Tragic Love Short Stories & Mistress Regret Novels

Clarice and Kyle both followed the same travel vlogger. I didn’t think anything of the situation since the three of us had been friends since high school. The strange thing was that they had a private group chat that didn’t include me. I only found out because Kyle accidentally sent a message in our group chat. “I got us a table reservation at that restaurant for Sunday. Don’t be late.” It took less than a second before the text was deleted. I asked, “What restaurant? Let’s go together.” Kyle typed back, “Oops. Wrong chat. I’m having dinner with a colleague.” Clarice stayed silent throughout. It took some time, but I started connecting the dots. Whenever the three of us had something planned, one of them would cancel at the last minute. Previously, Clarice said she’d get the tickets for the music festival, but somehow, she could only secure two. Those went to her and Kyle. During our last camping trip, Kyle said that he only managed to borrow two sets of gear. When I offered to rent my own, Kyle brushed me off, saying that it was just too much of a hassle and that there was always a next time. That same weekend, Kyle and Clarice posted photos from that exact campsite, twenty minutes apart. For six months, I convinced myself that I was just unlucky. Looking back now, I realized that I had been singled out. So I left the group chat. No explanations. No accusations. I muted notifications from travel apps, ticketing apps, and restaurant bookings. Then, I booked a solo trip to Lake Tahoe, a ticket with no refund and no amendment allowed.

The third time I caught my wife in bed with another man, I lost the ability to speak. Out of guilt, Helena spent a month teaching me to communicate with one and two. One meant yes. Two meant no. Whatever Helena said to me, if it had anything to do with Felix Danner, the answer was always one. She said Felix was in poor health and wanted to borrow the protective locket my mother left me. I answered one without hesitating. She wanted to push back our anniversary so Felix could have his birthday first. One. Even when she wanted to move the injured Felix into our house, I still answered one. And I packed my things and gave up the primary bedroom for him. Then I took our wedding portrait down off the wall. Her eyes filled and she caught my hand and wouldn't let go. "Simon, you told me that portrait never comes down unless we're divorced. Are you telling me you want a divorce?" She saw the one already forming on my mouth. Helena came apart and started screaming at me. "Simon, don't you dare say one. There is nothing wrong with your vocal cords. You can talk. So talk to me!" A second later, afraid she'd frightened me, she gentled her voice. "Simon. Say two. Please say two." I pulled my hand free and looked at her, honestly puzzled. Had she forgotten what she signed the year she loved me most? Two chances if she was ever unfaithful. A third time, and the filing instructions and settlement went into effect on their own. They'd gone into effect a month earlier.

My CEO girlfriend, Stella Nielson, wants to groom me into the most loyal and perfect boyfriend for her. So, she freezes my bank accounts, and I'm forced to report all of my expenses to her. I comply because I love her. I ruin my health for the sake of her career development, and now, I have to rely on expensive medications to even stay alive. My doctor says that my condition has severely deteriorated, and I require immediate treatment. But when I can't even scrape together 15,000 dollars for the surgery and call Stella asking for a loan from her, she mocks me instead. "Seriously? A grown man like you, asking me for money? Have you no shame, Noah Mendoza? I'm having cash flow problems at the company right now. I don't have any money to lend to you." She tells me not to be unreasonable, but she goes ahead and celebrates her childhood sweetheart, Damon Hayes' birthday on social media in an ostentatious manner. She even purchases a 50-million-dollar villa for him and books a lavish cruise party for the entire night. This time, I don't beg her for the money anymore. Instead, I decide to just disappear from her life.

On the morning of my wedding, a man in a groom's suit showed up at my door. Before anyone could speak, he walked in and told my stylist to do his hair first. My groomsmen and I had no idea what was happening. When we asked who he was, he looked me up and down and smirked. "Meredith didn't tell you? I'm the groom today. You're not needed. You already got your name on the marriage certificate, right? Count your blessings and take the hint." I held it together and called Meredith Soames. Her voice on the other end was as gentle as ever, but it made my stomach turn. "I should've told you about Royce. But he was the one who was there for me when I had nothing. The marriage is yours. Your name's on the certificate. Just let him have the ceremony." That was when I realized that in the past five years, I had never truly seen her for what she was.

