Familial Bond Marriage 短篇故事與小說

The third time Queenie Stone meets Evan Sutherland's parents, she receives another message from her childhood friend, Joel Lodge. "I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Sutherland. Something came up. I have to go," she says. Evan reaches out and catches her wrist, frowning. "You have to leave right now? My parents have been preparing for this all day. At least stay and finish dinner." Queenie sets her phone down in front of him. In her chat with Joel are four simple words—"The fog's rolling in". "This is my code with Joel," she explains. "He has depression. Whenever he starts spiraling, he sends me this. We agreed that no matter what I'm doing, I'll drop everything and go to him when I see those words. No exceptions." She sounds so serious, as if Joel will drop dead if she doesn't leave that very second. "Can't you wait until after dinner?" Evan asks. "At most, you'll just need to stay for two more hours." "Evan, Joel doesn't send that code lightly. If he has, it means he's at his limit. If I'm late and something happens to him, I'll never forgive myself. I'm sorry." Queenie turns to Evan's parents. "Mr. and Mrs. Sutherland, I need to head out. I'll come by another day to apologize properly." She leaves without another look back. The front door slams shut, making Evan's parents jump. "Did something happen?" his mother asks. "Queenie left in such a hurry." Evan stares at the untouched dishes on the table and forces a stiff smile. Over the last five years, Joel has sent Queenie that code over 700 times. She could be on a movie date with Evan, yet the moment Joel's message comes in, she'll walk out halfway through the film. On New Year's Eve, before the fireworks even go off, she'll ditch Evan to go to Joel. Even when Evan has a 104-degree fever and is lying in bed needing someone to care for him, she'll still rush over to Joel in the middle of the night.

It's the third year since my wife, Joyce Sinclair, cheated on me. I spread her intimate photos with her male assistant, Bryan Long, on the internet. Then, I doused myself in gasoline and threatened to drag everyone down to hell with me. Bryan's so scared that he flees the city that very night. I think I've won. However, to settle my lawsuit and cover the damages, my older sister, Rachel Lovett, sells her house and takes out high-interest loans. In the end, the burden becomes too much for her, and she jumps from a high-rise building. Her voice is hoarse in the recording she leaves me. "That's enough, Ray. We've lost everything. Mom and Dad have aged overnight, and I can't take it anymore..." Mom clutches Rachel's belongings and cries until she passes out. Dad's emaciated hands clamp around my neck as he demands at the top of his lungs, "How many more lives do you have to destroy before you're satisfied?" Tears silently trail down my cheeks, and I finally come to my senses. I no longer neurotically look into every single man around Joyce, and I stop badgering her with questions about the scent of men's cologne on her. Even when I walk in on her staring at a photo of her and Bryan and reminiscing about the past, I take the initiative to bring him back. It all comes to a head when Bryan wishes to become Joyce's lawfully wedded husband on his birthday. Without the slightest hesitation, I print out the divorce agreement, sign and seal it, and deliver it to him. To my surprise, Joyce rips the agreement to shreds. She grips my chin and demands hysterically, "Raymond Lovett, what happened to the stubborn man who'd rather die than divorce me? Where is he now?"

Five years after Liam DeLuise went bankrupt and skipped town, he suddenly returned, richer than ever. While I was waiting in line at the hospital pharmacy to pick up lifesaving medication, he kidnapped my eight-year-old son, Teddy Molson. He called me on video. I immediately recognized the abandoned industrial park on the west side of town behind him. On the screen, Teddy, who had a heart condition, was suspended over a pool of water inside an abandoned warehouse. His skin had turned purple from the cold. Liam sneered into the camera. “You really are one hell of a friend, Dave! When I went bankrupt, you refused to help me and even stole my woman! Bet you never thought I’d make it back on top, did you? “Now, I’m going to make you feel what it’s like to lose the person you love most!” He raised the metal pipe, ready to break Teddy’s knee with it. My eyes burned with panic as I screamed at the screen. “Don’t touch him, Liam! He’s your son!”

