Male POV Tragic Love Short Stories & Novels

Mandy York, my girlfriend, was practically a migratory bird that always flew away during summer. Every year, during July and August, which were the hottest months of the year, she would fly off and disappear from the face of the earth. She said that it was because her company gave her a special project abroad that required absolute secrecy from her. She was also not to contact anyone during that period of time. Even when I got into a car accident last year and lay in the ICU for two months, she never called to ask about me. Plenty of times, I had comforted myself and endured the harsh summer alone. One day, I accidentally saw the social media account of a friend of mine living abroad. It was his alternate account. Every year, during July and August, this alternate account would get really active. It would be full of videos and photos about his daily life with his daughter and a “mother” who always had her face hidden with stickers. In the videos, the mother accompanied the daughter to watch fireworks at Disneyland and pick up shells at the beach. Sometimes, I could see the side of her face. There was a mole at the corner of her eyes. I could even see a clear scar at the back of her hand. They were so familiar to me that my blood ran cold. It was Mandy. During the summer holidays, she would vanish for sixty days, and this had lasted for five years. So, she had never been flying off to work. She had gone to her other family. I sat stupefied on the couch and stared at the blinding sun outside. Suddenly, this year’s upcoming summer did not feel so difficult any longer. I picked up my phone and agreed to the marriage my family had arranged for me. Since Mandy refused to stay with me during summer, I was not going to waste my time on her.

My girlfriend, Eliana Hodson, and my so-called best friend, Austin Brock, had this thing for bets. And somehow, I was always the joke. They'd bet on how long I'd wait for them, which puddle I'd slip in when it rained, even whether the crazy-hot pepper Austin snuck into my food would make my nose run. Then Austin went overseas. Eliana and I got married, and I figured their stupid little game was finally over. Yeah. Nope. One night, I was working at a fancy lounge when I walked in on a group playing a betting game called Time Bomb. I set down their drinks just as I heard Eliana. "I lost." Her friends started yelling. "A bet's a bet! Pick a guy and dance with him!" Then Eliana—my wife, who had supposedly been paralyzed for three years—stood up and went straight to Austin. They spun across the dance floor as everyone clapped. One friend laughed. "Eliana, you're seriously messed up. Fake marriage, fake paralysis—you've kept Rafael as our entertainment for three years." Eliana laced her fingers with Austin's. "I lost the bet. Had to do it." Austin doubled over laughing. "We bet on whether Rafael would spend six years taking care of her. Eliana said no. I said yes. "Guess who's winning? "All it took was one fake marriage certificate. Even when Eliana pretended she couldn't walk, Rafael bought the whole thing. Dude carried her up and down the stairs for three years! "I know Rafael way better than she does. I'm gonna win." I stood in the shadows and smiled. 'So the bets never stopped. 'Fine. 'I'm done being part of their stupid game.'

Jewel Rivers hated nothing more than having to turn back. If she left something behind, she would move on without it. If she took a wrong turn, she kept going. She said, "Turning back is a waste of time. The only way is forward." She even drove right past me without stopping one night after I had worked late. I texted her, "I just saw your car drive by. Can you turn around and pick me up?" Three minutes later, she replied, "Rules are rules. I don't turn back. Take a cab home yourself." - The next day was our eighth anniversary. We had planned to go to the nearby theme park together. Twenty minutes after we set out, my close friend, Jason Smith, sent a message in the group chat the three of us shared: [Jewel, you left your hair clip on my couch when you drove me home last night!] I froze for a moment. "You picked him up from work last night?" "It was on the way," she said casually. Jason sent another voice message, his tone cheerful. "Jewel, Beau, you two are going to the theme park today, right? I want to go, too. Can we all go together?" We were already halfway there, and I was about to tell Jason to take a cab and meet us at the entrance. Before I could, Jewel replied, "Sure. I'll come pick you up." My throat tightened. "Didn't you say you never turned back?" She turned her car around without hesitation. "Rules aren't set in stone. We can adapt." When we reached Jason's apartment building, I got out and gave him the front passenger seat. "You two have fun. I'm not going. Jewel, I'll follow your example for once. I'm not turning back either." I had walked this road for eight years, and I had no intention of taking a single step back.

