and his girl fall in love!] [I heard he didn't even sit for the SATs. Total dropout, rotting away at home.] [That's our Josh, though—a certified genius who just got accepted into Layne University's graduate program!] I rolled over lazily, completely baffled. Getting into Layne's graduate program was supposed to be impressive? And I was the lazy dropout? Were they talking about the guy who'd just won an international physics prize?

My cousin had been pretending to be mentally disabled and freeloading at my house for five years. He scared off two of my ex-girlfriends and drained my parents’ retirement savings. This time, he set his sights on my cunning girlfriend, who was a company president, and sneaked into the guest room. He ended up pinned to the floor by her. My mother rushed in and slapped me. “He cannot help the way he is, but what is your excuse? Couldn’t you just let it go?” My girlfriend remained perfectly calm. She pulled up three months of security footage and said in a flat tone, “You might want to save your outrage until you see what your precious boy’s been doing every night.”

Jeremy Stewart, my adopted younger brother, and I have both applied to the same postgraduate program. However, the advisor, Professor Suzanne Graham, tells us there's only one spot left. I hesitate a little. "Will Jem be sad if I get the spot?" The rest of the family laughs. "In situations like this, everything is fair game. We'll be happy no matter who gets it." However, on the day of the interview, Jeremy pulls out the recommendation letter our mother, a renowned academician, has written for him. "My mother says that as long as you give me the spot, she'll vote in favor of your promotion," Jeremy declares. Our father, a businessman, calls Professor Graham as well. "If you give Jeremy the spot, I'll invest 100 million dollars in research funding for your project." Our older sister, an award-winning actress, sends Professor Graham a video. "If you pick Jeremy, I'll recommend your daughter to be the main lead in my next film project." And our younger sister, a singer, sends Professor Graham two VIP concert tickets with backstage access. "Pick Jeremy, and I'll help your son establish a singing career!" I sweep my gaze over Jeremy's smug expression and all the bribes our family has offered. Then, I get up and say a few words to Professor Graham. Professor Graham, who was about to choose Jeremy, points at me instead. "I'm sorry, but I choose him."

Before our marriage, my wife was the kind of woman everyone envied. She was strikingly beautiful and had graduated from a top university. Young as she was, she had already made a name for herself in finance, with a brilliant career ahead of her. I hated women like her: independent, proud, sharp-edged, decisive, and strong-willed. She was the dazzling center of attention wherever she went. So I set about systematically grinding away every last edge she had. After the wedding, I used "taking care of the family" as an excuse to pressure her into leaving a key position in a fast-rising career. I took control of her bank accounts and tamed her into a docile cat that only knew how to say yes. Then I deliberately crushed her confidence, vetoing every decision she made, nitpicking even the smallest daily tasks. I belittled her abilities in front of others and dismissed everything she contributed. Over and over, I wore down her willpower and pride until she had given up every piece of herself. I even made her the CFO of my company and dumped documents on her to sign, ensuring she would be the one to take the fall. I thought I could never lose. Until federal agents knocked on my office door and slapped a stack of evidence on my desk. "Mr. Tyler Hayes, you'll need to come with us." I frowned, flipped through the evidence, and froze. No wonder she had become so obedient. Looking back, the signs had been there all along.

Before my mother died, she arranged a marriage for me. My bride-to-be was Rosalind Young, Kingsford's most formidable financial tycoon. Before I married her, I added three clauses to the prenuptial agreement. First, no feelings. Our marriage was purely business. Second, she could live her life however she pleased, while I'd live mine. Third, I would step aside immediately if her true love ever came along. Nevertheless, I would be getting double the alimony. Rosalind was quite pleased that I knew my place. Our marriage was a peaceful one until the day a teenage girl who bore a striking resemblance to her knocked on the door of our mansion and calmly said, "Sir, I'm Rosalind's daughter. She raised me elsewhere. I'm 17."

On the fifteenth of every month, Rowan Hawthorn and I would swap homes. Eighteen years ago, a hospital accidentally swapped our embryos during IVF and put them into the wrong mothers. When the truth came out, my biological parents, Frank and Ronnie Hawthorn, wanted to keep Rowan. But his biological parents, Eugene and Rowena Cooper, wanted him back. They decided that he would live with each family for one month. Then, we would switch on the fifteenth of every month. I, on the other hand, became the unwanted burden. Wherever Rowan went, the house would be fully stocked with snacks and drinks. He would receive a thousand dollars as his monthly allowance, and the sunlit room would always be reserved for him. Wherever I stayed, there would only be a little food in the fridge, and I would get a dark storage room as my bedroom. Eighteen years later, I was diagnosed with uremia, and Rowan turned out to be an exact match for me. Eugene and Rowena threw a refusal of treatment form at me. “We raised you, and that’s enough. Ask your biological parents for money. Don’t even think about taking our son’s kidney.” Frank and Ronnie pleaded with me as they said, “We know we’ve failed you. But if you die, so be it. Rowan is our whole life!” Just then, I received a call from the hospital. “Mr. Cooper, we’re sorry, but we mixed up your records again. The one with uremia is actually Rowan Hawthorn.” A sudden sense of clarity washed over me. After that, I sold the old house my grandfather had left me. Then, I got myself a camera and some gear I needed before leaving. From that day on, I became a lone wanderer and traveled wherever the wind took me.

I had just finished my night shift and was eating tacos at a roadside stand when my phone suddenly buzzed. "Are you Kevin Weston's father?" "Please come to the Southvale police station. Kevin smashed the windshield of a luxury car parked by the road. The owner is demanding 50,000 dollars in compensation!" The officer's stern voice came through the phone. I froze. The taco I had just picked up with my fork slipped right back onto my plate. "Officer, you must have the wrong person. My son drowned and died three years ago. We even have his death certificate." But the officer clearly didn't believe me. He flipped through some records and continued, "You're Justin Weston, a security guard at the Empire Textile Factory. You live in Apartment 402 at Harmony Heights. This is the phone number you left with us." "Does the boy really say his name is Kevin?" But three years ago, I had personally buried my son's ashes in the cemetery.