Cerita Pendek Melodramatic & Novel Male POV Regret

When I was 17 years old, I got hit in the head by a falling beam just to save Victoria Chandler, who was stuck in a blazing place. Since then, I become a dummy. In order to save up money for my physical therapy, Victoria gives up on pursuing her studies. Instead, she starts taking up all sorts of odd jobs and manual labor. Ten years have passed since then. Victoria is now the youngest businesswoman of Jeronich. Meanwhile, I'm still the dummy who still needs her to help tie my shoelaces and feed me. But later on, Victoria begins going home later at night. There's only disgust in her eyes when she looks at me. One day, I accidentally break the music box her assistant, Mike Tate, has gifted her. That's the first time she loses her temper at me and drags me all the way to the rooftop. Then, she orders me to jump off the 50-floor building. I have no idea why Victoria wants me to do this. All I know is that I'll get rewarded for being a good boy. Since young, I've been terrified of tall heights. But now, I'm even more terrified by the idea of Victoria abandoning me. With a smile on my face, I back away from Victoria slowly. "Please don't be mad at me, Vicky. I'll always obey your orders."

One week before our wedding, my fiancee told me she wanted to have a baby with her childhood best friend. When I said no, she looked at me as if I were the unreasonable one. "It's just IVF," my fiancee said. "Nothing is going to happen between Logan and me. His parents have been pressuring him to get married so badly that he almost died in a car accident. Now they have finally agreed to back off as long as he has a child. We should help him." I stared at her, my face drained of color. "We're getting married in a week, and you want to have another man's baby? Do you honestly think that's fair to me?" Her expression softened, and she reached for my hand as if she were soothing a child. "Daniel," she said gently, "after we're married, we'll have children of our own too." In that moment, whatever love I had left for her died completely. She was right about one thing: I would have children of my own someday, but not with her. I turned around, opened my phone, and posted a status for everyone to see, 'I'm getting married in one week, but I'm missing a bride. Anyone interested?'

It was the day of our marriage. We were supposed to meet up at the City Hall, but my fiancee stood me up. I waited for her the whole day, and the only answer I got was a picture from her assistant. My girlfriend sat astride on his lap, and her arms were wrapped around his neck while they were locked in a deep kiss. "Sorry, Mr. Terraton. Sophie insisted on comforting me. You don't mind, do you?" I demanded answers from my girlfriend, but that only made her impatient. "He donated his blood to me. Yeah, I was with him, but so what? Man up, will you?" That killed any love I had for her, and I called my soon-to-be ex-girlfriend's sister. "Hey, Sylvie. Yeah, about your proposal. So will you marry me?"

My mother-in-law, Susan Thorne, was trapped in a fire, and her life was in grave danger. She called me for help. When I arrived, I saw a male actor, Maximus Lance, pouring gasoline onto the fire for a variety show’s effect. I tried to stop him, but he simply threw a lawyer’s letter in my face and said, “Who are you to mess with our show’s filming? I’ll sue you into bankruptcy!” I smashed the camera and yelled that someone was still inside. The male actor just lit a cigarette nonchalantly and said, “So? My wife is the fire chief. She’s the one who told them to light this fire. “Even if someone’s in there, it’s probably just a nobody. She can fix it.” I saw the ring on his finger. It was the ring I thought would be mine. I scoffed and dialed 911. “Hello? I want to report someone for deliberate arson and attempted murder at an abandoned factory.”

