Marriage Short Stories & Novels

Five years into his marriage, Bradley Chapman was dragged into a police station for the 199th time after being mistaken for a pathetic ex-boyfriend who refused to move on. One side of his face was swollen and bruised, and the corner of his eye had split open. Pinned to a cold metal chair, he sat battered and aching while the man's furious shouting still rang in his ears. "You worthless simp! You freeloading loser! You actually had the nerve to hit on another man's wife? You got exactly what you deserved! Someone should have beaten you to death!" Bradley kept his eyes fixed on the station entrance. Outside, his wife, Lilian Johnson, leaned against her car window. The shadows cast by the glass partially concealed her striking features, but her beauty remained impossible to miss. Only moments earlier, when a man had grabbed Bradley by the hair, dragged him down the street, and beaten him in full view of passersby, Lilian had been upstairs. Now, as Bradley sat in the police station, bruised and bleeding, she gave him nothing more than a cool, indifferent glance, as though he were a stranger. Then, in a voice devoid of warmth, she turned to her assistant. "Handle it."

My husband, Beck Callahan, has manic disorder. Every time we get into an argument, he coldly drives me to a hotel. "My condition's unstable, and I might hurt you. I'm changing the locks at home, but I'll give you the new keys once I calm down." I've always thought that I'm lucky that he's willing to restrain his temper for my sake. Hence, as soon as I receive the new key, I hurry back home. That's what I believe until I run into Beck's therapist, Dr. Smith, after my gynecology appointment and learn that he hasn't had an episode in five years. For reasons I can't explain, I pull up the surveillance footage outside our front door. Then, I see my best friend, Iria Sinclair, pull out a key and gently turn it in the lock. The door swings open, and Beck emerges, pulling her into his arms. "Remember to keep the new key somewhere safe." Iria giggles and playfully smacks him before the two of them walk inside together. The sun has set by the time I return to the hotel. The receptionist calls out to me, "Mr. Callahan dropped off a key for you, Ms. West." I fall silent for a couple of seconds before responding, "Throw it away."

At eight months pregnant, Esther Rivera went to the mall to buy a duffle bag and stock up on supplies she would need when she went into labor. She was once again mistaken for a mistress and was assaulted by Summer Moreno. To protect the baby in her belly, she could not fight back at all. Summer grabbed her hair and slapped her several times, even nearly tearing off her clothes. At her wit’s end, Esther called the police. Both of them were taken to the police station. Each of them claimed to be Jasper Clarke’s wife The police officer, John Hayward, called Jasper to verify the truth. When Jasper learned about this, he went to the police station. Summer swiftly took out a mirror to touch up her makeup before looking at Esther smugly and saying, “Esther, do you think Jasper will say I’m his wife just to protect me? “I bet he will.”

I'm the CEO of a publicly traded company, and I'm worth three billion dollars. Ten years ago, I dumped my broke boyfriend Ethan Shaw and left for Wall Street. Everyone said Vivian Quinn was cold-blooded and ruthless, a maniac who only cared about money. Then a car accident somehow transported me into another world. I woke up as a penniless housewife! Ethan Shaw, the ex who should have hated my guts, was suddenly my husband! And there was a five-year-old son tagging along. What a joke. How could I ever fall for a freeloader who spent all day in the kitchen or a pint-size boy who spent every day clinging to my leg? But just as I was determined to find my way back, I realized something wasn't right.

Ethan hid his powerful family background to support his wife Victoria, only to watch success turn her cruel and arrogant. On her IPO day, her favorite company influencer beats a poor-looking old man nearly to death, believing he is Ethan's father. But the victim is actually Victoria's own father, and every insult, cover-up, and betrayal pushes Ethan to expose the truth and destroy the life she built on his love.

My wife, Camilla Fender, who was also the richest person in Jaxonville, had just given birth. Meanwhile, I, Frank Langley, was dragged into a survival game. With our baby strapped to my back, I ran through the woods for my life. I then heard Camilla's best friend's voice coming through the loudspeaker. "Camilla, why aren't you staying at the hospital with Frank to recover after giving birth? Why did you come here? Is your lover throwing another tantrum?" Camilla chuckled. Her voice was filled with helpless affection. "Yeah. Jack insisted on coming to watch this circus show. Frank thought I had business to handle, so he even pushed me to come back here when our child's surgery was happening. He's ridiculously foolish." I desperately slammed against the surveillance camera to try to get Camilla's attention and ask for help, but because Jack Solomon screamed in fright, she simply pressed the punishment button in her hand. An electric current coursed through my entire body. My son coughed up blood, and the blood splattered all over the ground. I curled up with tears streaming down my face. As the footsteps of the people hunting us grew closer and closer, the survival game reached its climax. Everyone was gambling on who would survive until the end. Only Camilla's voice remained cold. "I'm betting a million dollars that the crazy father and his son will die!"

