Mga Maiikling Kuwento at Nobelang Tragic Love Marriage

After the death of his first love, Caspian Stormcrown hated me for ten years. No matter how carefully I tried to please him, he met me with nothing but sneers. "If you really want to make me happy, go and die," he said. The words cut deep. Yet when a burning beam collapsed during the palace fire, he shoved me out of the way and died in my stead. He lay in my arms as his life faded. When I reached for him, he spent his last strength brushing my hand aside. "Evelyn Frostwood, how much better would my life have been if I had never met you…" he whispered. At the funeral, his mother sobbed until she could barely remain standing. "This is my fault," she cried. "I never should have forced you to marry her. If I had let you marry Amelia instead, would today have ended differently?" His father looked at me with open hatred. "Caspian saved you three times. Why did you only ever bring him disaster? Why did you live instead of him?" Everyone regretted that Caspian married me. So did I. In the end, I leapt from Starfall Tower and returned to the past, 10 years earlier. This time, I chose to sever every tie between Caspian and me and give everyone the ending they wanted.

After I got a second chance at life, I stopped bringing lunch to my wife, who had become the factory manager. She would leave for meetings through the south gate, so I would sneak around through the north. In my previous life, I knew she only married me with an ulterior motive, but I still fell for her. I thought I could warm her heart over time. However, Shirley Scott was always just polite to me, nothing more. When I tried to get close, she would hand me a book and say, "Read more so people won't look down on you." Once, with a bit of liquid courage, I hugged her. Yet, she just stood there, stiff as a board, and said, "It's what married folks do." Years later, as I was dying, I read her memoir and learned about how she felt trapped in our marriage, like being stuck in the mud. She hoped she would never have to be with me again in another life. That hurt more than anything. However, then, I woke up and discovered that I was back to when there were whispers about her and the factory's technician. This time, I did not make a scene. I just asked for a divorce.

My boyfriend, Yves Warren, had a memory disorder. No matter what I told him, he could only hold on to it for half an hour. Once those thirty minutes were up, everything was wiped clean. Then, at a party, he drew a challenge that required him to tell everyone everything he knew about my best friend. Worried he'd be embarrassed, I quickly tried to bail him out with a laugh. "Let him draw another one. He won't remem..." Before I could finish, Yves spoke. "Xenia Quade. Twenty-three years old. Five foot five. Weighs ninety-four and a half pounds. "Allergic to mangoes. Laughs a lot. Loves the water. Doesn't like sleeping alone at night..." The words rolled off his tongue as if he'd rehearsed them in his head a thousand times. I froze, swallowing the rest of my sentence. One of our friends laughed and teased him. "Look at you. You've gotten way better." "What about your girlfriend? You must know her inside and out by now, right?" My heart gave a jolt. Slowly, I looked up. Yves stared at me, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper. "Sarah Cole." That was all he managed. I waited, still hoping he would say something else, but he only gave me an apologetic look and nodded. "Sorry. I don't remember." Everyone else was busy praising how much he'd improved. I was the only one who felt exhaustion seep into every part of me. Yves and I had known each other for twenty-three years. We'd been together for seven, and our wedding was next week. Yet he couldn't even get my name right. This time, I wasn't going to correct him.

During the World Cup finals, I brought soup to my husband at his office as he was working overtime. When I arrived outside the screening room of his office, I heard his new assistant, Jodie Lenford, asking with a laugh, "Mr. Hayes, don't you always tell us that Mrs. Hayes watches every World Cup match with you? Why did you leave her alone at home tonight?" My husband, Tristan, was silent for a while before replying, "Every time she watches the match with me, she'll just lecture me about drinking less and going to bed early. It takes the joy out of everything." Jodie laughed again. "Let me accompany you tonight instead. I'll replace Mrs. Hayes for this duty." "You're just like her back when she was young and fiery." Tristan once told me that I would be the only one by his side during every finals match, but I watched as he gently placed the sports jersey I had carefully picked for him years ago over the shoulders of another woman. Jodie asked, "Won't Mrs. Hayes be mad if she finds out about this?" Tristan laughed. "She's learned her lesson. She won't make a huge fuss like she did before." That was when loud cheering erupted from the screen. I stood in the dark as I suddenly realized that some matches would end with me being benched before the starting whistle was even blown.

