Cerita Pendek & Novel Familial Bond Marriage

All it takes is one offhand remark from Tanya Smith's childhood sweetheart, Harry Lieberman, calling our daughter, Melanie Curry, and me fat and ugly to wound her pride and send us both to a weight-loss training camp. For an entire year, I barely get enough to eat. I starve until I develop heart disease and endure one torment after another. Melanie has it worse. The grueling workouts and constant hunger push her body to its breaking point, leaving her barely alive. Desperate, I call Tanya for help, but she sounds heartbreakingly contemptuous. "It's just a weight-loss camp. So what if you skip a few meals? Think of it as detoxing. Don't make such a big deal out of it. And don't call me again until Melanie reaches her target weight!" With that, she hangs up. Later, Melanie passes away from organ failure due to malnutrition and overtraining. Tanya comes to take me out of the camp. Her tone is as critical and condescending as ever. "Has she finally lost weight? Or is she planning to stay in there until she dies from being so fat?" My eyes are empty, my gaze hollow. Tanya has no idea that our daughter is dead.

My husband, Nathan Carter, had taken an interest in a young woman he'd been sponsoring through school. He hired her as our housekeeper with a generous salary. From that day on, my monthly allowance dropped from 120,000 dollars to just 120 dollars. She had to approve every expense for our household of more than a dozen people. Even the cook couldn't buy an extra bag of salt without getting her permission first. Furious, I went to Nathan to complain. He only smiled, looking completely unconcerned. "I like how careful she is with money. Don't you think it's cute?" Later, Nathan's mother accidentally fell from an upstairs balcony. She needed emergency surgery that would cost 30,000 dollars. I immediately called Nathan. "Your mom fell from upstairs. She needs surgery, and it costs 30,000. Hurry and have someone bring the money to the hospital." A mocking laugh came from the other end of the line. It wasn't Nathan. "A fall like that would only cause a few broken bones. Why would it cost 30,000? Ms. Smith has always been reckless with money. She has no idea how hard Mr. Carter works to earn it. If you won't help him save money, I will!"

My wife is sitting on a talk show and announces that she's already divided up every asset under her name. The host jokes that she must have left her husband and daughter a massive fortune, but my wife smiles gently and shakes her head. "I only left them enough to get by," she says. "Everything else goes to my adopted son. It's a promise I made to his father. I stood at his grave and promised his son would never have to worry about a thing." I'm standing in the kitchen, cooking for the two kids, and my hands go still. My eyes lift to the TV screen. The woman on it is going on and on about the man she lost, like she could talk about him forever, until the host finally cuts in. "Does your husband know about this?" She blinks in surprise for just a moment, but the smile on her face doesn't falter. "He won't object. He's been great with my adopted son all these years. Honestly, he's better at it than any nanny we could've hired." I untie my apron and walk out of the kitchen. My daughter is crouching on the floor, picking up toys for the boy. I gather her into my arms and carry her back to her room. Five years, and I've had enough. If nothing in this family belongs to me and my daughter, then whoever wants the nanny job can have it.

My husband, Charles Vison, was the Don feared throughout Sicily. In three years of marriage, I had been the only person who could get away with anything around him. I always believed that no matter what happened, he would stand by my side. Until my younger sister, Sandra, caused a disaster. With the Vison Family backing her, she got into a confrontation with a rival Family and shot the rival Don’s wife dead in the chaos. The retaliation came immediately. They bombed one of the Vison Family’s docks and ambushed a cargo ship. Three days later, the two Families finally sat down at the negotiation table. The other side made only one demand: Sandra had to be handed over. Otherwise, their Don would fight the Vison Family to the bitter end, no matter the cost. “Or…” The man sitting at the head of the table suddenly turned his gaze toward me and smiled coldly. “I could make you feel what it’s like to lose the person you love most.” That night, Charles received information that the other side would launch another bombing attack at the port banquet seven days later. After a long silence, he decided that I would fake my death in that explosion. “Only your death can calm their anger.” “When that happens, I’ll arrange for you to leave here and go to a private island in North America.” I stared at him in disbelief. “Why me? Why do I have to fake my death? Sandra was the one who killed her.” My mother’s eyes immediately turned red. “Your sister has never been able to take care of herself. How is she supposed to survive alone on an island like that?” My father tried to persuade me as well. “You’re more sensible than her, and you’re better at taking care of yourself.” I ignored them and looked at Charles with hurt in my eyes. I was certain that he couldn’t bear to let me go, but in the next moment, he avoided my gaze. “I’ll send people to take care of you.” In that moment, everything I believed in fell apart. I looked at the three people standing against me and smiled through my tea