Ever since summer vacation began, my son had been getting a new toy almost every three days. Whenever I asked where they came from, he said my best friend had bought them. I was about to pick out a thank-you gift when I overheard him talking excitedly into his smartwatch from behind his bedroom door. "Reporting for duty, sir! Mission accomplished. Monster Mom believed me!" I froze, certain I'd misheard. Then he asked for his reward. "Dad, can I come to your third-anniversary celebration with Mama Viv tonight? "I'm so sick of eating canned soup and boxed mac and cheese with Mom every day. I could throw up!" My breath caught. I snatched the watch from his wrist. A photograph had just come through: my husband, who'd supposedly left for another shift at the auto repair shop that morning, was kissing another woman's forehead. My hands shook so badly I could barely hold the screen. My heart nearly stopped. My son threw down his toy and, in a panic, started scolding me. "Mom! Why are you spying on my private conversations? Mama Viv is picking me up to go have fun later. Don't ruin it for us!" Then he pressed himself against the window, waiting excitedly for her. I stood there, numb, staring at the apology my husband had sent barely a minute earlier. "I'm sorry, honey. You've both had to struggle because of me for so many years. I'll take you out for a nice dinner tonight." Tears blurred the words. It felt as though something had tightened around my heart and refused to let go. But I didn't scream or demand answers. Instead, when the car came to collect my son, I climbed in after him.

Two years after my death, my wife, Libby Burton, wants me to take the fall for her first love again. She comes to my place with a fabricated confession, only to find the house completely empty. With nowhere else to turn, she asks my neighbor, Maddox Bell, where I am. Maddox just tells her, "Kieran? He's dead! I heard he went through hell in prison. Didn't even last two days after getting out before he died." Libby refuses to believe it. She's convinced that Maddox and I are teaming up to fool her. She rolls her eyes and sneers. "So, he did a little time. Now he's playing the martyr? Please tell him if I don't see his face in three days, I'm cutting off every last cent for that bastard daughter of his." She turns on her heel and marches off in her high heels, furious. As Maddox watches her go, she shakes her head with a sigh. "But that poor girl was killed in a hit-and-run, and the driver is still on the loose…"

I’m the Blackthorn family’s top surgeon and their “cleaner.” I’ve handled countless messes for Evan Blackthorn. I was also his secret lover for five years. He was inside me more times than I can count, holding me tight as I came apart, kissing me with an obsession for my body he never bothered to hide. It all ended after sex one night, when he said with a casual laugh, “I should get a wife, Rachel.” “And maybe you should find a good man and get married, too.” I wasn’t angry. I just quietly said, “Okay.” In my last life, I insisted on staying by his side. It got me both my hands broken, my career as a surgeon shattered. In the end, during a raid by a rival family, he left me behind as bait, holding his brother’s widow, Sofia, tenderly in his arms. So this time, I learned my lesson. I stayed away from him. Found a new man, just like he wanted. But this time, the always cool and calculated Mafia Don lost his mind.

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.

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...

During our eight years together, Lorenzo, the Falcone family Don’s heir, cheated on me with eight women. A dancer, a college student, a sex worker... Every one of them was nothing like me. Eight times, I fought, I raged, and I even cut my wrists. And every time, Lorenzo knelt before me and swore it would never happen again. "I swear to God, Beatrice, I was just tempted by someone new. You're the only woman I love." I believed him. Today was our ninth anniversary. Then I found the ninth: my best friend, Giuliana. They were holding each other like real lovers. Hands shaking, I called home, expecting the comfort my family had given me the other eight times. Instead, my parents said I had it coming. A daughter from a minor noble house had never been good enough for the Falcone heir. My brother said I was too stupid to make myself lovable, and that was why I'd finally driven Lorenzo to cheat. Eventually, even I began to wonder if it was all my fault. I saw a therapist. She advised me to divorce as soon as possible and stop clinging to someone I wasn't good enough for. I came back to the estate in a daze, only to hear Lorenzo's voice in the study, warm with laughter. "Giuliana, you're the clever one. You suggested I fake those affairs so she'd get used to me cheating and wouldn't lose her mind and hurt you. "I've taken care of the therapist. Her parents and brother will keep pressuring her. Soon enough, she'll ask for the divorce herself. "As soon as she's gone, I'll marry you." I stood there listening as tears slipped down my cheeks. I'd been living inside a lie they had all helped build. I was done playing the fool in their elaborate charade.