Josie Collins and I were supposed to get married during the upcoming long holidays, but she suddenly wanted to postpone our wedding for another month, and she asked that I wait a little longer. As I had nothing else to do during the holidays, I took up a job as a wedding driver. What I did not expect was that the bride I was picking up was Josie. She wore the wedding dress my mother made for her as her ex-boyfriend, William Locke, carried her in his arms. Everyone started yelling, "Kiss her!" Josie smiled and kissed him on the cheek. When she saw me sitting in the car, she panicked. "What are you doing here?" However, she frowned almost immediately and started blaming me. "William's grandmother is suffering from dementia and thinks that we're still together. She has always wanted us to get married, so I'm helping her to make her wish come true. "Why would you come after us all this way? Can you stop being such a schemer and wipe those dirty thoughts from your mind?!" William helped her lift the heavy skirt. "Don't be mad, Sam. I'm just the groom for one day. Josie will still be yours in the end." I stared at her wedding dress. Every thread on it was sewn by my mother before she died, and she had always wanted to see Josie put it on to marry me. However, Josie made me wait, and I did. I waited until my mother breathed her last, and still, she did not witness my wedding. Now, Josie was using the wedding dress my mother made to fulfil someone else's wish. This time, I no longer wanted to wait for her.

On my birthday, one of my husband’s subordinates leaned close to him and whispered in Russian, “Sasha has a surprise prepared for you tonight.” My husband smiled at me as he finished cutting my cake. Then, in the same language, he replied, “She has quite a few tricks in bed. I’ll see her later. “Just don’t let Madam find out, or I’m afraid I’ll get thrown out.” Everyone around laughed and assured keep it quiet. None of them knew that I’d been fluent in multiple languages since I was a child. What they also didn’t know was that I’d found the hidden phone he kept in the false drawer, where all the filthy videos of him and Sasha were saved. I didn’t confront him. Instead, I contacted a few remaining connections in the Vegas and had them prepare a new identity for me. In three days, Claire Vega would no longer exist, and he would never have me again.

On my fifth wedding anniversary with Rebecca Leavitt, I sign an organ donation consent form. My entire family opposed my decision. Mom sobs as she slaps herself across the face. "This is all my fault. I'm useless. I couldn't make enough to pay for your heart transplant…" Dad took an overnight train from our hometown. The moment he stepped inside, he knelt down in front of me. "I'll sell my kidney on the black market. Please don't do this!" he pleads. My younger sister, Winona Zander, tore the consent form to pieces, scattering the scraps across my face. "Will, just hold on for another six months. My scholarship will come through soon!" Only Rebecca said nothing. She sits calmly on the couch, painting her nails with the polish she just bought, its crimson shade resembling blood. "Do whatever you want," she said, blowing lightly on her nails. "The doctor said your heart wouldn't last more than three months anyway."

My mother-in-law was somehow allergic to me. As long as I was in the house, her skin would break out in rashes, and she would struggle to breathe. The hospital could not find any specific allergen. They said it might be something to do with my scent. To give his mother some relief, my husband Keith asked me to stay in a hotel every weekend. I quietly packed away everything that was mine. I even stopped wearing my favorite perfume just so I could stay home for one extra day. However, her condition only grew worse. The days I was allowed to be home dropped from five days a week to three, and eventually to just one. I never complained. I only hoped she would get better soon. One day, I left work early to pick up a document from home. I heard laughter from inside the house. "Mom, your trick really works! Every time you cough, my brother kicks that woman out." It was Keith's god-sister Caroline, who had studied abroad. My mother-in-law laughed smugly. "Caroline, you're the best. You can cook, and you give great massages. You're nothing like that useless block of wood who's always in the way. "Keith, hurry up and marry Caroline already. Get rid of that woman!" Keith's voice was full of indulgence. "Mom, don't say things like that. Caroline, look at the perfume I bought you. You've worked hard lately." All strength left my body as I stood frozen at the door.