I’d been Albert’s Luna for ten years. Everyone said we were the perfect fated pair. That day, he held me close and said softly, “Grace, I’ve planned a seven-day trip for you down south. You need to relax.” I found it strange. Albert was fiercely possessive; I’d never been away from him for more than three days. It wasn't until I overheard our pup, Leo, asking him, “Dad, are you and Auntie Maria going to be mates? What about Mom?” Maria. Albert’s childhood sweetheart. Albert just chuckled. “It’s just for show. Auntie Maria lost her mate. As her Alpha, I have a duty to look after her.” Then his voice dropped. “Be a good boy, Leo, and keep this a secret. Don’t tell your mom, and I’ll buy you that toy you wanted.” I heard everything, but I didn’t confront him. Instead, I called my former mentor, the Director of the Institute for Ancient Lycan Bloodlines. “About your earlier offer… I’m accepting it. I’ll be at the Southern Pack in three days.” Then, I sent a message to the pack’s Head Elder: “I'm formally rejecting our mate bond.”

After his eighteenth failed attempt to divorce me, Jesse Pellam suddenly stopped bringing it up. Before that, every single attempt had ended in complete humiliation and chaos. I had harmed myself, threatened to jump from a building, and plastered the company lobby with intimate photos of him and his female assistant, Gianna Seyfert. At a press conference, I had even publicly stripped Gianna, leaving her with PTSD. Jesse had every reason to despise me; however, he never mentioned divorcing me again. He came home on time every day and gave me full access to his phone. He checked in with me every hour to update me on his whereabouts. Even during his business trips, we stayed connected through video calls around the clock. But I still could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. Every day, I pressed him for an answer, asking why he no longer wanted a divorce. “Haven’t I done enough?” he asked. Yes, he was better than ever, almost too good to be true. It was not until he caught me following him again that he finally admitted the truth. With exhaustion evident in his eyes, he said, “I received a phone call from my future self, ten years from now. He told me that if I divorced you, I would regret it.”

My mafia boyfriend, Silas Vale, didn’t recognize me when I dragged myself back to him after being tortured and shot by his rival gang. He was too busy holding Amy—his childhood sweetheart—in his arms. “Get this woman away from me,” he snapped at his guard. “Amy’s afraid of blood.” I’d lost so much blood I genuinely thought I might die that night. But luckily, a stranger passed by and rushed me to the hospital. When I finally recovered enough to walk, I went home—only to find Silas there, completely unconcerned about the fact that I had disappeared for almost a week. And Amy was there too. Her clothes were scattered across the floor. I didn’t confront Silas or say anything. I just pulled out my phone and called my brother. “You said you are moving to Italy? I’m coming with you.” If Silas couldn’t cherish me the way he was supposed to… then I’d vanish from his world for good this time.

On the day the company goes public, my CEO wife, Stacy Levine, rewards everyone. She even makes an exception for her male assistant, Zack Lowe. She promotes Zack and gives him a raise. But when it comes to me, she throws a stack of papers in my face and treats me like I'm worthless. Everyone thinks I'm about to be fired, so they all rush to suck up to Zack. Only I, standing there with my head lowered in silence, know that Stacy is cheering inside. "Jacob looks so cute when he's jealous and upset! He has no idea I'm planning to promote him to vice president. He'll probably be so touched that he'll cry!" What she doesn't know is that I have a surprise waiting for her, too. I'm planning to divorce her and take up a job with her biggest rival.

