เรื่องสั้นแนว Feel-Good Story และนิยาย Mistress Cheating

When Chloe said yes to my proposal, I could hear her thoughts. ‘Once Gavin finds out I’m marrying Owen, he’ll regret breaking up with me, right?’ That was when I realized she had only agreed to be with me to get back at her ex. What I thought was mutual love had been a joke from the very beginning. In the end, I decided to give Chloe the one thing she had always dreamed of—a grand wedding beyond comparison. On the wedding day, the moment she saw that I was not the groom, she panicked...

After finishing work overseas, I rush to catch a flight home for my wedding. Unfortunately, the plane crashes. When Rachel Lindt hears the news, she frantically calls me over and over. I'm trapped beneath the wreckage, unable to move. The calls keep going to voicemail. "I don't care how much it costs. Find Sebastian no matter what." For a moment, I'm touched by how much she seems to love me. Then, I hear the rest of what she says. "Once you find him, transplant his heart into Cameron Zink. He doesn't have much time left." "But Ms. Lindt, Mr. Yarrow's leg is broken. He needs surgery immediately, or he'll be permanently disabled." Rachel replies coldly, "No. Cameron's surgery comes first. We can't delay it. Besides..." Her voice grows even colder as she continues, "It'll be easier to control him if he's disabled. When I bring my son home in the future, he won't dare say a word." Lying only a short distance away from my phone, I can't stop the tears that stream down my face. So the marriage I've looked forward to for ten years is nothing more than an act. And I'm nothing more than a tool. But later, because of this very tool, Rachel personally cuts Cameron's heart out.

When the news of my husband's death reached me, I was seven months pregnant. My vision went black, and I fainted on the spot. When I opened my eyes again, a childish voice shouted in my head, "Mommy, wake up! Scumbag Daddy tricked you! He's not dead! He's with his mistress who's about to steal your identity!" I was stunned. The voice angrily spoke again, "The head of the Shaw family from the capital is your biological brother. Today, Scumbag Daddy is going to let his mistress take your place as his long-lost sister! Then, he and his mistress will conspire to kill you, and my brother and I will be sold off. To protect me, my brother will get his legs broken by human traffickers in the future and starve to death!" The child's heartbreaking cry jolted me awake from my grief like a bucket of ice water. I thought it was a hallucination, but then I heard the voice of an unfamiliar man in the living room. "Mr. Shaw, this is Miss Alice Woods. She's the long-lost sister that you've been looking for for twenty years!"

On the day I had acute heart failure, the hospital issued several critical condition notices in a row. While I was still conscious, my attending physician told me to call my family and say my last words. On instinct, I dialed Julia Mars, but no one picked up for a long time. It wasn't until later that I found a "private arrangement" contract posted on her alt social media account. The terms spelled out her decade-long friends-with-benefits relationship with her childhood friend, Ken Cohen. Her best friend commented under the post with congratulations: [Not bad, Counselor Mars, finally ready to go public with your little childhood buddy. If your husband finds out, you think he'll have a heart attack from the shock?] Julia replied, completely unfazed: [He won't die. And even if he finds out, so what? The doctors didn't dare tell him that his heart is useless. He needs a transplant. That requires a fortune, and he can't get by without me.] I spent a full week in the ICU clawing my way back from death's door. And in those seven short days, every last bit of love I had for her burned away to nothing.

Our son's birthday celebration had just come to an end when my wife of seven years smiled and asked, "What do you think about one wife having two husbands?" "What?" I stared at her, certain I had misheard. Before I could make sense of the question, my half-brother walked in, holding a three-year-old boy’s hand. I was still trying to process what was happening when Nancy leaned back with casual ease. "I asked them to come." She reached down and took the little boy's hand, her smile impossibly gentle. "Let me introduce you. This is my son with Julian. "He was born the year you were stationed overseas to manage the Scott family's branch office." The words made my mind explode, leaving it completely blank. She calmly revealed the truth. She and Julian had been together for four years. "I know you've always blamed Julian for your father's death. “I suffered through hiding them for four years out of consideration for you." Her gaze never wavered. "I don’t want them living in the shadows anymore. I want them here by my side." I struggled to stay on my feet, my voice trembling as I forced out the words. "What are you saying?" Nancy raised a hand and gently brushed her fingertips beneath my reddened eyes. "I just want you to be a little more generous. Don't interfere when I spend every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday with them." After a brief pause, she added matter-of-factly, "Or you can divorce me, but our son will stay with me." She smiled as though she were discussing nothing more important than the weather. "I just don't care about you anymore. Even if our son stays with me, I can't promise I'll take good care of him." Ignoring the color draining from my face, she looked at me indifferently. "So… "Have you decided which option to choose?"