My wife, Eira Primrose, has forgotten to disconnect the car's Bluetooth from her phone when she gets out to answer a call. A man's explicit, suggestive words echo through the vehicle. "Didn't you say you were coming over tonight? I bought some new toys. Are you sure you don't want to come over and try them with me?" I pause for a moment before reaching out and turning it off. The instant silence falls over the car, Eira teases the man on the phone without the slightest change in her expression. Yet, her gaze lingers on my face for a brief moment through the window. After hopping back into the car, she casually reaches over and straightens my collar. "I was actually planning to stay with you tonight. After all, you were just discharged from the hospital. Yet, you heard him too. He has many tricks up his sleeve, and he's super clingy, so do me a favor and drive yourself home, okay?" I nod. "Do you need me to drop you at his place?" Eira freezes for a moment. "Look at you, making progress. You're not causing a scene and giving me headaches like you did the previous eight times. However, you're my husband. Why would I make you do a driver's job?" Then, she leans in and pecks my cheek. The love bites just beneath her collarbone are faintly visible. "Forget it, babe. We're not heading in the same direction." I plaster a smile on my face. That's right. In the 30 seconds she spends answering that phone call, I accept a job offer overseas. For the rest of our lives, we won't be heading in the same direction.

Just because I point out a mistake in the intern, Lester Hale's proposal that can cost the company millions of dollars, he feels embarrassed and goes straight to Sandra Wendell, the CEO, threatening to quit. The next second, she storms into my office and starts grilling me. "Couldn't you have spoken to him privately? Lester's young, and his ego's fragile. Why did you have to humiliate him in front of everyone? Don't forget, his dad's a major shareholder. I'm giving you two options now. "One, I'll promote Lester, give him a raise, and you'll become his assistant. That way, I'll agree to officially announce our relationship. Two, keep acting like this, and we break up." When I remain silent, she smirks triumphantly. "I knew you'd never pass up a chance to go public with our relationship. Now, you can clear your office for Lester. Later—" But I calmly cut her off, "Sorry, but I choose the second option, and I'm resigning. I wish you and Lester a happily ever after."

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.

On our son's fifth birthday, the three of us went to watch a meteor shower. In the middle of it, my husband answered a phone call and left in a hurry. Late that night, our son had an asthma attack. The only medicine he needed was in my husband's car. I clutched my son and ran through the empty wilderness, stumbling in the dark as I called my husband over and over again. All I got back was an icy message: [Something urgent. Do not disturb.] The next day, he finally called. However, the voice on the other end was not his. "Last night, my dog suddenly fell ill and died. Elias was worried I wouldn't take it well, so he stayed with me all night. He has just fallen asleep. If you have anything to say, you can tell me." I stroked my son's pale, bluish face. "Tell him," I said, "we're getting a divorce."

Leon, drink up. Finish every drop in this glass." As my wife, Alice Carr, holds a glass of warm milk, she keeps staring at my Adam's apple intensely. Every night, she needs to watch me finish the entire glass of milk. At first, I think this is Alice's way of showing me her love. That is, until something occurred last month. Back then, my neighbor's fire alarm blared extremely loudly due to a fire breaking out. Yet, I had slept like a log the whole time. Only then do I realize that something is wrong with the milk. Last night, I pretended to go on a business trip. When I secretly go home in the middle of the night, I find out that my bedroom door is locked. When I peek through the gap in the door, I feel my hairs rising on their ends. It turns out that Alice isn't asleep at all. She's standing on the balcony while holding my pillow and burying her face into it. Then, she inhales the scent deeply, as though she were a drug addict. Her shoulders keep trembling violently the whole time. It's one thing if Alice is madly addicted to my scent. The thing is, the pillowcase is a part of the bedroom set that my mom has dug up from my childhood home last week. I never have a chance to use that pillow, so there's no way my scent lingers on the pillowcase. Suddenly, Alice halts in her actions and raises her head. She looks up at the moon while licking her lips in an euphoric haze. Then, she mumbles softly, "Your dad's scent… is fading away…"