The day Carly Stein and I make things official, she syncs her phone to my smart weighing scale. Every morning, my body fat percentage and biometric data get uploaded straight to her phone. Whenever my fat slips above 8%, she turns cold. "Lower it to 8%, Danny. Get those muscles razor-sharp, and then we'll get married." For six years, I obsess over every calorie and burn myself out in the gym because of those words. On my birthday, I eat a single slice of regular cake. She immediately flags it on our shared fitness app as a severe loss of control. Now, I finally hit 8%. I have the broad shoulders and narrow waist she demanded. Yet on the day of my custom suit fitting, Carly leaves me waiting in the shop for three hours. Aiden Turner, an old friend, sends a photo. Carly is sitting with him in a barbecue joint, picking onions out of his plate. "Hey Danny, I just got back in town. Carly said you're cutting for the wedding and can't have this stuff, so I didn't invite you." On our app, Carly logs that grease-heavy midnight meal as a "companion day". I open the scale's historical setup logs. That 8% body fat goal was created six years ago—the exact day Aiden moved abroad. There's one line of text in the target notes field that hasn't been completely deleted. "Aiden at his physical peak." I stare at the screen for a long moment, then hit unpair. After that, I go to the suit shop and change the name on the suit reservation to Aiden Turner.

I had been an angel who fell from heaven. When I first arrived in the human world, I had no memories and could not tell a red light from a green one. Evelyn Sheridan took me home. She taught me how to dress and how to eat, and she taught me to call her my wife. In our first year of marriage, I handed a guest a glass of dish soap to drink, and she laughed and smoothed it over for me. In the second year, I spent half the night chatting with a goldfish a guest had given us, and her expression stayed dark all evening. By the third year, she no longer smiled at me. She began bringing home a man named Hudson Lowry more often. She said he had a terminal illness and needed my blessing. I agreed. Each time I blessed him, my hair fell out in clumps and my limbs went weak. That continued until Adeline Wray, the woman next door, broke down our door and got me out of the basement while I was unconscious. She told me that the winter she was eight years old, she had nearly frozen to death under a bridge, and a warm light had saved her. "That light smelled exactly like you." She had me treated, bought me tailored suits unlike anything I had ever worn, and settled me into the best apartment she owned. However, she never let me have contact with anyone else. She gripped my wrist and spoke as gently as if she were coaxing a child. "Your kindness belongs to me and no one else. Be good for me." The night I nodded, I heard Evelyn's voice coming from Adeline's study. "The bone marrow results came back in time for next week. He's a perfect match for Hudson. Adeline, keep him happy. Do not let him get away." Adeline stayed quiet for a long time. When she finally spoke, she said only a few words. "I know. After the surgery, he's mine." Moonlight spilled in through the window, and I saw the needle bruises scattered along my arms. From beginning to end, I had never been anyone's husband. I had only ever been the cure.

It's the third year of our secret marriage, and there are still only three pairs of indoor slippers in the shoe cabinet—a pair for my wife, Renee Hickman, a pair for her friend, Penny Falcon, and a pair for her student, Aspen Frost. However, mine's not there. I look at the disposable indoor slippers Renee hands me and ask flatly, "Where are the cotton slippers that I bought?" She doesn't even look at me as she replies, "I threw them away before they came here." I reply with a grunt. Suppressing the bitterness rising in my chest, I ask casually, "Did Aspen come along this time too?" "No." She's lying. I know that because Aspen just sent me a taunting text message earlier. "I actually feel pity for you. You always have to pretend like you're just the garbage disposal guy every time we're here. Have you ever wondered whether she can't make your marriage public, or simply doesn't want to?" I turn off my phone and enter the bathroom. The smudged intertwined handprints on the mirror stare back at me like some declaration of war. As I walk past Renee, I don't bother asking her why she's lying to me. I don't even question why her pinned contact is someone with an aspen tree as their profile photo instead of mine. After watching a movie with her while she applies a facial beauty mask, I pull out the slippers she hid inside the safe and slide them toward her, smiling. "If you cherish him so much, then you shouldn't keep him hidden in the shadows anymore."

The next time I saw Lindsay Reed was seven years after she forgot who I was. She stopped by my roadside stand with a little boy to buy some waffles. I held out the card reader, my voice steady. "That'll be five dollars." Lindsay stared at me for a long moment, sadness in her eyes. "Have we met before?" I smiled and shook my head. "No, I don't think so." But that was a lie. Seven years earlier, we almost got married.