My mom was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Her life is smooth-sailing most of the time. The only mistake she's ever made is falling for my dad. That's why she insists on finding me a husband who's the complete opposite of my dad. My dad is tall and intimidating-looking, so Mom wants someone who's short and perverted-looking. My dad is a knowledgeable and well-read man, so Mom wants a guy who has only graduated from elementary school. My dad prioritizes his moral integrity more than anything else, so Mom prefers a guy who drinks, gambles, and sleeps around. She tells me, "This type of man is easy to manipulate, unlike your father, who just divorced me out of nowhere!" It's true that the man Mom has chosen for me won't divorce me. After all, he leeches from me on top of beating me up. It's not enough to leech my money from me, it seems—he just has to take everything from me. My mom says in a righteous tone, "This is the only way that proves you're valuable to him. He won't divorce you at all." I've fought back and escaped from my husband many times. Every time I do, my mom will trick me into returning to him by hurting herself. As always, I'm greeted with another round of beating whenever I do return to him. Mom will take me to the hospital to get my injuries treated. Then, she'll say, "Hurry up and give birth to a son for him. Once you have a son, you'll be extremely valuable to your husband. He won't beat you up anymore." Today is supposed to be the day Mom takes me to the hospital to check my ovulation timing. She spends a long time calling me on the phone, yet I never pick up. After that, she sends me a few audio messages that last for 60 seconds each just to lecture me. "Beatrice Anderson, what makes you think you can just ignore my calls? The hospital check-up is for your own good! As long as you can get pregnant with a son, your husband will be wrapped around your finger! He won't divorce you after this! Why can't you understand how much I care for you?" I seriously can't understand at all. After all, I've gotten beaten to death yesterday. My corpse is cut into 28 chunks, and they are being frozen in the fridge as I speak.

My son and daughter-in-law suddenly returned home after living abroad for more than a decade. They spoke with my granddaughter in Datrenan the entire time during dinner. My granddaughter said, "Dad, Grandma's ugly and dumb. She's embarrassing!" My son just laughed. "What can we do? Country people are like that." I didn't understand what they were talking about, so I simply smiled and placed a chicken wing into my granddaughter's bowl, trying to please her. However, she threw it in my face instead. "Gross! It's all your fault that Grandpa and Kasey can't be here!" I was stunned. My husband died decades ago, and… who was Kasey?

In the most dangerous seventh month of my twin pregnancy, Adrian invited friends over and threw a welcome-home dinner for Vivian, who had just returned to the country. During a round of truth or dare, someone asked him, "If Serena and Vivian both fell into the water and there was only one life jacket, who would you give it to?" I was in the nursery folding baby clothes when I heard his answer come without a moment's hesitation. "Vivi. Serena's tough. She can swim back on her own." My mother chimed in, "Rena grew up in the countryside. She's tough as nails. But Vivi is delicate. She can't handle that kind of scare." Then my brother, the one I had poured everything into putting through school, laughed too. "My sister does whatever Adrian tells her. Forget a life jacket. You could ask her to donate both kidneys to Vivian and she wouldn't dare say a word." The room went quiet around me, with nothing but the steady thud of kicks against my palm. They didn't know that the doctor had issued a critical-condition notice for severe preeclampsia just the day before: At any moment, my placenta could separate, I could hemorrhage into my brain, or all three of us could die. I needed to be admitted immediately to terminate the pregnancy. That morning, I had brought the diagnosis to Adrian and begged him to take me to the hospital. He had barely glanced at it before frowning and saying, "Vivi's coming home today. Don't ruin the mood with some unlikely complication." Ten years of devotion, and all I got in return was "tough as nails." I signed the divorce papers, uploaded the recording to the cloud, and called the private hospital. "Send an ambulance. I need an emergency C-section. Now." Since they all thought my life was worthless, I would take my two children and walk out of their precious world forever.

After his twin brother dies, my husband, Cassian Howell, starts supporting two households, splitting our family's money equally between them. Half goes to our daughter and me, and the other half goes to his late brother's widow, Esther Heaton, and her son, Noah Howell. He says he can't let his nephew grow up without a father figure. When our daughter, Anne Howell, graduates from elementary school, her teacher asks each student to contribute 50 dollars toward graduation photos. Cassian refuses at once, calling it an unnecessary expense. It's the same excuse he used the week before when I asked him for new undergarments. I call him. "I'll go without if I have to, but everyone in her class is getting graduation photos. Anne is the only one who hasn't paid." He sounds annoyed. "Faye, you know I have two households to support. We have to cut costs wherever we can." Before I can answer, he hangs up on me. Moments later, Esther posts a photo in our family group chat: a limited-edition children's camera and a brand-new designer bag. Her caption reads, "Thank you for the gifts, Cassian! I'm so grateful Noah has a father figure in his life, all thanks to you." I stare at the words "father figure" for a long moment before I finally understand. In Cassian's heart, Esther and her son are his real family. Anne and I are just outsiders he can afford to neglect.