After five years together, Abby Young finally said she was ready to take me home to meet her parents. However, on the day of the visit, she asked my friend Gene Burke to pretend to be her boyfriend and told me to tag along for the free meal. “Abby, I’m your boyfriend! You’re supposed to introduce me to your parents today!” She did not even look up. “Gene just went through a breakup last month. He wants to know what it feels like to meet a girlfriend’s parents, so let him have this one.” I refused to move. Gene sighed. “Forget it. I was only joking. You two should go.” He started to get out of the car, but Abby held him back. “Stay where you are. You’re not going anywhere.” Then, she pulled me into the car and said to me in a persuasive tone, “Tony, it’s only one dinner. I’ll explain everything to my parents after this. Just this once.” Left with no real choice, I reluctantly agreed. When we arrived at her parents’ house, Mr. Young’s face lit up the moment he saw Gene. “Gene, you’re here! Come in! We’ve been looking forward to seeing you. I even made that dessert you love!” Abby went inside with a smile, leaving me alone on the doorstep as though I did not belong there. I turned to her. “How do your parents know Gene?” Abby rubbed her nose, looking guilty. “Actually, this is the third time I’ve brought him home. I was worried about him after his breakup, so I’ve been passing him off as my boyfriend whenever we visit my parents.” I laughed in disbelief. I threw everything I was holding at her feet and turned to leave. “You can enjoy your little family dinner without me.”

Hallie Shaw lived her life judging everyone with a rigid scorecard. When we were dating, she used to say that any person or event scoring below ninety points wasn't worth a second of her time. After marriage, every single thing I did was evaluated. On our wedding anniversary, I prepared a full spread of her favorite dishes. She took one bite and said, "Eighty-nine points." Then she set down her utensils and left to share a meal with Miles, who allegedly had a poor appetite. For the company's anniversary party, I tried on twenty-seven suits, only for her to glance at me and say, "Eighty-eight points. Not suitable to bring along." That very night, she walked into the celebration with Miles, who was wearing nothing more than a simple white shirt. To earn that perfect score, I quit my dream job, earned seven professional certifications, and learned four foreign languages. Yet no matter how hard I tried, my score remained forever stuck at eighty-nine. Meanwhile, Miles didn't have to lift a finger. Just by standing there, he was automatically a perfect hundred. I asked her once, "What does it actually take to get a ninety?" She glanced over at Miles and offered no answer. In that moment, a sudden, bitter laugh escaped my lips. Her scoring criteria had only ever had one rule from start to finish, and it wasn't me. I pulled off my wedding ring and dropped it straight into the wine glass in front of her. "Hallie, this time, I'm the one giving out the scores. Your loyalty: zero points. Your marriage: zero points. And as a person, you fail."

My wife, Claire, wanted our son to give up a kidney to save her childhood sweetheart's daughter. I refused. I fought her so hard that I thought she'd finally let it go. Then our son vanished, and Claire stopped answering my calls. I went to the hospital to find her. There, I learned that the little girl had finally found a donor. Claire would perform the transplant herself. She'd promised to keep her safe. Then I saw the name listed under deceased organ donor. It was my son's.

I waited half an hour for a cab in the pouring rain. When one finally arrived, Claire held the door open and spoke to the driver. "My friend has been through something traumatic. Could you take him home first?" Her so-called friend was Adrian Cole, her ex. The driver glanced past her at me, uneasy. "But this gentleman booked the ride." Only then did Claire seem to remember that I was standing there — her actual boyfriend. "He won't mind. I'll pay extra." Once Adrian was inside, she took a picture of the license plate, the way she always had, and reminded the driver—twice—to get him home safely. She didn't ask what I would do. She got into her own car and left. She never drove me to or from work. People might get the wrong idea. I stood alone in the storm for another two hours. Not a single driver accepted my request. Then I saw Adrian's post: a whole gallery of license-plate photos. "All these years, and she still hasn't broken the habit." I zoomed in on the screenshots. From the time they'd been together until now, Claire had taken more than thirteen hundred of those pictures. She was so careful about appearances with me. Yet as Adrian's "friend," she could make sure he got home safely every day. She said she'd forgotten him. But the habit was in her bones, and that hadn't gone anywhere. And suddenly, I knew. I didn't want a relationship where even my safety came second.

Everyone in our circle knew me as Violet Gilman's devoted lapdog of a boyfriend. If she told me to jump into a river, I jumped. If she wanted me kneeling in the rain all night, I knelt through the night. I was so obedient that when she kept a boy toy on the side, I'd even volunteer to bring him condoms. People in our circle praised her for raising such a good lapdog, and sneered at me, certain I'd stoop to anything just to marry into money. But when she brought up marriage herself at a family dinner, I shook my head and turned her down. "I've already done everything there is to do. Marriage, though? That, we can skip."