Thirty days into our argument, my girlfriend kissed her first love passionately right in front of me. I quietly asked my boss for a transfer to the Northern City branch, which was thousands of miles away. Her friends clapped and teased me. “Ivan, your girlfriend’s getting a new boyfriend. Aren’t you going to win her back?” I held her hand and sincerely said, “I’m sorry.” She looked down at me with a proud smile. “Okay, I forgive you. Tomorrow, pack your things. We’re going to see my parents.” I smiled and agreed. But she did not know I was leaving for Northern City that night.

I've been married to my wife, Shannon Ruppert, for ten years, but we've slept in separate beds the entire time. The day our house catches fire, the flames are so intense that no one dares to approach. Still, I rush inside, knowing the ceiling could collapse at any moment. Ignoring the pain as my skin burns, I strain to lift the wardrobe pinning her down. The firefighter who rushes in tells us that, given the severity of the fire, they can only get one of us out. Without hesitation, Shannon points to Charles Rice, her first love. "I want him to live!" I feel no anger or resentment. I just ask the question I've never dared to ask. "For the past ten years, you wouldn't let me touch you. Was it because of him?" Shannon lowers her head and won't look at me. Finally, she lets out a quiet sigh. "I'm sorry. If there is a next life, I'll be a good wife to you." I smile. Only after hearing the answer from her own lips can I finally let go. If I can't win her heart in this life, I won't want it in the next. As Shannon stares at me in shock, I hold on to her and jump from the sixth-floor window, positioning myself beneath her to break her fall. When I open my eyes, I'm back on my way to college for my freshman year. Without a second thought, I use my dad's connections to transfer to a college as far away from Shannon as possible. But as I board the high-speed train to Belham University, a girl's voice suddenly rings out from outside the train. "Matthew, our story isn't over! It never will be!" I turn and look out the window. Shannon is driving a sports car alongside the speeding train.

After being given a second chance at life, I made a deliberate choice to avoid Nevaeh Charlton entirely. When she enrolled at Brookshire University, I left the country and went to study in Hollandia instead. When she followed me there, I disappeared again—this time, chasing war zones across continents as a field reporter, always just out of her reach. Years passed. In the end, I returned home with the woman I loved, ready to marry her and begin a new life together. On the day of our wedding, Nevaeh was stopped outside the venue. Her eyes were rimmed red, and her voice was unsteady. "Why don't you love me anymore?"

Late one night, my wife called me, her voice carrying a hint of apology. "Drew, I'm sorry. I cheated." Everyone in our lives knew she loved me more than anything. So how could she possibly cheat? After realizing it was April Fool's Day, I replied with a smile, "I cheated too." She didn't sound surprised at all. Instead, she seemed relieved. "That's good. At least I don't feel as guilty now. "The divorce papers are in the second drawer of the study. Just sign them." I was about to tell her she was putting on a pretty convincing act when the call suddenly ended. Smiling, I opened the drawer and froze. The divorce agreement was real, with her unmistakable signature at the bottom of the final page. My eyes stung as I reached for my phone, about to ask whether this was really some kind of joke, when a message arrived from one of my wife's graduate students. [Mr. Jensen, so it turns out you cheated too. In that case, just step aside already. Then Ms. Jones and I can finally celebrate our first anniversary out in the open!]

After I found out my fiancée had fallen for another man, I gave her one last chance. She could break off our engagement and go abroad with him for a closed research program, or she could marry me. She chose me. But at our wedding, she heard he was about to marry someone else, and she abandoned me and ran out after him. What she didn't know was that betraying me would come at a price.

After Halle Anderson cheated on me and came back to me, I gave her three chances to cut ties with her lover. She grabbed the opportunity and spent those times with him. They had dinners together, did crafts, and she even spent whole nights with him. After that, she threw everything that was related to her lover away and held my hand again. “Believe me, I’ll never betray you again.” One day, I got into a car accident with an energetic young man. He angrily gave someone a call, and I heard my wife’s best friend’s voice coming through. “Halle, I’m telling you to not go. You’ve used up all three chances. Grant will definitely divorce you if you do so.” Immediately after, I heard Halle say fearlessly, “Grant’s an orphan. He’s been deprived of love his whole life, so he’s even more terrified of divorce than I am. “Just keep this a secret. I know where to draw the line. This is going to be the last time.” I lay in a pool of my blood and felt cold. It turned out that this confident young man standing before me was the lover Halle was protecting. Twenty minutes later, Halle, who had promised to come back to me for good, arrived at the hospital in a rush.