Borevia City's golden-boy heir crashed his car and ended up paralyzed from the waist down. Just like that, his shot at taking over Alwyn Corp was on the line. The second the news hit the Twyford mansion, Rory—the girl my parents had raised instead of me—came to me in tears, begging me to take her place and marry Axel. I tightened my grip on my water glass and laughed. "Seriously? You used to act like I was embarrassing because I grew up in a small town. You said I wasn't classy enough for your crowd, so you handed my engagement to Rory. "Now Axel's paralyzed and might lose everything, you want me to switch back and deal with it? Yeah, no." The door flew open. Jared Pritchard—my boyfriend—walked in, pulled Rory against him, and shot me a glare. "Thea, you were supposed to marry Axel in the first place. We're just fixing it. "We're done. Rory and I are getting engaged tomorrow. Once it's official, you're marrying Axel whether you like it or not." I froze, staring at the guy I'd grown up with. "The Alwyns asked for the daughter you've always shown off in public. You barely admit I'm family. You really think they won't notice if you suddenly swap me in for Rory?" Right then, my biological parents, Richard and Diane Twyford, came downstairs with icy expressions and tossed an amended birth certificate in front of me. "Starting tomorrow, we'll tell everyone you're our biological daughter. Rory's been spoiled her whole life. She can't handle being married to a man who can't walk. "It's time you did your part. Marry Axel Alwyn and accept your new life as Mrs. Alwyn." I laughed bitterly. Any hope I still had for them died right there. "Fine. I'll marry him. Just don't come begging me to come back someday."

Emma, the fake heiress, and I were sold into an underground BDSM club. When my parents, the richest couple in the country, and my husband, Leo DeLuca, the feared Don of the DeLuca crime family, finally found us, I was bound with duct tape and covered in wounds. Emma lay beside me, heavily pregnant and unconscious. Three months later, doctors confirmed that her baby had died in the womb. She was the adopted daughter my parents had cherished for twenty years, and the girl my husband had never gotten over. My parents and husband went half mad, offering a nationwide one-hundred-million-dollar bounty for any lead on the person responsible. I was the only one who might have seen the culprit's face, and I said nothing. My father locked me in the basement for seven full days without food or water, but I still refused to identify the person responsible. At my weakest, my enraged husband dragged me before a memory tribunal. "Your sister is still unconscious, and you are protecting the person who did this because you are jealous of her! The thought that I share a bed with someone as poisonous as you makes me sick!" My father, Victor Valenti, watched from a distance, his face hard with disappointment. "I regret ever going through hell to bring you home from the slums! Why couldn't you have died instead of Emma's baby! Today I'll use the Valenti family's own interrogation device, the memory extractor, and neither you nor the person behind this will have anywhere left to hide!" But when my real memories appeared on the huge screen, my husband completely lost his mind. My parents hung their heads and knelt before me, wrecked.

"Forget it. I'll marry her!" As soon as he utters these words, Cole Gray feels a weight lift off his shoulders. His parents, Samuel Gray and Eleanor Bennett's, delightful voices ring in his ears. "I'm glad you've finally come to your senses, Cole. Your fiancée may be in a vegetative state, but she's beautiful. Sure, she's been in a coma for years, but what if she comes to? She's set to inherit her family business…" There probably isn't another couple in the world who would persuade their own son to marry a woman in a vegetative state while believing he's getting the better end of the deal. Cole lets out a self-deprecating chuckle. "Don't worry. Since I've decided to marry her, I won't go back on my word, nor will I let your beloved adopted son marry her in my place." "What on earth are you on about? You're our flesh and blood. It's just that we can't bear to part with Joseph. "Besides, you know Sienna and Claire both like him. It wouldn't be right to make him marry a woman in a vegetative state. The Lamberts are already preparing for the wedding. "Pack your belongings, Cole. In half a month, the Lamberts will send someone to take you to Northcap." After fobbing him off, Samuel and Eleanor end the call.