Halport's shipping tycoon is marrying off his daughter and making a high-profile scene by grandly parading 99 wedding ships across Lumina Harbor. Jeremy Sutton, my best friend, excitedly drags me over to watch the spectacle. I instinctively take a photo to send to my girlfriend, Hazel Shepherd. I suddenly see two familiar figures in my camera frame. Hazel, who is supposed to be working overtime, is wearing a diamond-encrusted satin wedding dress and holding the hand of her childhood friend, Chris Lussier, as they board the magnificent lead ship. I freeze for a moment, then angrily try to rush forward and confront them. But Jeremy grabs me and holds me back. "Chris has always been Hazel's fiance. You're just humiliating yourself if you walk over and cause a scene. "I feel so bad for Hazel, who pretended to be poor and stayed with you in that cramped apartment for eight years. I'm saying this as your best friend—show some self-respect and don't be a shameless homewrecker." I feel completely numb inside as the cold sea breeze brushes against my face. It turns out that the woman I have been with for eight years has been lying to me all along. Even Jeremy, my best friend, has known the truth all along and hides it from me. I suddenly receive a message from Hazel. "I just got off work and took on two more tutoring gigs, Sebastian. I'll work hard and save up the 12,000 dollars for the wedding fund soon. I'll then head back to your hometown to get married to you, Sebastian." I look at the wealthy heiress standing on the ship, finding the whole thing utterly ridiculous. "You don't have to do that anymore. Mom is telling me to return home for a blind date."

On New Year's Eve, I hurry home from abroad to surprise my wife, Moira Wesley, from whom I've kept my return a secret. But when I push open the front door of our home, I'm greeted by the sound of laughter and friendly chatter. Overcome with emotions, I enter the house to see Moira with a baby in her arms as she announces sweetly, "Today, we celebrate New Year's Eve and Beatrice's one-month birthday! Happy New Year, everyone!" Upon hearing my entrance, Moira glances over her shoulder, then turns and walks toward me. She grabs the mug of hot tea on the table and splashes it at me. "Who are you? How dare you trespass into a private residence on New Year's Eve?" I try to ignore the burning pain on the left side of my face as I grab Moira's arm, hoping she'll explain herself. However, she shrugs off my grip and gives me another hard slap. "Noah, call the police! Tell them a suspicious person broke into our home and is attempting to rob us!" After that, Moira winks at me, then turns with the baby in her arms and joins an older couple. "Francine, Eric, don't worry about that. It was someone irrelevant." I stand in place, watching as the large family has fun in the house that now seems so unfamiliar, and feel a sudden wave of emptiness wash over me.

A week before Christmas, I received a year-end report titled "My Business with Your Wife." [Item one: this year's goal was to sleep with your wife a hundred and fifty times. — Exceeded.] [Item two: get your wife to buy me a mansion and a luxury car. — Done.] [Item three: get your son to call me "Dad" ten times a day. — Exceeded.] [Item four: stand right in front of you and claim what's mine. — Done.] [Mr. Wolfe, I've been taking care of your wife and looking after your son too. So, are you going to give me a bonus, or step aside like a smart man?] He'd attached a photo, labeled it "family portrait." In it, Allyson Fowler had her arm looped through his, and my seven-year-old son stood in front of them. This guy was my son's kickboxing coach. Allyson walked in just as I finished reading that special year-end report. Nervous, she said to me, "Don't go looking for trouble with him. I was the one who made the first move. It's not his fault. Take it out on me any way you want, and I'll make it up to you however you ask." My blood ran cold. I just looked into her eyes and said, "I just want you to go back to how things used to be." Back to when she was broke, stuck in the mud with nothing. She misunderstood and let out a relieved breath. "Even with him around, I won't neglect you."