After getting back together with Tabitha Stark for the fifth time, she sets three rules for me to follow. Rule number one: Whenever I see Jordan Corke, I need to greet him respectfully. Rule number two: I need to have my blood drawn every day, for it's a necessary catalyst in Jordan's medication. Rule number three: I can no longer bond with my biological son, Anthony Fordham. I nod immediately instead of nitpicking every single detail as I did before. Whenever I see Jordan, I'll always greet him humbly and wait for him to leave. Whenever I see Anthony, I'll always take an alternate route to avoid him. Even when Tabitha finds out that she's pregnant and intends to get rid of the unborn baby, I can deliver her the miscarriage-inducing medicine without a falter in my expression. Her face contorted in disbelief, Tabitha smacks the bowl off my hands before roaring at me, "Have you gone nuts, Hugo Fordham? Since when have you become like this? "Haven't you always wanted a child with me again? How dare you agree that I go through the miscarriage right now! Tell me why!" I can't be bothered to answer her questions. At the same time, the system's voice grows louder in my mind. [Congratulations on completing all of the main quests as the villain. Please perish three days later. Your rewards will be issued to you shortly after that.]

At the class reunion, Kyle Jenkins slammed his car keys onto the table the second he walked into the booth. "Everyone says driving a luxury car is amazing, but honestly, it’s whatever. Mostly, it just makes collecting rent a lot easier." Someone cheered and asked him how much he pulled in every month. Kyle leaned back in his chair, intentionally cutting his eyes toward Paige Sanders. "Not that much. That old apartment building down the block has a dozen units. It’s enough for me to just kick back and live off the passive income." The moment he finished speaking, his eyes landed on me walking through the doorway in my hoodie. A smirk instantly spread across his face. "Hey, Liam! Don't you live in my building? Perfect timing. You need to make up the rest of your rent tomorrow." I looked at him, my voice steady. "I paid it according to the lease." Kyle’s laugh grew even louder. "That was the old rate. From now on, when I say it goes up, it goes up." I frowned. "I sent the original 1,500 dollars through the online portal last week, just like the contract specified." Kyle swirled the drink in his glass, looking down his nose at me. "Like I said, old price. Starting today, it’s 2,400. Don't like it? Move out." He took a slow sip before adding, "You’re living under my roof, so my word is law. If I say it goes up, you pay the difference. End of story." Sitting right next to him, Mason Walker let out a loud, mocking snicker. "Kyle, man, he doesn't respect you as a landlord at all. If you don't put him in his place now, how is anyone going to take you seriously?" Paige glanced up at Kyle for a split second, keeping her mouth shut. Mason leaned closer to Kyle and lowered his voice, just enough for the table to hear. "Especially in front of Paige. You can't let people think you can't even manage a tenant in your own building, bro." Kyle’s face darkened instantly. Pulling out his phone, he tapped the screen and brought it to his ear. "Mr. Ward? Grab a locksmith and head upstairs," Kyle barked into the receiver, his voice echoing off the booth walls, "Change the locks on Liam’s place right now. Drag all his stuff out and dump it in the hallway."

On the day I'm found to be a compatible donor for my mom, who's suffering from late-stage leukemia, I run away from home. Dad keeps looking everywhere for me. But in the end, he has to watch Mom die in despair. Later on, Dad focuses on his research in leukemia, which brings him huge success. On top of that, he even adopts an understanding and capable young man as his own son. When we eventually meet again, it's at a research meeting about leukemia that's hosted by Dad. As he stares at my body on the table, he can't help but chuckle icily. "Julian Rivers, this isn't a place where you can screw around. Get up and get lost right now!" The host just stares at Dad, completely stunned. "You know the identity of this corpse, Dr. Rivers?" Dad flashes him a mocking smile. "How much did Julian pay you just to go along with the act, huh?" The poor host doesn't know what to do. "But Dr. Rivers, Mr. Julian Rivers already died three days ago…"