Due to my husband's unique status, I did not reveal his identity to my mother after we secretly married. My family was about to be relocated during the holidays, and I took the opportunity to visit my hometown. When I got home, my mother locked me in my stepbrother's room. I questioned my mother about it, and she said, "We're about to be relocated. If you get pregnant, the baby will be counted as an extra person. We'll be compensated with one more house and millions of dollars extra." I begged my mother to release me, but she said that it was better for me to stay in the family than marry into another one. "You and your brother aren't related, anyway. We can even save on dowry." I refused, so my mother got my brother to beat me up until I bled. As the date for the entire town to relocate approached, the developers arrived to distribute the compensation. My husband was among those who arrived. When he saw my bruised cheeks and the bump on my stomach, he went crazy.

My son, Andy, had a sudden liver failure and needed a liver transplant. The only compatible match was my wife, Vivian Grant. I had begged her for 20 days to give Andy a liver transplant. Finally, she caved in. I waited the entire day in front of the operating theater, but she didn’t appear. On the same day, her first love, Jason Sanderson posted on his social media. [20th day of traveling around the world. Dr. Grant had given up her career to help fulfil my son's dream of traveling the world.] Only then did I find out that Vivian had been travelling the world with Jason and his son, Luke, since day one. That night, I received a call from Vivian. "Charlie, Luke had gotten full marks on his exam. His wish was to have his Daddy and Mommy travel around the world with him. As you know, he doesn't have a Mommy. I couldn't bear to watch him not get his wish. "We'll return in three days. We can have the surgery for Andy then." She had no idea that what awaited her at the hospital was Andy's lifeless body.

On the anniversary of her passing, I drove back to my hometown to visit my wife Scarlett Parker’s grave. It had been three long years since she passed. I shattered right there by the headstone, choking on my own sobs. Beside me, her older brother, Silas Parker, stood in complete silence, exhaling thick clouds of cigarette smoke. Later that night, we were sharing a few drinks when he brought it up, acting like it was just a casual thought. "Hey, by the way... Didn't you and Scarlett have a friend back when you worked in federal security? A guy named Mark Miller?" My hand froze, the glass shaking in my grip. Mark Miller wasn't a real person. It was a code name Scarlett and I came up with years ago after watching a crime thriller. We made a pact back then. If either of us ever met a dark fate, we had to find a way to pass that name along to let the other know. It meant one thing: I was murdered. So why the hell did that name just come out of her own brother's mouth?

I've gone to the church to pray for my son, Robert Scott. On the way home, my carriage is overturned because the horses suffer from a shock. When I wake up, I look at my family gathering around my bed. Then, I decide to pull a prank on them. "Sorry, but who are you?" I do my best to suppress the smile that threatens to appear on my face. I want to see how my family is going to comfort me now that I have "amnesia". Will Mom and my husband, Jeremy Scott, take my hands comfortingly? Or will Robert lunge at me while crying out to me? What I don't expect is to see my family breathing sighs of relief after their initial shock has faded away. Mom is the first one to speak up with a hint of relief coloring her tone. "Since you've already forgotten all about us, then it's fine. Maisie, you're actually the adopted daughter of the Liddell family. Amber is the actual heiress of the Liddell family." Jeremy points at me while telling Robert, "Robbie, you must address her as Aunt Maisie." Before I can recover from my shock, I see my own son, whom I'm willing to sacrifice my life to protect, running over to hug Amber Liddell, the fake heiress, happily. "Mom, I've spent the whole day playing outside! Oh, I miss you so much!" So, it turns out that my case of amnesia is exactly what this family wants. In that case, I might as well abandon this farce of a family.

On the first day of summer break, my daughter, Mia Leighton, is scheduled to perform a solo at the closing ceremony of her youth arts camp. It's her final audition for a televised performance, but there's one requirement— both parents have to be present to sign off on her participation. Mia had practiced every single day for this opportunity, pushing her voice until her throat was nearly raw. My wife, Thea Sawyer, had promised her too. "I will definitely be there. I won't let anything get in the way of your dream." But on the day of the performance, Mia sings the entire song while staring at an empty seat in the front row. When the TV station's staff asks about the missing signature, I hold my daughter's hand and plead with them repeatedly to make an exception. But they refuse. They tell me that these are the rules, and they're not allowed to make an exception unless I can present them with divorce papers. After the performance, we run into Thea as she comes out of a class next door. Walking beside her is the son of Clark Judson, her first love. The boy, Ian Judson, is clutching a guitar. It was only an ordinary rehearsal, yet Thea stayed by his side the entire time. Thea averts her eyes awkwardly, stammering as she explains, "Darling, Ian is shy and doesn't dare to play unless someone stays with him. Mia will have other opportunities. Besides, she has you there to support her." Instead of running into Thea's arms, Mia just clutches her songbook tightly. Then, she looks up at me and asks, "Daddy, did Mommy not come because I'm too much trouble?" I scoop my daughter into my arms. The staff member's words about divorce suddenly echo in my head. If Thea wants to play mother to someone else, I won't stop her anymore.