When I found out my wife was pregnant with her lover’s baby, I thought I’d lose my mind just like the first time I caught her cheating, smashing up the whole house like a lunatic. Instead, I looked at our antique vase and realized it was far too expensive to break over them. It just wasn't worth it. Later, walking past a bakery, I thought seeing her buying baby supplies with Joseph would ruin my appetite. Yet, to my surprise, the cake I bought tasted better than usual. Before going to bed, that familiar dark urge to swallow a handful of sleeping pills crept up on me again. I thought I was about to lose my mind and take the most drastic measures to get back at that despicable couple when my therapist sent a message, reminding me once more to go outside and get some fresh air. So, I headed south to soak in the sun and feel the ocean breeze. For twenty-seven whole days, I didn’t think about them once. That was until my wife, Sarah, called. “There are three days left in our divorce waiting period. Don’t forget to come back so we can finalize the paperwork. “Don’t worry, Daniel. This is just temporary. After I have the baby, we’ll remarry. You know you’re the only one I love.” Only after her reminder did I remember the divorce was even a thing. This time, though, I was exhausted. I didn’t want to play their games anymore. So, with the ocean breeze on my face, I said almost without thinking, “How about this time, we end it for good?”

After carrying my girlfriend, Vera Lane, to bed, she suddenly snuggles into my arms. "Your roommate seems pretty wild. Give me his number." I freeze and glance at her. She casually pulls the blanket over herself. "We're getting married sooner or later, but don't you think it's pretty boring to be with only one person forever? I don't want to sacrifice my freedom for you." I watch her for a long moment. Then, I push her hand away and nod. On the day I move out, she stands in the doorway, frowning in annoyance. "Yves, didn't we agree we could see other people? Why are you mad?" I pick up my suitcase. "Nope, that's not who I am." Soon, she gets tired of that lifestyle and comes running back to me. I glance at the wedding band on my hand and smile. "Sorry, I've already moved on." The world is full of choices. If I don't want her anymore, I'll choose someone else. I deserve nothing less than the best.

Shawn Bryant had touch starvation, yet he never let me touch him so much as accidentally. We'd lived together for four years, and every night he fell asleep with his arms wrapped around a goose plush toy. "Holding it simulates an embrace," he told me once. "It gives me a sense of security. It calms my nerves." I curled into his arms and pouted. "Isn't holding me the same thing?" He gently pushed me away and rolled over to hug the goose instead. "Don't start. Bebe's soft. It's comfortable to hold." One time I threw the goose in the washing machine, and Shawn lost his temper completely. "What if it's ruined now?" I didn't think much of it. "So we'll buy another one." "You don't understand anything!" He didn't speak to me for days after that. While he was in the shower, I snuck a look at his phone, hoping to find where he'd bought Bebe so I could replace it and make peace. His screen was still open to a chat thread. Every message in it had an exclamation point beside it, marking it as unsent. Shawn: [Holding Bebe is like holding you.] Shawn: [I can't sleep at all without you.] Shawn: [Cynthia, when are you finally coming back?] The last message had been sent the day before. The exclamation point beside it was gone, and a reply sat underneath it, glaring up at me. Cynthia: [This time it was a hug. What about next time?] My mind went blank. I looked at the goose lying on the bed and suddenly found the whole thing pointless. Shawn, if you were never going to let anyone actually touch you, then I'm done trying to be the one.