On the 1,001st day, Ruby Anderson still hadn't shown up at the city hall. The staff member tapped on the rejected application form and laughed at me mockingly. "Mr. Scott, this makes a thousand times, You should set a time with Ms. Anderson before coming back. "Stop wasting everyone's time." Everyone knew that Ruby was the richest person in this city. She had very limited time. When she was happy, everyone would respectfully address me as "Mr. Scott". However, when she was upset, I would be treated even worse than her nanny. Everyone would take a dig at me. They seemed to have forgotten that she was the one who proposed to me 99 times with roses. She had told the whole world that I was the only man she wanted to marry. I naively believed that she was always too busy. Until I found 997 used condoms locked inside her safe. Each one was labeled with the time and place, along with the name of her first love. This time, I didn't ask her again when we were going to register our marriage. Instead, I called that number, my voice calm. "Please reserve one application form for the memory-erasure experiment for me."

At a yacht party, someone suggests we play Two Truths and a Lie. The rules are simple. If someone calls your bluff and proves that you are lying, you have to take a penalty shot. When it's my turn, I look across the deck at my girlfriend of eight years, Claire Sullivan, and smile. "I'm getting married this year." Before anyone else can react, my best friend, Daniel Parker, raises his hand. "Bullshit. That's a lie. There's no way you're getting married this year." Laughter erupts around the table, and everyone turns to Claire, waiting for her response. Instead, she calmly picks up a glass of liquor and slides it across the table toward me. "You lost. Drink." Without hesitation, I pick up the glass and knock it back in one swallow. The liquor burns all the way down my throat, and my heart aches along with it. Then it's Daniel's turn. He leans back with a smug grin and says, "I got married this year, too." I call his bluff, but Daniel merely raises an eyebrow. Instead, he reaches into his bag, pulls out a marriage certificate, and passes it around for everyone to see. Daniel lets everyone take a look at it. My eyes drop to the names: Claire Sullivan under Bride and Daniel Parker under Groom. For a few seconds, I can't move. Then everyone bursts out laughing. "Julian lost again!" "We knew he would!" "So double shot this time!" Claire looks at me with what almost passes for an apologetic smile. "We lost a bet last time," she says casually. "The punishment was getting married, so… we did." I stare at the woman I've loved for eight years, then at the man I've trusted as my best friend. My blood runs cold. It seems that Daniel hasn't just won the game; he's won Claire, too. And the worst part? They've both forgotten one thing. I always keep my word. I said I would get married this year, and I will, but Claire just won't be the bride.

Jaime Barthes was the only son of the wealthiest family in Hartow City. Ever since he was a child, he could have anything he wanted. On his fifteenth birthday, he fell for Eden Hawthorn the moment he first saw her. Right then and there, he boldly declared, "She belongs to me, and nobody should ever think about touching her!" During the entire decade of their marriage, he was obsessively protective of her. She was forbidden from any kind of interaction with men, and she had to employ the help of her assistant for something as mundane as handing a report to a male colleague. Everyone assumed this was simply Jaime's love language. One day, he caught a terminal disease. The entire nation frantically searched high and low for a matching heart donor, and when they finally found one, Eden decided to give the heart to another man named Jericho Brown.

The air conditioner in our apartment was broken. I asked my wife, Maya Cullen, several times if we could buy a new one, but she refused every time. "Evan, just hang in there a little longer. As soon as we get paid next month, we'll buy one." It was 102 degrees outside. Every night, we lay awake fanning ourselves, exhausted from the heat. I couldn't stand watching Maya suffer, so I borrowed 5,000 dollars from a friend and gave her the money to order an air conditioner. She placed the order, yet it never arrived. After I asked her about it twice, Maya finally lost her temper and slammed her phone down. "Evan, are you serious? It's a little heat. Deal with it. I'm swamped with work, and I don't have time to worry about your stupid air conditioner!" I quietly picked up her phone and didn't mention it again. Two weeks later, while Maya was in the shower, I used her phone to check the delivery status. It said the air conditioner had already been delivered. But not to us. It had been delivered to an address in another city. I spent ages arguing with the shipping company, but they insisted they hadn't made a mistake. With no other option, I called the person who signed for it. "Hi. I'm calling about an air conditioner you received a few days ago. I think it may have been delivered to the wrong address..." The man on the other end sounded confused. "That can't be right. My wife bought that air conditioner. We had it installed a few days ago." His wife? My breath caught. When I finally spoke, my voice was unsteady. "Is… Is your wife's last name Cullen?"

