Tragic Love Romance Short Stories & Awakening Novels

Dorian Keller hated hassle more than anything—so much that he kept a "standard schedule." Every gift was bought in bulk and shipped to arrive on the birthday itself. We always went to the same date spot. Trying a new restaurant took a written request a month in advance. Even intimacy had an alarm set for it. "Life's about keeping things simple. Let's not make trouble for each other." For seven years, I thought he was like that with everyone. Then, at a get-together with friends, the server brought out a plate of pomegranate. He took it and peeled it seed by seed into a glass bowl, picking away every bit of white pith. I was sitting right next to him. I reached for it. He paused and looked at me. Then he set the bowl in front of Arabella Crane. The girl who used to bully me. In high school, she tore up my homework, poured glue on my chair, and locked me in a bathroom through an entire class. Back then, Dorian pointed in her face and told her she'd die a miserable death. Now he sat beside me, slid the only bowl of pomegranate over to her, and said softly, "Slow down." I pulled my hand back. In that moment, I didn't want to stay there a second longer. And I didn't want him anymore either.

Before my best friend Scott Hawkins died of cancer, his greatest concern was the online girlfriend he had never met in person. He clutched my hand, tears streaming down his face. "Ian, her depression is severe. I'm afraid losing me might push her over the edge. Can you keep using my account for a while, gradually distance yourself, and end things once she's had time to adjust?" With tears in my eyes, I promised him I would. For the next three years, I pretended to be Scott. I helped her through another depressive episode, supported her as she got her career back on track, and then gradually began distancing myself. Today, I finally decided three years was long enough. She'd had enough time to accept that the relationship was over and move on. So I typed, [We shouldn't talk anymore. It's over,] and hit send. At that exact moment, my fiancée's phone lit up on the coffee table. The breakup message I had just sent appeared on her screen.

On the eve of my wedding, my friends threw a joint bachelor and bachelorette party for Natalie Cole and me at a bar. After a few rounds of drinks, someone suggested a game of Truth or Dare. The bottle landed on me first. My younger brother, Kayden Wilson, grinned. "I dare you to take off your pants. Let's see what you've got." The whole table immediately erupted in cheers. I glanced at Natalie, but she kept her head down and continued scrolling through her phone without a word. Hence, I took off my pants and stood there in nothing but my underwear. In the second round, the bottle landed on me again. My sister, Hannah Wilson, raised her glass and asked half-jokingly, "Logan, I dare you to admit you're pathetic enough that you can't live without a woman." My face burned, but everyone was staring at me, waiting to see if I'd ruin the mood. I closed my eyes and said hoarsely, "I admit it." Eventually, the bottle landed on Natalie. Her friend, Veronica Reed, grinned. "I dare you to tell your soon-to-be hubby what you were doing behind everyone's back last night." Natalie paused for two seconds before she looked at Benjamin Henderson beside her, her eyes full of affection. "He got drunk and insisted I take him back to his hotel. Then he threw up all over himself, so I helped him shower and changed him into his pajamas. He said he didn't want to sleep alone, so I held him until morning," she revealed. The private room fell silent for a moment before suggestive laughter erupted around the table. Benjamin playfully tickled her and scolded her for embarrassing him by revealing his secrets. But I stood there frozen, unable to say a word. Finally, Veronica pointed toward the little quickie wedding chapel attached to the bar. "Then I dare you to take Benjamin over there, get married, and have it annulled afterward." Benjamin's eyes lit up as he looked at Natalie. I looked at her too. Natalie gave an exasperated smile, took his hand, and walked toward the chapel as the crowd cheered them on. At that moment, I suddenly felt there was no point in going through with our wedding the day after tomorrow.

Yvonne Sunderland married Zach Frank, who had been with her for ten years. In the second year of their marriage, Zach passed away due to a plane accident. But when Yvonne turned forty-three, she met her supposedly dead husband! Before she could even ask any questions, disaster struck. An avalanche suddenly struck. During the critical moment, Zach was buried under the snow in order to protect her and that woman. His final words were, “I’ve repaid you all of your favors with my life. If I can redo my life, I don’t want to marry you and would rather meet her first…” When she opened her eyes again, Yvonne found herself back to the first year she married Zach.