Our wedding was canceled again and again because Lynn’s childhood friend kept pretending to commit suicide. I was humiliated in front of relatives and friends, and my mother was so angered that she repeatedly fainted and was hospitalized. Lynn Wensley was filled with regret and anger, even swearing, “If I ever run off with that bastard again, I’ll die a terrible death.” I believed her. However, when I finally gathered the courage to stand in the center of the crowd again, Kyle Lane barged into the wedding wearing a blood-stained suit. As a doctor, I recognized at a glance that it was fake blood dye, but when I grabbed Lynn to explain, she slapped me hard and knocked me to the ground. “Someone is dying and you’re still trying to stop me? Are you even human? If anything happens to him, you’ll all pay for it!” Then, she ran after him without looking back. My mother suffered a sudden heart attack from the shock and died in my arms. Meanwhile, Lynn was celebrating Kyle’s safety with fireworks above the city sky. After I finished handling my mother’s funeral, I received a text from her: [Trust me, there won’t be a next time.] My face was pale, but I felt nothing. There was no anger or sadness. There really would not be a next time. It was completely the end for us.

"I've been assigned to work out of town for a year, Hunter, but we'll finally be able to buy a house once I return," Queenie Sorenson, my newlywed wife, says. She then moves her paralyzed grandfather, Oscar Sorenson, and her younger brother, Adam Sorenson, straight into our rental apartment after telling me that. She looks at me and says, "I'll have to trouble you to take care of Grandpa and Adam." She leaves in a hurry after that. I have taken care of Oscar's daily needs entirely on my own and handled dropping off and picking up Adam from kindergarten since that day, working around the clock. Queenie goes from frequently sending messages to check in on me to claiming she is too swamped with work to have any free time, rarely even calling. I finally make it through the year, but Queenie sends me a message, saying, "I'm still not done with my work, so I might need to stay for another year." It isn't until Adam's birthday that I find a message from Queenie on his smartwatch. "Joseph and I will pick you up at the usual spot on Friday to celebrate your birthday. You can just tell Hunter that you're sleeping over at a classmate's house Friday night and won't be home. You have to make sure he doesn't catch on." I realize then that Queenie's supposed out-of-town assignment has actually always been within the city.

Amanda Gordon, my girlfriend, could never get quantities right. She always purchased one extra of everything. On our dates, she always ordered for three. “Oops, I ordered too much. Why don’t we invite Kevin too?” On my birthday, she bought two gifts. “Oops, I bought one too many. Why don’t we give it to Kevin?” After a while, I grew used to it and simply accepted that as my new normal. On the day of our wedding attire fitting, Amanda suddenly reached out and stopped me. “Leigh, the suit I designed for you is over there. This one is for the best man. I had it made for Kevin.” I looked up at the best man’s suit in front of me. It was sharply tailored, with clean, structured lines and tiny silver crystals set into the collar. The groom’s suit she had left for me, meanwhile, was plain, wrinkled, and stained. I finally decided to leave her at that moment. She had given the only bespoke suit she could commission to Kevin Burg. There was nothing left in this relationship worth holding on to. I quietly looked at my phone and sent a message to my former professor, Lawrence Hindle, who lived far away in Westmere. [Dr. Hindle, does your institute still have an opening for me?]