I'd been "married" to Zachary for two years—until I tried applying for a loan and the bank's system flagged someone else as his legal wife. Our wedding? Just a private show. The real marriage license had his name next to hers. So yeah. I wasn't the wife. I was the other woman. Crushed, I went home—only to hear Zachary talking to his friend, Ethan, by the door. "Man, watching you stress is exhausting," Ethan said. "You clearly love Sierra. So why marry Cathryn?" Zachary looked torn. "At first, she was just a stand-in. But when she left, I couldn't stop thinking about her. So I brought her back—as my assistant." He paused, then muttered, "I can't live without Sierra. But I can't let go of Cathryn either. So I gave Sierra my love in public and kept Cathryn hidden with the title. That's fair, right?" I stood frozen, heart splitting open. He loved us both. Me—his childhood sweetheart. Her—the hidden wife. I thought I was the one. Turns out, I was just the game. He didn't break my heart. He shattered my whole world. But I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I walked away. And started planning two things.

"Your marriage is a $50 souvenir, Ms. Vance. And your husband's already married to someone else." In a single moment at the immigration office, my life as the wife of NHL superstar Liam Sterling evaporated. Our secret Vegas wedding was a fraud, and Liam was already legally married to his "manager," Sophia. But the cruelty didn't end there. Liam expected me to adopt a "war hero's orphan", a child that was actually his and Sophia's secret son. He didn't want a wife. He wanted a world-class doctor to fix his career and a free nanny to raise his real wife's child. Liam made one fatal mistake: he forgot that I'm the only one who can keep him on the ice. I signed a record-breaking contract with the Titans, his bitterest rivals. Now, while Liam's knee shatters during the playoffs, I'm on the enemy's bench, healing the only man who can destroy him. He want a nanny? I'm sure he'll get his worst nightmare.

The year my girlfriend, Maisie Summers, and I were supposed to get married, I broke up with her. Later, she made it big and used every means necessary to force me to marry her anyway. Everyone says we're destined to be together from the start. Yet no one knows that after we got married, she's been bringing different men home every so often. I never react and pretend as if I don't see anything. While she sleeps around night after night, I silently count how many days I have left to live.

I was married to one of the world’s richest men—Zayne Ford— yet no one knew I existed. To the world, he was a charming billionaire. To me, he was the man who once promised love… then buried me in silence. For five years, I lived as his secret wife, convincing myself that love was enough. That it didn’t matter if no one knew my name, as long as he still looked at me the way he once did. But when his childhood sweetheart returned from abroad, I finally saw the truth. The only thing holding our marriage together was a legal document—cold, lifeless, and easily replaced. So I disguised my divorce papers as a school form and watched him sign them without even glancing up. That careless signature ended our marriage— and freed me. Now, as I start a new life in another country, I carry more than my independence. I carry his child. When Zayne discovers what he’s lost—his wife and his heir— he’ll do anything to find me. But the woman he once ignored no longer exists. He taught me how to break. Now he’ll learn what it means to lose me.

My boyfriend, Cedric Lambert, and I have been in a long-distance relationship for three years. I video call him every night. The first time I notice a pink scarf that doesn't belong in his room, I take a screenshot and confront him. But before he can answer, his older sister, Cecilia Lambert, messages me. "Naomi, that's my scarf. I must've accidentally left it at his place the last time I visited." The second time, I spot two used condom wrappers in the corner of the screen. One of his friends immediately sends me a screenshot of a hotel booking. "Naomi, this one's on me," Kian Callahan explains. "I was just messing around with Ced and didn't think about how it would look. I'm sorry." These incidents keep happening for the third and fourth time. But every time something suspicious appears in the background of his video calls, someone conveniently steps forward to claim it. Then comes Cedric's birthday. Without telling anyone, I take an eight-hour train to his city, hoping to surprise him. Instead, I find the area outside his apartment building decorated for a wedding. A large sign beside the entrance reads, "Congratulations, Cedric Lambert & Addison Ross!" Beside the entrance is a large wedding portrait of Cedric with a woman I've never seen before, his arms wrapped around her as they kiss. I bite down hard on my lip until I taste blood. With trembling fingers, I type a message into our group chat. "I just received a wedding invitation from a woman named Addison Ross. Does anyone know her?" The group falls completely silent. After a long moment, my best friend, Scarlett Crosby, finally breaks the silence. "Addison's a friend of mine. She must've sent it to the wrong address by mistake," she explains. "Just keep the invitation, Naomi. I'll explain everything later." Hot tears splatter against the glass of my screen as my chest tightens. So it turns out Cedric isn't the only one who's been betraying me these past three years.