On the very first day of our marriage, Jasper Clarke, a renowned gynecologist, laid down his terms. "My time can mean life or death for my patients. You can't afford to waste it. I may not be able to be there for you day to day, but I'll set aside half a day every month just for you. That's the most I can offer." I understood how demanding his job was, so I nodded and agreed. From then on, I ate alone, went to doctor's appointments alone, and spent my days in an empty house. I never once disturbed Jasper. That changed in my third month of pregnancy, when I began showing signs of a threatened miscarriage. For the first time, I booked a specialist appointment with Jasper. The moment I pushed open the door to his office, his smile froze. "What are you doing here? Get out! Don't take up a spot another patient needs!" Before I could say a word, he called in the next patient. A young pregnant woman walked in behind me, carrying a bouquet of white jasmine. She sat down beside Jasper. As the door closed, I saw him stand up, his left hand resting at her waist and his right hand covering hers as he took the bouquet. I waited outside for four hours, but Jasper never called in another patient. A nurse came over to inform me. "Ms. Wells is Dr. Clarke's VIP patient. He saves every Wednesday for her. If you're not feeling well, I can help you make an appointment with another doctor." My phone lit up with a calendar reminder. The half-day I had been looking forward to all month would be over in five minutes. My hand stilled against my lower abdomen. Suddenly, I could not feel the pain anymore. After a long moment of silence, I spoke softly. "I'd like to schedule an abortion."

After taking care of my mother's ashes, I rushed overseas to attend my fiance's wedding to another woman. Preston Wallace had developed retrograde amnesia during a secret mission. He remembered everyone and everything—except me. His doctor said the most effective way to recover his lost memories was to continue the life he'd come to accept after losing them. In other words, he had to keep playing husband and wife with his female partner. So, for the sake of my unborn child, I personally handed Preston the wedding vows. That night, I came across a trending post online. "I feel awful about what I've put her through. For the past three years, whether she had a fever, caught a cold, or got into a car accident, she had to handle it all alone. How can I make up for what I owe her and still enjoy my life now without feeling guilty?" Someone replied in the comments, "You can't have it both ways. But you could switch from retrograde amnesia to situational amnesia—where you remember whoever you're with." Not long after, Preston messaged me. "Madeline, it's been three years. How have you and your mom been?" I stared at his message without replying. Preston had no idea that after what happened to him, his enemies came by our home, wanting to retaliate against my mother and me. My mother was stabbed 12 times while protecting me. After three years in a vegetative state, she finally regained consciousness. But when she heard that Preston had lost his memory and was going to marry another woman, she couldn't handle the news and died.

My mom's dying of cancer, and her final wish is to see me settle down and start a family. I beg my girlfriend, Yvonne Hurst, and my childhood friend, Colin Lowell, to help me put on this act for Mom. After asking them 88 times, they finally agree to play along and help me fulfill her last wish. On the day of the wedding, Mom clings to the last of her strength, waiting until the very end for the bride and best man to arrive. But they never do. Instead, Colin posts a photo online. Yvonne's in her wedding dress, and Colin is dressed as the best man. The two of them stand beside a cake, beaming at the camera. "My best friend's getting married, and the bride went all the way across town to pick up a cake with me," his caption reads. A guy couldn't ask for a better girlfriend. He's one lucky man." The location tag leads to a popular bakery known for its cakes. I call Yvonne and demand to know what is going on. "Isn't this all supposed to be about fulfilling your mom's dying wish?" she asked, sounding casual, almost dismissive. "I thought I'd spend some time with Colin and help him relax. It'll make our performance more convincing later." Colin leans over and laughs. "Yeah, Nathan. We're just messing with you. We'll be back soon," he assures me. "Tell Ms. Brooks to wait a little longer." Only then do I understand that my desperate pleas and Mom's dying wish mean nothing to them. To them, it is all just a harmless joke. I stare at the heart monitor as its beeping flattens into one long, unbroken tone, tears blurring my vision. When this absurd little act finally comes to an end, I'm the only one left to bear the consequences. From this moment on, I'm going to let them go. And finally, I'll let myself move on.