After being away from home for three months, my wife, Victoria Sterling, and our daughter, Sophie Sterling, came looking for me, crying as they begged me to come home. Once I was back, they treated me better than ever. They brought breakfast to my bedside, gave me free rein with their black cards, and when I casually mentioned wanting a new car, three brand-new sports cars showed up the very next day. But when Ethan White, Victoria’s childhood sweetheart and first love, accused me of stealing his design drafts, Victoria didn’t bother asking for an explanation. She smashed her phone against my face and snapped, “What do you have to say for yourself?” Sophie yelled at me too. “Get on your knees and apologize to Ethan! Otherwise, get out of the Sterling family!” I looked up at their furious faces. Then I suddenly laughed. Why should I apologize? I’m not even Victoria’s real husband.

My fiance's childhood friend, Tori Kerr, calls him 999 times, begging him to cancel the wedding. "I see it in the tarot cards. You can't get married this year. Cancel the wedding right now." Mikael Jardine hesitates and says, "Tori's tarot readings are always accurate. Let's just listen to her." My temper flares up immediately. The invitations are already sent, and the venue is booked. How can we just cancel it? Seeing that I'm angry, Mikael ultimately decides not to listen to her. In a fit of rage, Tori blocks him. I thought that was the end of it. But on the wedding day, Tori suddenly storms onto the stage. The first thing she does is shout at my mom and ask her to leave in front of the guests. Tori says, "I read it in the tarot cards last night. Your mom's rising sign clashes with Mikael's. She can't attend the wedding. Besides, your mom's just a cleaning lady. She doesn't deserve to be here!"

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.

Five years ago, I married Cassian, the vampire I had grown up with. We had known each other since we were children, and both clans were glad of the match. I believed we would stay beside each other the way we had promised when we were small. Then Cassian fell in love with a human maid. By that time, I was already carrying his child. He turned on his own clan for her anyway and ran off with her to the human world. Everyone was laughing at me. I stayed behind in the vampire territories alone, pregnant, calling Cassian more times than I could count and sending people out to find him. He never came back. In the end, he refused even to hear any news of me. He only had someone deliver a message. "Stop chasing after me." My health got worse and worse in those years. I lost the baby too. It took me a long time to finally let go of that marriage for good. Then, five years later, Cassian came back. He had brought her with him. When he saw my son standing beside me, he actually frowned and asked, "How could you raise my child like this? He's four and he looks two." I stepped in front of my son, my voice flat. "Look closely, Cassian. He isn't yours." His face darkened. "You're still trying to lie to me?" I smiled. "He's the son I have with my current husband."

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?

I've been at odds with my younger brother, Ethan Calloway, for over 20 years. I'm a narcotics officer who can't stand criminals, while Ethan runs with the very people I've sworn to put behind bars. When we're kids, he steals my homework and trades it for candy, then tells our parents I've been cheating at school, earning me a brutal beating. As we get older, he only gets worse. He lands himself in juvenile detention every few days for stealing, and everyone starts calling me "the pickpocket's brother". He even has the nerve to wolf-whistle at my new girlfriend. "Victor Calloway! That girl's mine!" I figure he's just running his mouth like he always does. My girlfriend, Vanessa Crain, even spits at his feet in public and snaps, "What the hell is wrong with you?" Eventually, I enter the police academy, complete my training, graduate, get a job, and marry the woman I love. Everything seems to be going according to plan. Ethan also appears to turn over a new leaf, putting his rebellious ways behind him and becoming a model citizen. Then one day, I receive a tip about a group of meth users at a nightclub. During the raid, I grab the ringleader by the hair and slam his head against the wall. He cries out in pain before pointing at the woman kneeling by my feet, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Hey, Victor! Aren't you being a little rough? What if your wife gets upset seeing you hurt me?"