The day I discover that my husband, Nick Goldberg, is cheating on me, my severe depression drives me to climb up to the rooftop. My older sister, Natalie Swift, stabs him before dragging him over to apologize to me. From then on, Natalie moves in with us and becomes his strictest watchdog. Every time he so much as twitches, Natalie is even more anxious than I am. With Natalie keeping watch over Nick, he genuinely changes. He deletes all of the female contacts he has and comes back home on time. It's to the point that he even reports to me when he's just going out to throw the trash. Because of this, I think that this battered, broken marriage of ours is finally getting a fresh start. However, that only lasts until I receive a call from me ten years into the future. As I take in the gaunt, hollow-eyed woman in front of me, I ask tentatively, "It's been ten years. Is my depression still not cured?" Instead of answering, she curls her lips into a smile that was more a horrible grimace and shows me a video. The video she shows me is of Nick pinning Natalie to the closet wall. His eyes are filled with suppressed pain as he says, "For three years now, we've stayed under the same roof, yet we still can't openly be together. Just how long do you plan on punishing me?" Natalie shuts her eyes, tears trailing down her cheeks. "What we did to Lena was unforgivable. Only by being apart can we atone for our sins." I stiffen, feeling as though I've been plunged into freezing waters. As it turns out, the woman I've been searching the entire city of Hollerton for is none other than my beloved older sister. Nick truly is quite skilled at hiding her, to the point that she's been living right under my nose for three entire years without me being any the wiser. The screen abruptly cuts back to my future self, who leans in closer with a crazed smile on her lips. "You hear that? As long as you still breathe, everyone is suffering. Only with you dead can everyone be free."

My wife, Cheryl Sharpley, has a low sex drive. Every time we're intimate, she keeps a strict track of the time. Tonight is no different. We're only halfway through when the special notification on her phone goes off. It's a custom alert, reserved for one person. Her secretary, Henry Sadler, sounds extremely upset. "Ms. Sharpley, I dreamed about you. My chest hurts so much…" Without a second thought, Cheryl gets dressed and climbs out of bed. Pressing my lips together, I lower my eyes and reach out to catch her hand. "It's late. We haven't even—" "Henry is all alone in this city with no one to rely on. I'm his boss. I can't just ignore him." She doesn't even look at me as she says that. Calmly, she slips her hand free and stands before the mirror, applying fresh lipstick to her lips. "Today's task is complete," she adds. "I'll make up the time to you next time." My breathing falters. That's all I am to Cheryl—a task. Not long after she leaves, a message from Henry pops up on my phone. The attached photo shows him leaning against her shoulder. "Joseph, I'm really sorry. I was just so scared of losing her. I'll make sure she makes it up to you next time. You'll have to make do with your hand tonight." I read every word in silence. Quietly, I get out of bed, take a long shower, and strip the sheets from the bed, tossing them straight into the trash. I then change into a fresh set of pajamas. At that moment, I decide that I no longer want her in my life.

When I suffer a heart attack, I discover that my wife, Amelia Price, has given my private ICU room to her childhood friend, Norman Wallace, because an old injury of his has flared up again. Instead of a world-class medical team, I'm left on a hospital bed in the hallway, without even a curtain to shield me from the cold. Amelia is busy getting Norman a glass of water. When she's told about the mistake, she doesn't even bother turning around to look at me. "They booked it under the wrong name. He's already settled in, so just make do out here for one night," she says. I've been hearing that same excuse for five years. When I'm supposed to have my pre-surgery consultation with the specialists, Amelia books me into the wrong hospital. Instead, she spends the entire day at a private clinic with Norman while he undergoes physical therapy. When my chest pain is at its worst, she orders the wrong takeout, swapping the bland meal I want for Norman's favorite extra-spicy buffalo wings. Amelia even orders my expensive post-op support cushion in the wrong size, and it ends up as Norman's dog's new bed. To make sure she won't get it wrong again, I pay the ten-thousand-dollar deposit for my private hospital suite six months in advance. Then, I tape the confirmation paperwork to the refrigerator where she can't miss it. I even set three daily reminder alerts on her phone in the days leading up to my surgery. But when Amelia checks me into the hospital, she still gets it wrong. Seeing how pale I've gone, she only frowns. "Fine. This one's on me. It's just a routine surgery. Does it really matter where you have it?" She dismisses it as casually as she always does. But I'm done risking my life. I yank the IV from the back of my hand, remove my bloodstained wedding ring, and throw it into the trash. "You're right. It's just a surgery. But whether I live or die from this point on has nothing to do with you anymore."