My best friend and my girlfriend's graduation trip vlog blew up online, racking up millions of likes. The comments were full of people swooning over their picture-perfect love story. Someone finally asked who the guy sitting quietly in the corner was. Suzanna Jones replied to the comment: [Just some random guy. I don't know him.] When I sent her a screenshot, she explained impatiently. "You stutter when you talk. Putting you on camera would only make you look ridiculous. "Elliot and I are only pretending to be a couple so he can make enough money to pay for his mom's medical treatment, so stop getting jealous over nothing." For the past year, I had practiced speaking to my phone every single day, all for the relationship-announcement video she had promised we would make. Now, I could finally speak without stuttering. However, she did not know that, because she had not been patient enough to listen to me in a long time. Just like now. Before I could say a word, she turned and walked away, hand in hand with Elliot Walker, stepping straight back into her camera frame. During their seven-day trip, Elliot filmed thirty-two videos. She appeared in every single one. She patiently listened to him ramble about anything and everything, never letting a single thing he said go unanswered. The last part of my heart that had been fighting to hold on finally went quiet. I lowered my head and deleted the relationship-announcement I had practiced hundreds of times. If I was nothing more than a background extra in her world, then so be it. She would not have a part in the of my life anymore.

Whenever the three of us—me, Darius Shaffer, and Sonya Berger—are together, everything I say always gets ignored outright. At first, I just assumed that they simply hadn't heard me. After all, I've been in a relationship with Darius for seven years, and Sonya has been my childhood best friend for 18 years. But today, I speak up as I usually do and ask, "How about we go to Mistland for a trip during the holidays?" They keep their heads down and continue scrolling through their phones. Neither of them acknowledges me. Moments later, Sonya holds up her phone and grins. "Look at this Mistland grill! It's their signature dish. It looks so delicious!" Darius looks up immediately and jumps into the conversation. They begin chatting animatedly. I try to interject and ask again, "So, shall we all go to Mistland together?" Still, nobody pays me any mind. I end up just listening to their conversation in silence. Yesterday, I sighed and said, "I'm thinking of quitting my job. I'm so exhausted and burned out." However, neither of them even looked up at me or acknowledged what I said. They just continued tapping away on their phones. And the day before that, Sonya pouted and said, "My skin looks terrible. I'm so damn upset." But Darius immediately leaned in toward her, saying, "Nonsense! You look beautiful!" Then, they launched into an enthusiastic discussion about skincare. I tried asking them if they wanted to grab a meal together the next day, but again, I was met with complete indifference. Yet, when I walked into the restaurant alone the next day, I saw them having lunch together just a few tables away. Last week, Darius sent a movie trailer into our group chat, and Sonya immediately replied, "I wanna watch this movie!" I also replied, "Me too. Let's go!" As always, nobody replied. When I asked Darius about it later, he told me that they had already watched it together. So, as it turned out, they had heard me. They simply didn't want to pay me any heed. This time, I don't act out or throw a tantrum. I don't even question any of them on the spot. Instead, I shift my gaze away and keep myself company. On the day I resign from my company, Darius finally pays me some attention, something he rarely ever does. He says, "Rennie, my mom has been asking us to set a wedding date. Sonya was asking me about it earlier too. Why didn't you say anything?" I stand up and reply with only four lines. "You guys continue chatting. Just ignore me. Also, we're breaking up. Good riddance."