I have a secret. When I touch someone, I see the face of the person they love most. Since Natalie moved in next door when we were seven, I always saw myself in her heart. At eighteen, when she held my hand—it was me. At twenty-two, when she proposed—it was me. On our wedding night, when she kissed me—it was still me. On the morning of our third anniversary, I fixed the hem of her dress. My fingers grazed her ankle. Out of habit, I closed my eyes. This time, I saw two faces. Mine. And some guy I'd never seen before. That night, Natalie's phone lit up. [Thanks for spending today with me, Natalie.] Twenty-one years. A hundred thousand touches. And for the first time, I was wrong.

My son, Leo Hayes, is the city's top SAT scorer. He dies in a horrific accident while working a part‑time job, his body left broken beyond recognition. And on the night he takes his last breath, his mother and my wife, Madeline Shaw, stands beneath chandeliers, toasting the graduation of her childhood friend Jeffrey Locke's son, Melvin Locke. For 18 years, Madeline spends everything we earn on Melvin's medical bills, and our debts soar past the million mark. To hold our family together, I grind through 14-hour days every day, while Leo shoulders five jobs after school. But on his way to a shift, Leo is mangled in a terrible crash. The impact fractures his skull and rips open his abdomen. He is bleeding out, and the doctors say he needs a huge amount of money, fast, to save him. "Dad, I'm done fighting. I just want to see Mom," Leo begs, clinging to his last breath. I call Madeline over a hundred times in desperation, but she never answers. When I rush to her workplace, I find her hosting a graduation party for someone else's son. "A beachfront villa from Mrs. Hayes, in recognition of Melvin's brilliant results." "A high-end sports car, as a token for a future filled with success." "And an unlimited black card, to safeguard his health and happiness forever." From the edge of the crowd, I watch Madeline and Jeffrey locked in an embrace under the lights, and I dial her number for the 101st time. "Leo wants to see you one last time." "Lucas, I'm in the middle of something. Just be patient and stay with Leo. I'll be there soon." Before I can say another word, the line goes dead. I lower the phone and look up at the stage. "Madeline, our son is done waiting for you, and so am I."

At our engagement party, my fiancée said, "Even if I marry you, my heart will always belong to my first love." The room went dead silent. Everyone waited for me to snap and storm out in humiliation. Instead, I clapped first. Smiling, I said, "If marrying me makes you that miserable, I won't stop you. Just don't forget to pay back the wedding money I gave you." My fiancée panicked on the spot.

My wife, Elena Clifford, is mentally weak. Although just the sound of my breathing irritates her when we sleep, she can sleep soundly next to her boy toy, Chris Olson, even when he's playing an out-of-tune melody on his guitar. I ask for a divorce after watching Elena and Chris flirt with each other in a video. "Why are you causing a fuss when I'm just sleeping?" Elena asks with a disdainful sneer. "You have no idea how much better my life would be if I got rid of a burden like you." I look at her coldly and reply, "Of course. The best has yet to come for you."

My wife and I had agreed to spend the holiday at my parents' house. Right before we walked out the door, she said, "I forgot to change my address again. The package was delivered to Grant's place!" I went still. Three years of marriage, and yet she had never once updated her default shipping address. A microwave she ordered online was delivered to her ex-boyfriend. She said it worked out, since his microwave was broken anyway. The anniversary gift she had picked out for me was signed for by her ex-boyfriend. She said it would be too awkward to ask for it back. The Valentine's Day gift she ordered for me online ended up in her ex-boyfriend's hands. She said she could not give me something secondhand, so she let him keep it. This time, she was ordering a holiday gift basket, and I had reminded her two weeks in advance. It still went to her ex-boyfriend. I kept my voice as steady as I could. "Go get it back. Drive over there right now." Her expression darkened. "He already signed for it. How am I supposed to get it back? We'll just pick something up on the way." "Get it back," I said. "Do you have to be so petty?" she snapped. "You're a grown man. You always have to make such a big deal out of everything." Every time something ended up at her ex-boyfriend's place and I asked her to get it back, that was the answer I got. My hands clenched until the knuckles went white as I watched her slam the door on her way out. I ignored the dull ache in my chest and sent a message to my lawyer. "Happy holidays. Could you please draft a divorce agreement for me? Thank you."

