Tragic Love Short Stories & Poor Student Cheating Novels

Jethro Miles was an orphan sponsored by my dad. The moment I laid eyes on him, I flipped. Despite my family's objections, we dated for seven years, even as my dad threatened to disown me. Eventually, my dad relented and consented to our marriage. But as we exchanged rings, a young woman in a white dress burst into the venue, staring at Jethro with tears in her eyes. He chased after her, abandoning our wedding. Later, I learned that the woman was his childhood friend from the orphanage. Jethro desperately tried to explain, "Nancy grew up with me. She is like a sister to me. She's been through abuse and divorce. Please, give me time to help her, okay?" Tears blurred my vision as I watched him plead so fervently, my heart plummeting into despair. I managed, "Okay." Jethro took care of Nancy and her son as if they were his real family. What he didn't know were the two secrets I'd kept from him when my dad finally agreed to our marriage: I was pregnant, and I was dying.

My mother had been hospitalized. My boyfriend worked as a doctor at the same hospital. You would think he would have visited her often, but he never did. Not once. On the first day of her stay, he did not come because he had taken a day off. His childhood friend was moving, and she needed his help. On the second day, that same childhood friend appeared at the hospital as an intern. He followed her everywhere and showed her the ropes. He handled anything she asked for, no matter how small. It went on like that, day after day. My mother's ward was on the thirteenth floor. His office was on the seventeenth. All it would have taken was a ten-second elevator ride or a two-minute walk down the stairs. Even so, Sebastian did not visit her for more than twenty days. My mother recovered. I picked her up by myself and took her to the train station. While I was on the way, he texted me. Sebastian: [Suzy's pet dog is getting vaccinated today. I need to drive her there first.] This time, I replied. [Got it. Drive safely. By the way, we're over.]

My husband, Ezra, and I had been married for four years. Every year for the past four years, he would disappear for three days at the same time and transfer a large sum of money out of his bank account. I suspected he was doing it for an unforgettable ex. Yet, no matter how hard I investigated, I couldn’t find a single clue. “I don’t have any exes worth hiding from you," Ezra once told me. “Olivia, can you please stop digging into this?” That was until this past weekend, when I went to deliver an early birthday present to Nina—a young woman I had been financially supporting for eight years. The moment I inserted my key into the lock, I heard Ezra’s voice coming from inside. “It’s your birthday tomorrow, but I can only stay with you for half the day this time. We can’t afford to make her suspicious again.” Nina chuckled. “Olivia hasn’t suspected me at all. What are you so afraid of?” Outside the door, I held the gift in my hands, tears streaming down my face. My intuition had been right all along. The only difference was that he was cheating on me with the person I had personally funded and cared for over the last eight years. I knew right then that our four-year marriage was over.

At the very bottom of my husband Raymond Hudson's safe, I dig out an old phone that doesn't even have a passcode. It takes only three seconds to turn on. Yet, those three seconds shatter my seven-year marriage into pieces. The lock screen wallpaper isn't our wedding photo. It's a candid shot of a young woman. She's seated at the piano, and her profile's soft and gentle. Raymond stands in the shadows. The tenderness and restraint in his eyes are so intense they could drown someone. It's a side of him I've never seen before. That young woman is Monica Melanie, a college student whom Raymond and I've been financially supporting for years. My hands and feet go numb as I tap on the memo on the phone. "2018: I married Linnea. She's obedient and suitable to be a wife. She pleases my family. However, why do I feel like I've fallen for the student we're financially supporting?" "2020: Moni's back, and we put all our cards on the table. It feels so good to know that our feelings are mutual! It breaks my heart to see her cry." "2023: Moni will be heartbroken if Linnea gets pregnant. In that case, I'll make sure we don't have a child." Raymond's phone slips from my hands. At long last, I understand why I've only ever gotten pregnant once in our seven years of marriage. I lost our baby, and after that, I never conceived again.

On my wife's birthday, she brought home the poor male student she had been sponsoring and invited him to celebrate with us. Then he turned around and threw the million-dollar necklace I had bought for her straight into the trash. “What even is this? A necklace this outdated should’ve been retired ages ago. Who picked it, some old-fashioned fossil?” For a moment, every friend and relative in the room stared in stunned silence. My wife, however, looked completely unfazed. Instead, she praised him for having a fresh eye and slipped on the cheap ring he had bought from a street stall. I watched it all without yelling, without making a scene. Then I picked up our marriage certificate and tossed it into the trash as well. “Good point. I guess an outdated husband like me should be retired too. Congratulations on your new marriage.”

My husband, Henry Gibbons, is a man with a heart of gold. He has sponsored Felicity Lambert, an impoverished female college student who has come from the mountains, and yet I've never seen this person before. During the New Year holidays, Henry has traveled to the mountains to give Felicity some well-needed resources, but he ends up getting trapped there because of a blizzard. My heart aches for him, so I've shared the local news while praying for his quick return. But that's when I come across a video clip featuring a comic convention on the trending list. Henry, who claims that he's trapped in the mountains, can be seen wearing a cosplaying outfit. In the video, he's kneeling on the floor while helping a scantily-dressed young woman tie the bells to her ankles. The woman titters as she pats him on the head. "Thank you, Henry!" The caption of the video reads, "Daddy's love is the salvation meant for me and me only." I tap into the uploader's profile picture. The pinned post is a photo of the luxurious goods meant to be flaunted to the Internet. A pregnancy report sits next to those goods as well. "Daddy has told me that once that hag of a wife dies, these things will be mine!" In the comment section, Henry's smurf account has responded, "Be patient, my little minx. Her time will be up soon." At that moment, I find myself staring down at the New Year's dinner that I've just whipped up. Then, I dump everything into the trash can without hesitation.

On our wedding night, Timothy Soloman tossed a pack of contraceptive pills at me once it was over. "Amanda, you can't get pregnant." My brows knitted together. "But there's nothing wrong with my body." He shook his head. "That's not why. "I have a son. He's already five. I married you, but I also promised her there wouldn't be a second child." I felt like I'd been dropped into an ice cellar, my whole body shaking without end. "Who is she? Why are you telling me this only now?" I asked. "The girl you used to sponsor, the one who couldn't afford her tuition. She's been clinging to me, and I can't shake her loose. "But don't worry. You're the only one in my heart. You will always be my lawfully wedded wife; no one else." The marks Timothy had left on my body were still there. I looked down at the glaring red streaks across my skin, and I almost wanted to laugh at how absurd it all was. "Timothy," I said. "Let's get a divorce."