Even though this is my eighth time proposing to Beverly Galvan, she still coldly turns me down again. She says that she isn't ready yet and that she needs more time. Since that's the case, I tell myself I will wait as long as it takes. That's when I see it—her and my brother's marriage certificate, posted for everyone to see on her social media. When I question her about it, she merely says in a calm voice, "Timothy's unwell. He can't get too upset, so you'd better not start anything!" They are wearing wedding rings in that photo, and there is a barely visible bump on her belly. In that moment, the storm within me dissipates. Hitting the like button on the post, I type out a comment. "I wish you both a lifetime of joy. May the two of you grow old together!" A year later, a desperate-looking Beverly shows up in front of me, begging that we get back together. Unfortunately for her, her best friend, who was clearly pregnant, steps in with a smile and pushes her aside. "Give it a rest, will you? My husband already has a wife. We can have kids of our own. There's no need for him to be someone's fallback guy."

My brother and I were twins. When his acceptance letter from Trinity University of Sports Science arrived, no one in our family could even smile. My mom pressed the letter to her chest, sobbing too hard to speak. On the balcony, my dad crouched with a cigarette in his mouth, his hands shaking too much to light it. Even my brother quietly tucked the train tickets for the graduation trip my childhood friend had planned into his pocket. None of them could bring themselves to offer their congratulations. I had been sick with kidney disease for eighteen years, and I wasn't even healthy enough to take the SATs while my brother was preparing for college. I glanced at the birthday cake on the coffee table and instinctively tried to tuck it behind my back. "I only had one bite..." Usually, my mom would've pulled me into her arms and reassured me that everything was okay. She would've told me not to be afraid. But this time, she snatched the cake from my hands and threw it onto the floor. "We've spent eighteen years fighting to keep you alive, and all you care about is eating cake! Do you know what that could do to your kidneys?" "Your brother couldn't run around like other kids. He couldn't play sports or hang out with his friends, and he hasn't played basketball in ten years! Do you even know why? Because we've spent his whole life making sure he'd be a good kidney donor for you!" Her voice grew louder with each word. "And your father? He's worked so hard making deliveries! He's gone through five scooters just to pay your medical bills! And I've spent every day cooking special meals for you, measuring all the ingredients and making sure you eat exactly what the doctors prescribe! Do you know how much we've given up for you?" The room fell silent. For three long seconds, I stood there, searching for something to say. But when I tried to speak, nothing came out. My mom stared at me, her eyes red and tears streaming down her face. "Do you know how long you've been holding this family back? What more do you want from us? Haven't we done enough?" She paused, her voice catching in her throat. "If you're going to keep acting so selfish and ungrateful, then maybe..." At first, she couldn't get the words out. Tears streamed down her cheeks, hitting the back of her hands. "Maybe you'd be better off dead." Surprisingly, hearing those words didn't hurt as much as I expected. Instead, the heavy feeling I'd carried for eighteen years seemed to vanish all at once. I thought, 'Alright, Mom. You got your wish. I'll stop being a burden to this family.'

As I head out again to put up missing-child flyers around town, my wife, Felicia McCoy, stops me. Instead of pulling me into her arms to comfort me like she used to, she looks at the miserable state I'm in and finally tells me the truth. "Elsa wasn't abducted. I gave her away." My voice is hoarse. "What did you say?" Felicia looks a little guilty, but only a little. "Gordon fell into a deep depression after losing his own child, so I gave Elsa to him. "I never thought you'd have such a hard time moving on. You kept searching for her, and it was throwing our lives into chaos. That's why I have to tell you the truth." The words hit me like a fist to the chest. At that moment, only one thought runs through my mind—I have to bring Elsa back. Felicia seems to realize what I'm thinking. She steps in front of me, blocking my way. "Don't bother looking for Elsa. She went with Gordon willingly. She doesn't need your fatherly love. You're only going to get in the way of her life."