The day my parents travel thousands of miles to discuss our wedding, Teresa Harper and her family have yet to show up. After my third call goes straight to voicemail, Mom smiles and reassures me. "They're probably just stuck in traffic. It's fine, your dad and I can wait." Except we wait for three hours. My parents' expressions slowly shift from bright anticipation to quiet heartache. Dad tugs at his ill-fitting blazer for the 100th time. Finally, his eyes well up, and his voice cracks as he asks, "Colin… does it really have to be her? "We're just simple country folks. We know we don't have much, and we're nothing compared to city folks. We even agreed when they asked you to be their live-in son-in-law. "I don't want to break you two up. I'm just worried. You're thousands of miles away from home out here. If things get bad down the road, your mom and I… won't be able to just rush over and comfort you." Digging my fingernails into my palms, I force a smile and help them up from their seats. "Dad, Mom, let's go home. The wedding is off."

When my dad, Jake Snow, is on his deathbed, his final wish is to meet my girlfriend of eight years. I call Nancy Miller 67 times, but she doesn't bother picking up. Only after Dad passed away did she finally send a half-hearted text message. "We're in lockdown mode for the project. I can't leave now. Once things ease up, I'll definitely visit Mr. Snow." I hold Dad's hand that has gone cold. My fingers tremble as I type, "Sure." That very night, I come across a video. Nancy is clad in a red dress at a riverside restaurant overlooking the river. She is holding a cake, standing beside another man. The caption reads, "Four years after graduation, I finally get to stand beside you again. Happy birthday, Sean." Everyone is busy congratulating them in the comment section. I even recognize some of the names. Someone asks, "Are Nancy and Sean finally getting their happy ending?" I stare at the screen, my heart clenching like someone's squeezing it from the inside. Then I reply, "Yeah, I guess so. I just didn't know I was the one left out until now."

After Dad’s affair, Mom began sprinkling flour into his underwear every day. “That way, it’s clean, and I can see the truth,” she murmured. Her face was deathly pale. Dad always stood by the bed with his head lowered, letting her do as she pleased. When he left the bedroom, he would catch my worried gaze and give me a gentle smile. “Ellie, your mom’s sick. She’s just playing a game with me.” However, that day, Dad was leaving for an out-of-town business trip. While packing, he quietly pulled out the flour-dusted pair and replaced it with a clean one. The moment Mom saw it, she snapped. She rushed over and grabbed his suitcase. “Why did you switch it?” she shrieked. “Are you going to see that divorced receptionist from your company again? Even after I marked it with flour, you still want to fool around with her. Aren’t you afraid something will go wrong down there?” Dad stumbled as she tugged at him. At last, he shoved her away. “I’m going to the hot springs resort to meet a client. How am I supposed to show up like this? Can’t you stop being so paranoid all the time?” Mom staggered back into the wardrobe, and her tears instantly spilled out. “If you weren’t so desperate that you’d go after anyone, even a woman with a child, I wouldn’t be so paranoid.” Dad’s face flushed with anger. “At least Jocelyn’s child was her ex-husband’s, unlike you, who expected me to raise the spawn of the man who assaulted you. If I’d been pickier, I never would’ve married you!” A sudden clap of thunder cracked outside. Mom went still, and she slowly lowered her outstretched hand. I curled up in the corner of the couch as tears slid down my face. I knew then that Mom had truly reached her breaking point.

After five years together, my fiancé, Michael Lynham, finally landed a promotion. I went all out. I hand-arranged his favorite champagne roses and spent my last $8,000 on a Rolex. Then his text popped up. [Eunice, work sent me on a last-minute business trip. No need to celebrate.] My heart squeezed. He was working this hard for us. I hit the video call. Declined. [I'm in a meeting. Try to understand.] Then a Porsche rolled up outside my shop. A woman rushed in, fixing her lipstick. "Do you have any ready-made bouquets for a guy? Something cute. I'm celebrating with my boyfriend." She started a video call. Michael picked up instantly. "Michael! I'm almost downstairs. Is our candlelight dinner ready?" "Babe, I skipped a work meeting to cook all your favorites." Their laughter poured through the screen. My stomach dropped. My ears rang. Everything went blurry. I stared at the guy who was supposedly "in a meeting." He wasn't on a business trip. He was spending the night with his new girlfriend. "Hello? Do you have one or not? I'm in a hurry." I swallowed the lump in my throat, turned away, slipped off my engagement ring, and dropped it in the trash. Then I pointed to the bouquet I'd arranged in the corner. "Yeah. That one's ready. 200 bucks."