My CEO wife, Quinn White, and I have been married for seven years. She suffers from severe insomnia, and only the medicinal bath I blend can relieve her symptoms. On the night of our seventh anniversary, after I prepare her bath, she takes the initiative to check into a hotel room with her ex-boyfriend, Oliver Green, to play poker. Oliver sends me a photo to gloat and mock me. So, I toss the medicinal herbs into the trash, draft a divorce agreement, and send it to Quinn. After searching high and low for renowned doctors and suffering through innumerable sleepless nights, she realizes I'm the most important person in her life.

In the eighth year of our marriage, I was on my way to drop my daughter off at school when I got a call from a hotel. "Is this Ms. Ariel Winters? Your husband, Vince Weaver, left his watch here." My blood went cold. Ariel Winters was my wife. Vince Weaver was my sworn brother. I rushed to my sister, desperate for her to deny it. She didn't even flinch. Instead, she gave me a calm, steady lecture. "Edwin, they already have a child together. Just pretend you don't know. Ariel didn't want you to get hurt. That's the only reason we agreed to keep it from you." Before I could speak, my brother-in-law cut in. "Yeah, Edwin, don't blame Vince for this. You're both fathers. Try to see it from his side." My brother-in-law was another member of our so-called sworn brotherhood. And now, he wanted me to forgive the man who had wrecked my family — and his secret child. Turns out I was the extra piece in every relationship I had: family, friendship, and love.

My girlfriend, Lilith Fordson, has a lot of quirks. She creates her own marriage vouchers and tells me that she'll marry me after I collect 19 of them. She gives me one when she's happy and gives me another one when I give her a present. I get another one when she misses my birthday because of work. She gives me another one when she wakes up late and misses the chance to send me off when I leave for a business trip. I know that Lilith is ready to marry me when I eventually collect 18 marriage vouchers. I buy a bouquet of roses to surprise her with a proposal. However, when I return home, I see my best friend Declan Smith's car parked outside my apartment. Lilith and Declan are hugging in his car. They kiss each other passionately, looking as if they wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up in each other's arms forever. As I stiffly and slowly approach the car, I hear Declan say mockingly, "I feel so sorry for Theo, Lilith. He has no idea that you're actually compensating him for your betrayals every time you give him a marriage acceptance voucher. "He told me that he only needs one more voucher. You're not actually going to marry him when the time comes, are you? You're not going to just cast me aside, right?" Lilith pecks his lips and says, "Don't worry, darling. I won't give him the last voucher. I'll only settle down and marry him after I've had my fill of playing around." It turns out that every wedding acceptance voucher is actually proof of Lilith's betrayal. I turn around without any hesitation and throw the bouquet into the trash. I then grab my phone and call Mom. "I'm ready to go home, Mom. I'll marry Luna Ellis, the daughter of the mafia boss."

After a car accident wipes my memory, my mind is stuck ten years in the past—right after I get down on one knee to propose to Angeline Stone. I tear through every app on my phone, desperate to find any proof that Angeline is actually my wife. But all I see in my contacts are numbers I don't recognize, and my WhatsApp chat list is empty. I have no choice but to call my buddy, Rick Tate, to ask him whether Angeline accepted my proposal. To my surprise, he explodes on me like a lit firecracker. "Did a donkey kick you in the head, Caleb? Did she accept your proposal? You're about to divorce her!" My first reaction after hanging up is—damn, I'm a legend. I actually managed to land an ice queen like Angeline. My second reaction is to stare blankly at the handwritten divorce agreement on the nightstand. Who wants a divorce? Me? Am I out of my mind?

Mom is hospitalized for 20 days with a serious illness. My girlfriend, Nicole Davis, works as a doctor at the same hospital. Still, she doesn't visit Mom at all. On the first day, Nicole takes time off to help her childhood friend, Kevin Shaw, move. On the second, Kevin starts interning at the hospital, so Nicole spends the entire day showing him the ropes and taking care of every little thing for him. The third day passes, then the fourth. Mom's room is on the 13th floor, while Nicole works on the 17th. They're only four floors apart, which means a ten-second elevator ride or a two-minute walk down the stairs. Still, 20 days pass without Nicole ever making it down those four floors. On the day Mom is discharged, I take her to the train station alone. While we're on the way, I finally receive a text from Nicole. "Kevin's dog is getting vaccinated today. I need to take it to the vet first." This time, I finally break my silence. "Okay, got it. Be safe." Then, I smile and add, "And one more thing. We're done."