My wife, Tina, was notorious for giving away money and possessions. She often held barter fairs at home. One free-range egg could be traded for three jars of premium Manuka honey. One pasture-raised chicken could be traded for a 32-inch LED television. She had even opened a free-for-all store in our home, all for the sake of trading with the neighbors for a piece of fabric no larger than the width of her palm. Watching the high-end gifts I had bought for clients disappear one after another, I stormed off to confront Tina. That was when I saw something that stopped me cold. The woman who usually did nothing but sit back and enjoy herself at home was actually holding a piece of fabric while carefully stitching it together one needle at a time to make a patchwork quilt. "So that's why you opened that free-for-all store. Does this neighbor upstairs really mean that much to you? "Didn't you know that those gifts were meant for my clients? Now that they're gone, I'll have to pay for them myself!" To my surprise, my wife became furious. "It's because you never give me any money! What else was I supposed to do? I had to trade things from our home with the single dad upstairs just to get him some necessities! "Besides, are those things really more important than a child's safety and happiness? You're a father too. How can you be so heartless?" With that, she angrily slammed the door and walked away. After watching her leave in an oddly flustered manner, I followed her to the neighbor's apartment almost without thinking. I never expected that the moment the door opened, I would freeze in shock.

Before my son entered university, he gave me a list of necessities he needed for school. Everything from a laptop costing 2,000 dollars to a phone at 1,000 dollars. Even the cost of traveling amounted to almost 10,000 dollars. My head pounded at the staggering figure. My mom had been hospitalized and was in urgent need of money. 10,000 dollars was a huge sum. I asked if I could give him 5,000 dollars first. My son’s face darkened in an instant, and he yelled at me for being stingy. He even wrote a lengthy post scolding his own family on social media. The next day, I read the post while at work. Someone even threatened to kill me. [A parent like you should die!] I read the latest post my son wrote, and my heart grew cold. In that case, there was no need for me to keep the truth a secret.

I was in the middle of an office meeting when I got a call from the ER at City General Hospital. “Are you Casey Caldwell’s family? She’s been admitted. You need to get here right away. Once at the hospital, Casey squeezed an awkward smile at me. “It’s nothing, really. The doctor says it’s acute gastritis. I’ll be fine once the IV is done.” The nurse tending to her couldn’t bite her tongue. With a disapproving look, she shoved the bill into my hands. “What kind of son are you, making your old mother work as a dishwasher in a diner? “The owner said she’s been skipping lunch just so she can hurry home and make dinner for your family. “No stomach can handle that kind of abuse day after day.” “You’ve been working?” My gaze fell on Casey’s raw and calloused hands. My voice trembled. “Mom, didn’t Melody give you a store gift card with a $20k balance? Why on earth would you work at the diner?” Casey nervously fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a card. “Maybe I’m too old to figure these things out. The cashier told me the card was no good when I tried to use it at the grocery store. “So I paid out of my own pocket. Eventually, I ran out of money I’d saved. I didn’t want to ask you for more because I didn’t want you and Melody to fight over money. “I thought I could pick up a few shifts at the diner next door. At least that way, I’d have enough money to buy groceries…” I took the so-called gift card, my mind going blank. This was no gift card. It was a souvenir card from some trendy escape room!

Our daughter was diagnosed with a genetic illness. To save her, my husband founded a charity in her name. To raise the funds, he pushed himself to the brink—working three hundred days straight, surviving on three hours of sleep a night. His relentless drive moved countless people. The media hailed him as "Father of the Year." Everyone congratulated me on having such a devoted partner. Then came the day he rallied the entire nation, securing pledges for millions in donations to fund our daughter's cure. At the gala, with over ten million dollars moments from being transferred, I suddenly hit the pause button. "And now, we'll take a brief intermission for a signing," I announced. The room erupted. They shouted at me, called me selfish, a monster. My husband stared at me, utterly stunned. "Have you lost your mind? Children around the world are waiting on this money to survive! What in God's name are you talking about?" I lifted my gaze to meet his. "A divorce agreement."

After my dad's first love moved into our house and became my tutor, my mom never raised her voice at her again. She just coughed worse and worse, until one day I found the lab report she'd thrown out. Stage IV lung cancer. That afternoon, Dad came home with his arm around her, and walked right into Mom sitting on the couch. There was a flicker of guilt on his face. "Helena, if you've got something to say, just say it. Don't make a scene in front of the kid." Mom was eerily calm. She pointed at the woman and said, "She gets on her knees and apologizes to me three times. And you sign over half the company. Then we're done." Dad thought she'd lost it. But in the end he signed the share transfer. After that, Mom's pills kept multiplying and her appetite kept shrinking. But she hired the best lawyer in town, and over and over she taught me how to manage those shares once I was old enough. Dad never figured out the one thing that mattered. Mom was already on her way out.