Today is Morgan Franklin's 30th birthday. It also marks the day he brings up divorce in front of me for the 99th time. He doesn't sound guilty and tentative anymore, unlike his demeanor when he mentioned divorce for the first time. Instead, he has a cigarette dangling between his lips while looking at me mockingly. "I've already called the ambulance for you, Milana. Have you thought about how you're going to commit suicide this time? Are you slitting your wrist or overdosing on pills?" Everyone in the private room bursts out laughing. "I bet she's going down the sleeping pill route! She did that the last time, and she had to get her stomach pumped for three hours!" "Hell no! She's definitely jumping off a building this time! But she'll just wait for the firemen to lay out the safety mat before pretending to jump! She's not going to die at all!" "Nah… Ms. Brook is very creative when it comes to suicide. Every time she commits suicide, she always uses a different method!" Everyone is curious as to which suicide method I will use in order to get Morgan to stay this time. But when I notice the smiles on everyone's faces, I suddenly feel exhaustion weighing down on my soul. The anger that has been sustaining me for so long finally dissipates. I lower my gaze before stating calmly, "I'm not doing any of that. This time, I shall grant you your freedom."

To avoid being the topic of gossip, I could only use disposable items every time I went to my girlfriend, Erica Livingston's, house. She made me use disposable slippers in her house, and disposable utensils when we had our meals. Even when I stayed the night, she prepared disposable sheets for me. "If someone saw any of your things at my house, I wouldn't know how to explain it," she would tell me every time. "I'll get you everything you deserve once we go public." I waited three years for that to happen, and I had to enter her house every time as if I was a guest. This continued until one day, when she held a birthday party for her assistant, Ryan Strobe, at her house. When I opened the door, I saw Ryan taking out their matching house slippers from the shoe cabinet in her house. Erica's best friends arrived next and wore all of the other disposable house slippers available at her house. I was left standing by myself at the door. "You can come in barefoot. It's not cold in the summer," Erica said to me without looking up. It felt like she was calling out to a stranger to enter her house. I stared at the table, full of food, from afar, with utensils printed with Ryan's favorite anime character. In the far corner was a pair of cheap, disposable utensils that belonged to me, and I suddenly felt like everything I had with her was disposable as well. It was time that this love that was buried deep in secret should also be disposable to me, and I should throw it away now that I was done with it.

After I finished my kidney follow-up, I sent Vivian Marsh, my wife, a message. [My wound hurts after a whole day's worth of checkups.] She only sent a reply half an hour later. [What do you mean by that? Are you asking me to cover the cost of your follow-up?] I stared at the words and could not wrap my head around them for a long time. John Howard, Vivian's first love, had run off with all her savings when she was at her lowest and taken up with a wealthy woman. From that moment on, she hated men who spent women's money. In order to show that I was not a freeloader, we always split the bill over the course of our six-year relationship. We paid for our own food and covered the cost of our house by splitting it 50/50. I did not ask her to pay a single cent for all the follow-up fees after I injured my kidney saving her years ago. But in the next second, I saw John's Instagram post. In the screenshot, he showed a catalogue for a limited-edition racecar and tagged Vivian. [Pick a color you like. Do you want exclusive rights to the front passenger seat? Then, send me a cash gift—at least seven figures.] Underneath was Vivian's bank transfer record. It was a total of 3,000,000 dollars. She replied with a smiling emoji, [If you hadn't left six years ago, you wouldn't have needed to ask me for this bit of money.] So, it was not that she hated men asking her for money. She simply hated me spending her money. I put the follow-up report into my bag and sent a message to Peter Jackson, my lawyer. [Please draft a divorce agreement for me.] We'd been keeping score since our very first meal together. It was about time for me to settle the last bill too.

After remarrying Odette Fairbanks, Ezra Whitlock turns into the perfect husband, one who no longer checks up on her or gets jealous. He no longer wakes up early to make her a balanced breakfast, and he no longer shows up at the hospital right on time with a home-cooked lunch for her. Even when he finds a box of ultra-thin condoms on her passenger seat, he quietly puts it away for her and pretends he hasn't seen it. Odette, however, begins to panic and starts volunteering the very explanations she's always been too proud to give.