The night the hurricane made landfall, the emergency alert had barely stopped sounding when my sister-in-law, Brielle Rourke, called again. I listened to her helpless sobbing, then calmly handed the phone to my husband, Caleb Rourke, who was busy boarding up the balcony doors. Whatever she said, he kept agreeing to it. He pulled on a rain jacket and gave me that practiced, guilty look. "Her window's broken, Lena. She's all alone over there. I'll patch it up and I'll be back before the worst of it hits, I promise." Once again, it wasn't a discussion. It was an announcement. Five years of marriage, and every storm had gone exactly the same way. The moment the thunder started, her call came right on schedule. I used to fight about it, but he always said, "My brother died young. Brielle's raising his son by herself. We help when we can." "You're a grown woman, and a strong one. You can look after yourself and our son, right?" The wind split the glass, and the shards opened my calf to the bone. I reached for the baby sweater I'd never finished knitting. Tonight, Caleb, I don't think your son or I need you anymore.

I stay behind to save a heart attack patient. So, I am unable to go and rescue Lucian Linton's dog. The very next second, I receive a message from my fiancee, Christine Stafford. It reads, "Because you stood by and did nothing, Lucian's dog ended up in the hospital! Let's postpone our wedding. Consider it your punishment." This is the ninth time Christine postpones our wedding because of Lucian's unreasonable behavior. This time, I don't want to play along with them anymore. Just then, floating comments appear before my eyes. "Hurry to the rooftop! Christine loves you. She saw through Lucian's tricks a long time ago." "She's postponing the wedding to surprise you. She's secretly planning the wedding of the century for you." I felt a pang in my heart. Filled with guilt, I rush to the rooftop to find her. But the moment I reach the door, I hear Lucian chuckle. "Do you think Maxwell will come beg for your forgiveness after seeing those messages?" Christine replies with a teasing smile, "Of course. That's our company's newest AR technology. Besides, he loves me so much that he won't question it, even if it's fake. This is his fault in the first place. He deserves to be taught a lesson." I freeze. So even those so-called comments claiming she loves me are merely a trick she has pulled on me just to humiliate me. Swallowing the bitterness that wells up inside of me, I turn and walk away. What Christine doesn't know is that after her fake comments disappear, the real comments finally appear before my eyes.

Auremont City's most prominent heir, Huxton Dunne, was finally back on his feet after three years of paralysis. His friends threw him a party at a private club. Margo Myer stood outside the door, clutching a gift she'd picked out just for him. Before she could walk in, she heard voices inside. "Dude, Margo basically got you back on your feet. You wouldn't be here without her." "For real. Three years of rehab, massages, barely any sleep because she was scared something might happen to you at night? You owe her forever." "She really is amazing," Huxton said. Margo's fingers tightened around the gift. Warmth filled her heart. Then one of his friends asked, "So... when are you gonna marry her?"

The first time Silvia Robinson undergoes ECT, she is all alone. Even Gregory Fisher, her fiance who loves her so much, is nowhere to be seen. After the doctor gives her a muscle relaxant, she starts to get drowsy. She is in a daze when she recalls what happened that evening. She has waited three hours in line for a special cake, which she is planning to surprise Gregory with. However, she comes home to see Gregory kissing her younger sister, Ella Robinson. The two are deep in a kiss as they hold each other tightly in an inseparable embrace. The cake in Silvia's hands drops to the floor, smashed beyond recognition as Silvia delivers a slap across Gregory's face. Then, she finds herself being pushed down the stairs by Ella. As she rolls down the stairs, Silvia feels like she has already seen this coming. Anyone close to her will eventually be taken away by her sister.