The night before our third anniversary, Camille Everhart canceled her flight to Norhaven at the last minute. She looked at me apologetically. "Someone leaked the company's sensitive data, and it's caused quite a stir. I have to stay at the office and oversee things for the next three days." To convince me, her business partner, Nora Sinclair, sent a photo of their employees working late in our shared group chat. "Tristan, I'll need Camille for a few days. Once we get through this crisis, she'll get you a luxury watch!" My mother-in-law, Naomi Blackwell, called too. She sounded cold and detached. "A woman has to put her career first. Don't act like a little boy, throwing a fit just because your vacation is canceled." Camille transferred $100,000 into my account and leaned down to kiss my forehead. "Get yourself a watch or two. When things at the office have settled, I'll take you on a trip around the world." I looked at the bank alert confirming the transfer and nodded obediently. "Okay." After she left, I turned around and transferred the $100,000 right back to her account, along with the household expenses we'd shared over the past three years. What they didn't know was that the so-called photo of everyone working late had a calendar in the corner dated last month. And the additional credit card Camille had linked to my phone just sent me a purchase alert. The purchase wasn't made at her office. It was made at a hotel. The charge was for an underwater suite and a candlelit dinner for two.

My girlfriend, Eloise Harper, sought efficiency in everything. She could barely tolerate anything she considered a waste of time. She decided that our wedding ceremony rehearsal was a waste of time and canceled it. When she found a long line forming at City Hall for marriage registration, she spun on her heel and left at once. On Valentine’s Day, I reserved a table for the two of us at a private restaurant known only to a few people. I arrived early at her company to pick her up. But I accidentally overheard her colleagues gossiping. "Have you heard? Ms. Harper deliberately took the service elevator every day to leave work with Mr. Pierce." In the elevator hall, I was shocked to find Eloise waiting at the back of the line. She was casually discussing work with her secretary, Matthew Pierce. Later, I caught up with them on the first floor. Eloise turned around and greeted me with a displeased frown. The reproach in her voice was obvious. "Andrew, we aren't even married yet. Are you really so desperate to show up here and taint my reputation?" I choked on her groundless accusation and could only shake my head in resignation. She had forbidden me from visiting her at the office, saying she wanted to avoid gossip. Today, I had not wanted to test her patience and risk having her cancel our date as usual, so I rushed all the way to her workplace to pick her up after work. Before I could explain, Matthew put on a panicked expression and chimed in. "I forgot my laptop. I need to go back to the office to pick it up." Then, he turned to Eloise and apologized, "I'm sorry, but it seems I can't drive you home today. You should go with him. No need to wait for me." She held his shoulder, her expression visibly softened. "I'll get it for you. Just get Andrew out of here now." Finally, she walked away and joined the crowd waiting for the elevator. At that moment, realization dawned on me. If she could not even be bothered to maintain our relationship, then we should end it now.

After three years in a long-distance relationship, I secretly traveled a thousand miles to give my girlfriend a surprise. That afternoon, right outside her apartment building, I caught her playing the claw machine with her first love. The girl I had always considered the perfect, completely devoted girlfriend was gazing at him with a bright, tender smile as he manipulated the joystick. The moment the plushie dropped into the chute, she threw her arms around him, her eyes brimming with delight. I clenched my phone and dialed her number. She answered almost instantly, her voice as soft and caring as ever. "Parker? Why are you calling right now? Did you miss me?" I stared fixedly at her from barely ten feet away, my voice tight. "Where are you? What are you up to?" While cooing into the receiver to reassure me, she attentively reached over and zipped up Benedict Wooten's jacket. Her tone carried just the right mix of fatigue and apology. "I'm still at the office, working late with my team to pull the proposal together. Get some sleep, okay? As soon as this crazy rush is over, I'll fly out to see you." The line went dead. On the street side, an electronic billboard was flashing a breaking news alert. [A major hurricane will make landfall tonight. All residents are urged to seek shelter immediately...] A sudden gale swept through the street, blowing away the last remnants of my wishful thinking. It turned out that her three years of single-minded devotion were nothing more than a masterclass in time management. Candace Richards wasn't loyal. She just wanted to have her cake and eat it too.