Wendy Lloyd's first love, Hudson Clark, treats me like a walking blood bank. Because of that, I end up dying in the rented apartment Wendy has given to me out of contemptuous pity. Today is the third day of my death. My six-year-old son, Terry Heath, finally realizes that something is wrong with me. When he accidentally cuts his finger from playing with his toys, I don't coax him at all. When he tears open a pack of cookies and feeds one to me, I don't stop him at all. When he lies in my arms and grips me by the hem of my shirt while calling out to me softly, I don't respond to him at all. Feeling rather uneasy, Terry finds my phone and calls Wendy. "Mommy, why is Daddy still asleep?" Wendy responds by sending a photo of her and Hudson enjoying a holiday feast together. She then says coldly, "He's just asleep, not dead. Today is Christmas Eve, so I'm very busy right now. "Tell that arrogant father of yours that he's only free to visit me whenever he's ready to acknowledge his mistakes." After that, the call ends. Terry is left feeling stunned for a long time. Finally, he digs out the last cookie from the trash can and snaps it in half. Then, he feeds it to me again. "Daddy, let's eat."

As I casually opened the online forum, a trending post at the top caught my eye. [Share the wildest thing you’ve ever done.] I clicked on the second comment, which seemed to contain just one line. [Without a doubt, it was the night before my buddy’s wedding when I had his wife come over for a “quality check.”] However, the poster kept adding to the thread. [That night, the woman tricked that idiot into thinking it was a bachelorette party, but she actually spent the whole night at my place. [She said she didn’t want to sleep with just one man forever and needed one last wild night before tying the knot. [By the end of the night, her throat was nearly raw from all the screaming. [We kept going until sunrise, right there in the wedding car her husband was supposed to pick her up later that day.] [Not only that, but even after they got married, this fool kept bringing his wife over to my place for dinner. [He’d help me in the kitchen while I pinned his wife against the fridge and kissed her. [He’d be glued to the game in the living room while his wife knelt in the bathroom and took care of me. [One time, when he passed out drunk on my couch, his wife and I had our own fun on the carpet beside him. [Every time he rolled over, we’d both jump. It was the thrill of knowing we could get caught at any moment.] The image loaded, revealing the familiar interior of the wedding car. The lucky charm I had given my wife dangled from the rearview mirror. My fingers momentarily stiffened, and I nearly dropped my phone. A wave of nausea rolled in my stomach as a chill crept up my spine. Just then, a hand appeared in my field of vision, waving in front of me. “Calvin, what are you zoning out for? You’re at my place, and you’re still on your phone. Come on. Dig in while it’s hot.” Wyatt Preston, my friend, grinned at me. Yet, his eyes kept straying toward my wife, Queenie Jennings, who was sitting beside me.

On our engagement day, my fiancee, Lucille Perry, had her childhood best friend, Derek Miller, show up with a box of handmade cookies as a gift. Out of basic courtesy, I picked one up and took a bite. Derek and a few of his buddies burst out laughing. "This mama's boy can't even recognize his own mother's ashes!" My stomach churned violently. Shocked and furious, I lunged at him to throw a punch, but Lucille desperately held me back. Derek looked at me smugly and grinned. "Since you already ate it, why don't you tell everyone how your mom tastes?" I was so angry that I kicked him right in the face. However, Lucille turned around and slapped me hard across the cheek. "Spencer Bourdain, is this really necessary? Can't you take a joke? Eating a little bit of ashes won't kill you. Look at how petty you're being!" My heart went completely numb. I quietly pulled out my phone and sent a message to a certain number. [The wedding reception is ready. All we need now is you, the bride-to-be.]