The day Ken Bowen and I finalized the divorce, I walked out wearing only the outfit I had worn on our wedding day. I let Ken keep the house, the cars, the money, and the kids. He looked genuinely surprised, then let out a mocking laugh. "Are you sure about this? You raised the girls yourself, and you're just giving them up? If you really don't want anything, then you won't need to pay child support either. That's fair, right?" I signed the papers without hesitation and said calmly, "Yeah. That's fair." Ken paused, then slowly signed his name. "If you regret this later, you…" I lifted a hand and cut him off. I didn't look back as I walked out. Ken used to say I married him for money and status, that I used our three daughters to tie him down. Whatever. The day he saw my dead body, he would finally understand.

At our son's piano competition, my husband, Richard Hayes, received yet another call from Vivian Morgan. I'd lost count of how many times he'd said the same thing to me. "Elena, Vivian says Mia keeps crying for her daddy and won't go to sleep. She wants me to come over and help. I need to go..." I cut him off before he could finish. "But you promised Leo you'd be onstage with him when he received his award." "I'm sorry. I promised Jay I'd look after Vivian and Mia. I can't break my word." He paused. "Leo has you. I'm sure he'll understand." Before I could say anything to stop him, Richard turned and disappeared into the crowd. I watched him go and smiled bitterly. Jay Morgan had been his closest partner on the job. Jay had died on a mission, saving Richard's life. And Vivian was Jay's wife. Ever since Jay died, Richard had been taking care of her and her daughter. Short on money? She called him. Daughter sick? She called him. Daughter crying for a daddy? She called him again. Richard took care of everything for them. And our home? It was just Leo and me. When the competition ended, Leo took first place. He scanned the audience, his eyes bright with anticipation. The moment he saw me walk onto the stage alone, the light in his eyes slowly faded. He gave me a sad, knowing smile no child his age should have to wear. "Mom, Dad left us again, didn't he?" I opened my mouth to comfort him. But he suddenly grabbed my hand and looked up at me. "Mom, you said we'd move somewhere Dad wouldn't be. Did you really mean it?"

Everyone in our neighborhood knew me as the meek full-time housewife. I had no income and no social life. Every hour of every day went to the kitchen, my child, and my hypercritical mother-in-law, Sofia Carter. Yet when I woke up, I had somehow swapped bodies with my insufferably smug husband, Kevin Carter. My phone lit up as he sent one mocking message after another: [Olivia, you act like having a baby entitles you to lie around at home all day, watch the kid, and throw together a couple of meals.] [For your information, this swap is permanent. I can finally get some rest.] [Don't run your mouth at my office. That management job is way beyond what a brain that never even made it through college can handle.] When I finished reading, I stared at the stubble-covered man in the bathroom mirror and burst into tearful laughter. He had no idea. My meekness and numbness had been bought with my health. From the day I married him, I never got more than five hours of sleep. At twenty-two, I suffered a severe hemorrhage during a difficult delivery. At twenty-four, I developed severe tendinitis. At twenty-six, after years of exhaustion and Sofia grinding me down, I was diagnosed with moderate depression. To him, I was never a wife. I was a live-in maid he didn't have to pay, someone he could take his temper out on whenever he pleased.

Mom always said my sister was the little princess of our family, while I was a tough little monkey who could take anything. So whenever my sister caused trouble, I was the one who got punished. When she refused to eat vegetables, Mom made me skip dinner for three days. When she played on her tablet instead of doing homework, Mom smashed my favorite Star Ranger figure. When she climbed onto the windowsill to retrieve a toy, Mom made me stand outside in the sun all day. Mrs. Parker from downstairs always praised her. "You're such a wonderful mother. Most parents would have scolded their daughter." Mom would tap my forehead and answer as though it were obvious. "Boys are tougher. A little punishment won't hurt him, but my Lily should never have to suffer." One Saturday, my sister and I were home alone. She turned on the stove because she wanted to toast marshmallows. Mom came home just as the burner clicked on. Without asking a single question, she shoved me into the kitchen, opened a burner valve without lighting it, and told my sister, "Lily, the next time you touch the stove, I'll punish your brother again. Let this teach you a lesson." I pounded on the door and begged Mom to let me out. The door never opened. The rotten-egg smell grew stronger and stronger. And my eyelids grew heavier and heavier...