On the day of our road trip, I got up at four in the morning to pack my bags. The moment I opened the front passenger door, Patrick Farr grabbed me by the wrist. “Sit in the back. Dolly’s used to riding up front.” My best friend, Dolly Smith, immediately stood up for me. “Yuna came all the way from Southvale just to be with you. Don’t treat her like that.” Patrick cheerfully fastened her seat belt. “Relax. She cares about you.” Throughout the drive, they chatted about a new restaurant in Northvale and a mutual friend's wedding. I was the odd one out, having gone to college in Southvale, and couldn’t keep up with their conversation. Dolly suddenly frowned and said she felt carsick. Without even turning around, Patrick said, “Yuna, get the first-aid kit from the trunk.” I obediently got out and searched through the trunk. In the blink of an eye, the two of them were deep in conversation, and they drove away without me. I hurried after them, but my foot caught on something, and I fell hard. My knee struck the ground, and blood trickled down through the dirt. My phone buzzed, and I received a video call from Patrick—from five years in the future. He stared at my disheveled appearance, his eyes red-rimmed. “Yuna, I finally found you.” “Are you all right?” I said nothing and turned the camera around. On the screen, Patrick and Dolly sat side by side in the car before vanishing into the distance at the end of the highway. The smile instantly faded from the man’s face. A hand reached through the screen and gently placed a bandage over my wound. His voice was cold yet filled with concern. “Give him one last chance. Otherwise, I’ll take you away.”

After my 99th proposal, I finally convince Bridget Sherman to go with me to register our marriage at the city hall. Instead, all we get is a stern warning from the clerk. "Ms. Sherman, our records show that you're already married. If you register another marriage with Mr. Peterson, you'll be committing bigamy. That's a punishable crime that could throw you behind bars for up to two years. "I strongly advise you to respect marriage and the law. Don't treat marriage like a game or test the limits of the law." I stand there dumbfounded, unable to accept that the woman I've loved all this time has already become someone else's wife. Before I can even question her, Bridget loses her temper. She hurls the forms at my face. She fumes. "I told you not to come, but you insisted! Will you only be satisfied when I end up in prison? I've never met a man as clingy and pathetic as you!" Only then do I learn that, just to help her young intern, Keaton Joplin, put on an act, she secretly registered her marriage with him a month ago. Later, after discovering that Keaton only married her to scam her, she comes to me in tears, begging for forgiveness. "Channing, as soon as the 30-day divorce waiting period is over, I'll marry you! Meet me at the entrance to the city hall. Don't stand me up!" 30 days later, torrential rain pours down. Countless people see a young woman in a wedding dress waiting from morning until night in the wind and rain, shivering from the cold as tears stream down her face harder than the downpour. She's waiting for me to appear. But this is just like waiting for a boat that will never arrive at an airport.

My boyfriend, Ty Hyland, and I both had normal hearing, yet we communicated only in sign language. Our friends all praised Ty for being so kind. They thought he had encouraged me to change the way I communicated because he wanted to master sign language and help people with hearing loss. But they did not know that he did it for only one person. In the beginning, Ty suggested that we practice through complete immersion. We would avoid speaking or texting as much as possible. One day, I messaged him during a downpour and asked him to pick me up. He told me to video-call him and repeat the question in sign language. After I struggled through a few clumsy attempts, he hung up on me. In the end, I walked home in the pouring rain and developed a fever of 104 degrees Fahrenheit that very night. When I begged him aloud to take me to the hospital, he merely looked at my hands to imply that I should sign it. I was too sick even to lift my arms. He waited for only a few seconds before rolling over and going back to sleep. Eventually, I learned. When an old injury flared up, I broke out in a cold sweat and signed with trembling hands. “My stomach hurts. I need to go to the hospital.” Ty smiled and pinched my cheek. “Not bad. But I’m taking Luna to an exhibition, so you’ll have to bear with it for now.” Luna Winter was a deaf girl he had met while volunteering. A moan escaped me as the pain intensified. He remained unmoved. “I don’t understand. Use sign language.” Tears streamed down my face. He was not trying to teach me sign language. He just did not want to hear my voice. That was fine. I was leaving. After that, even if he wanted to hear my voice, he never would again.