My husband, Jonathan Rivers, was a notorious playboy in Polesburg's elite circles. Beautiful women surrounded him constantly, yet he claimed to have fallen for me at first sight, saying it was a love that would last forever. He dismissed all the other women around him for my sake. Everyone said I was his destined soulmate. Seven years into our marriage, I had seven abortions for him, simply because he said he did not like children. Then on Father's Day, I saw him on his secretary's social media feed. The same man who claimed to be away on business was there with a child beside him, calling him "Daddy" loudly. It turned out that when he said he did not like children, he meant that he did not like children with me. I dialed his number through tears. "Do you want another wife?"

My husband was a senior military officer and a hardcore military fanatic. When I went into labor and my life was at risk, I begged him to sign the consent form for an emergency C-section. Instead, he looked at me coldly and asked, “What’s the maximum cruising speed of a Boeing 747? Answer correctly, and I’ll sign.” Later, my body tore from the prolonged labor, and our son suffocated to death. He said calmly, as if reciting a fact, “One thousand one hundred and twenty-seven kilometers per hour. Remember that?” At that moment, I looked at his indifferent expression and realized that I no longer loved him. With that, I left behind the divorce papers and disappeared from his life. “Felix, the military-illiterate wife you were ashamed of will never come back.”

Since I married Hank Frost seven years ago, I have never gotten pregnant. He never blamed me, however, and would always visit the temple to pray for me. When he returned, he would bring home a new orphan, saying that it was to build good karma. However, when the fifth orphan pushed me down the stairs and broke my leg, I overheard Hank arguing with Josh Graham, who sounded at once disapproving. "Don't you think you've gone too far? Making Yvie Stark raise the five children you had with Sue Lynd? You're not worried she'd throw a fit when she finds out?" As my breath left my lungs while my mind went blank, Hank was twirling his prayer beads nonchalantly. "So what if she does? She should be thanking me for giving her the chance of being a mother." "Maybe she had her reasons…" Josh suggested gingerly. "Shut up!" Hank suddenly snapped icily. "She deserved it! All of it! She was the one who duped me into marrying her even though she was barren!"

On the day we were supposed to get our marriage license, the groom's name was swapped out. The woman my boyfriend was now promised to—the pampered mafia princess nestled in his arms—looked at me with a triumphant smile. "Isn't it perfect?" she sneered. "A fraud of a bride for a fake heir. What a match." I ignored her and turned to the man I loved. This was the man who endured three days of brutal punishment just for the right to marry me, when the Rossi family first acknowledged him as their true heir. Now, he just nodded along with her. "Don't be so dramatic. It's a joke. You're not actually mad, are you? It's just a piece of paper. Once Sienna's had her fun, you two get a divorce, and then it'll be our turn. I promise." I smiled. Then I turned and walked straight to the so-called "fake" heir. "The marriage license is filed, honey," I said. "Let's go plan our real wedding."

Tony Gambino never forgave me. His childhood sweetheart died saving my life, and for seven years, his hatred was a constant, silent burn. I fasted. I prayed. I begged for absolution. He met my penance with a cold sneer. "I'll only forgive you when you're dead." The words were a knife to the heart. So why, when we were both poisoned, did he shove the only antidote down my throat? As the poison claimed him, blood trickling from his lips, he choked out his last words, "Scarlett... in our next life, let's never meet." Later, I tried to visit his grave. His sworn brother and Consigliere, Richard Bruno, blocked my path. He pressed a gun to my forehead. "I don't know how you have the nerve to show your face here, Scarlett. He'd be alive if he hadn't saved you. "I should never have let him give up Elma for you. You're a curse. Everyone who gets close to you gets destroyed." Their eyes were unanimous in their blame. And they were right. So I watched his gravesite from a distance, my own guilt a heavier stone than any marker. Not long after, I was killed in a gang crossfire. When I opened my eyes, I was seven years in the past. This time, I made a different choice: I let Tony go—so that everyone might live.