As the heir to a bloodline of diagnostic empaths, I was born with an extraordinary gift. The instant my fingers made contact with a patient’s skin, I could hear every organ speak its mind. When I examined a drunkard, his liver had screamed from inside him, “Half a bottle of whiskey and two beers every day! Look at me! I’m so dark and shriveled, I practically look like beef jerky soaked in bourbon!” When I examined a woman who had been struggling to conceive, her uterus had lamented, “Her husband’s swimmers can barely move, yet he has the nerve to blame me for not doing my job?” One night, after returning from a business trip, I accidentally touched Andy Croft’s wrist while pulling the blanket over him. A weak voice immediately came from his kidneys. “I’m running on fumes here. Three times a day, every day, for two straight weeks. Even a machine would have broken down by now!” His heart chimed in right after. “Every time he receives a check-in call, I start pounding so hard from panic that I feel like I could break through his ribs!” His skin was even more indignant. “That awful woman really went wild with her nails! His back looks like he lost a fight with a wildcat. She even bit him on the shoulder. Does she have a thing for biting?” My hands shook as I pulled back Andy’s collar. A fresh bite mark stood out clearly on his shoulder. That same night, I called a number I had not dialed in years. “You once made me an offer long ago. I accept.”

I discover that my wife's stepbrother has secretly swapped the IVF sample I had stored at the hospital. But I pretend not to know and let my wife give birth to a son. I raise their child as if he's my own. Years later, I mold him into a business prodigy and even transfer all of my company's shares to him. At the company's celebration dinner, my wife's stepbrother suddenly produces a paternity test in front of everyone and says to me, "Jon is my biological son. Give him back to me." I smile calmly. "Take him then."

Five years ago, I was nearly killed in a car accident while saving my mother-in-law. My injuries were so severe that I spent years abroad undergoing treatment and rehabilitation. The moment I landed back home, I ran into my former college roommate, Vanessa Caldwell. She and her designer-clad friends looked me up and down with open disgust. "Gianna Lott?" Vanessa stared at me. "Is that really you?" One of her friends covered her mouth and giggled. "Vanessa, why does your old roommate look like she just got out of cleaning the airport bathrooms?" Vanessa waved a hand, pretending to defend me. "Don't be rude. Then again, Gianna's mother was a housekeeper..." She paused dramatically before giving me a fake, apologetic smile. "Oh my God, Gianna. I'm so sorry. Was I not supposed to mention that?" I had no interest in entertaining them. I turned to leave, but Vanessa stepped directly into my path. "By the way, my son's first birthday party is tomorrow," she said. "We haven't seen each other in years. You absolutely have to come." I rejected, "No, thanks. I'm not interested." Her friend's expression immediately darkened. "Don't be so ungrateful. Do you even know who Vanessa married?" She leaned closer, her voice dripping with superiority. "Her husband is the heir to the most powerful family in Crownmere. Someone like you could live 10 lifetimes and still never get close to a man like him." Another woman tittered meanly. "Just look at her. She probably doesn't even own a proper dress. Gianna, should I donate one of my old ones to you?" Vanessa raised a hand, putting on another performance. "That's enough." Then, she looked at me with exaggerated pity. "Gianna, I never imagined your life would turn out this badly." She sighed. "For old times' sake, I can arrange a catering job for you at the party. You'll earn a little money and get a glimpse of how the upper class lives." Before I could refuse, she shoved an invitation into my hand. I was about to throw it away when the name listed under "Father of the Birthday Boy" caught my eye and my breath hitched. It was my husband's name, Alexander Whitmore.