Ruth Jensen is determined to cure Zeke Carlton of his jealous streak. Every time he gets jealous, she buys her assistant, Calvin Ward, a present—everything from jewelry to expensive cars to villas. Zeke goes from throwing hysterical fits to going completely numb. One day, Ruth buys Calvin gifts for the 99th time. She looks at Zeke, who's shaking all over, his face drained of color. She says disdainfully, "Zeke, I can't stand men who are jealous and possessive. If you never learn to be generous and graceful, then I'll just keep treating Calvin well." But this time, Zeke doesn't question her like he usually does, nor does he ask her for money. He's actually gone to the office to pick something up today. To his surprise, he walks right into Ruth throwing a birthday celebration for Calvin there. The place is crammed full of gifts she's gotten Calvin, piled so high there's barely room to walk. At the door, a few workers are hauling in boxes while gossiping. "Careful. These are all this season's new releases Ms. Jensen bought for Mr. Ward. If we break anything, we'll never be able to pay it back!" "How many times has it been this month? Every time Ms. Jensen does this, she buys him stuff worth millions of dollars…" Zeke feels like someone has sliced his heart open. Every time he asks Ruth for money to keep paying his grandmother's medical bills, she always complains. Yet she doesn't even bat an eye when she buys Calvin these insanely expensive luxury goods. Zeke turns to leave, but Ruth frowns and calls out to him. "Are you actually stalking me all the way to the office now? It's Cal's birthday today. Did you deliberately come here dressed like that just to be an eyesore?"

After an accident and miscarriage, Hansel Saddler and I are so devastated that we're both diagnosed with depression. For the next five years, I try my best to act like I'm normal as I care for him and try to cheer him up. This lasts until I overhear him speaking to the psychologist at the clinic's door. "Work's been getting busy lately, and pretending to be depressed makes it inconvenient to deal with that. Can you change my diagnosis to manic disorder?" The psychologist giggles. "You have been quite manic lately, darling. You've been making me feel really sore down there." "I can make you feel even more sore now." Then, I hear moans and groans. It turns out everything I've done over the past five years is nothing but a joke. I pull up my conversation with Colin Foster. "I agree to undergo secluded treatment deep in the mountains abroad."

Ever since summer vacation began, my son had been getting a new toy almost every three days. Whenever I asked where they came from, he said my best friend had bought them. I was about to pick out a thank-you gift when I overheard him talking excitedly into his smartwatch from behind his bedroom door. "Reporting for duty, sir! Mission accomplished. Monster Mom believed me!" I froze, certain I'd misheard. Then he asked for his reward. "Dad, can I come to your third-anniversary celebration with Mama Viv tonight? "I'm so sick of eating canned soup and boxed mac and cheese with Mom every day. I could throw up!" My breath caught. I snatched the watch from his wrist. A photograph had just come through: my husband, who'd supposedly left for another shift at the auto repair shop that morning, was kissing another woman's forehead. My hands shook so badly I could barely hold the screen. My heart nearly stopped. My son threw down his toy and, in a panic, started scolding me. "Mom! Why are you spying on my private conversations? Mama Viv is picking me up to go have fun later. Don't ruin it for us!" Then he pressed himself against the window, waiting excitedly for her. I stood there, numb, staring at the apology my husband had sent barely a minute earlier. "I'm sorry, honey. You've both had to struggle because of me for so many years. I'll take you out for a nice dinner tonight." Tears blurred the words. It felt as though something had tightened around my heart and refused to let go. But I didn't scream or demand answers. Instead, when the car came to collect my son, I climbed in after him.

My CEO fiancee, Lexi Wyndham, had no patience for incompetence, yet she repeatedly made excuses for her incompetent assistant, Lachlan Hayes. During the hiring process, she noticed that his profile looked remarkably similar to mine. Worried that our rivals might target me, she kept him on as my double, someone who could take my place whenever I was in danger. She bought him designer clothes, took him to exclusive events, and even put my projects under his name to build up his reputation. As time went on, she grew increasingly protective of him, insisting it was all so he would be willing to take my place when the time came. Then tensions with our rival company escalated. Lexi would rather send the bodyguards assigned to protect her to me than let Lachlan stand in for me. In the end, our rivals kidnapped me and locked me in a basement, where they tortured me for ten straight days. By the time I was rescued, there was not a part of me that was not badly injured. I had nearly died down there. The next day, Lachlan was diagnosed with liver disease. Lexi drugged me and forced me into the operating room to donate my liver to him. Her voice was gentle. "Lachlan has to be saved for the moment we truly need him to stand in for you. We can't use him too soon, or they'll get suspicious and everything we've done will be for nothing. "He has to stay alive until the day we need him. I'm making you donate your liver for your own good. Don't overthink it. Once you're discharged, I'll marry you." But she did not know how badly I had been injured. The liver donation only made my condition worse, and I was already dying. I would not live long enough to see the wedding she had promised me.

The day Carly Stein and I make things official, she syncs her phone to my smart weighing scale. Every morning, my body fat percentage and biometric data get uploaded straight to her phone. Whenever my fat slips above 8%, she turns cold. "Lower it to 8%, Danny. Get those muscles razor-sharp, and then we'll get married." For six years, I obsess over every calorie and burn myself out in the gym because of those words. On my birthday, I eat a single slice of regular cake. She immediately flags it on our shared fitness app as a severe loss of control. Now, I finally hit 8%. I have the broad shoulders and narrow waist she demanded. Yet on the day of my custom suit fitting, Carly leaves me waiting in the shop for three hours. Aiden Turner, an old friend, sends a photo. Carly is sitting with him in a barbecue joint, picking onions out of his plate. "Hey Danny, I just got back in town. Carly said you're cutting for the wedding and can't have this stuff, so I didn't invite you." On our app, Carly logs that grease-heavy midnight meal as a "companion day". I open the scale's historical setup logs. That 8% body fat goal was created six years ago—the exact day Aiden moved abroad. There's one line of text in the target notes field that hasn't been completely deleted. "Aiden at his physical peak." I stare at the screen for a long moment, then hit unpair. After that, I go to the suit shop and change the name on the suit reservation to Aiden Turner.

I slit my palm and fed Irene Arlington my blood to keep her alive when we were trapped in a blizzard. The tissue in my legs had died from hypothermia. I had been in a vegetative state for five years. When I woke up, I heard a conversation between her and the doctor. “Mrs. Bradshaw, your husband’s condition is stable right now. There’s a good chance he’ll wake up. Are you sure you want to go through with euthanasia?” She spoke calmly, like she had already made up her mind. “Money isn’t the issue. I’ve already poured five years into him. I just can’t do this anymore. “With the way he is now, he’d be better off dead.” Those words hit me like a ton of bricks. Irene used to cry and beg me to stay alive. Five years had worn her down, and the woman I once knew was no longer the same.

The battery on my front door smart lock died, so I called a locksmith to come over. While he was working on the lock, he made small talk. "Dude, this lock comes with six spare keys. Did you lock all of them inside the apartment?" I froze. I've lived in this apartment for three years. My wife and I each have one spare key. The other three were always kept in the hallway drawer. That makes five total. So where's the sixth key?

In the seventh year of our relationship, my boyfriend, Hunter Jenkin, seemed to have lost interest in everything. Desperate to figure out what still excited him, I bought a wristband that measured romantic excitement and fastened it around his wrist myself. When we watched a movie together, the wristband registered just 1 point. When we climbed a snow-covered mountain and kissed at the summit, the score was only 5. On his birthday, when I slipped a ring onto his finger, it rose to a mere 8. No matter what I did, I could never spark any real excitement in him. I was almost ready to give up, and I even suspected that the wristband was nothing more than an overpriced gimmick. Then, on the first night of Hunter’s business trip, my phone suddenly began vibrating nonstop. [Your partner’s romantic excitement score: 90.] I stared at the screen, stunned. By 1 a.m., the score had hit 100 and stayed there all night. I opened the location tracker, only to find an address so familiar that it sent a chill through me. It was the home of my best friend, Candace Lindhurst. Hunter had not lost his capacity for love. He had simply directed it all to someone else.

She'd loved him for four years. But just before their wedding, she was forced to pretend she'd betrayed him, leaving him no choice but to let her go. When he found out she'd cheated on him, he flew into a rage and made her life a living hell. “Summer Blake, you should be grateful I haven't killed you.” It wasn't until much later that he realized just how empty his world had become without her.

I have a case of acute pancreatitis. I head to the hospital, but the doctors there refuse to treat me. Why? Because my husband is a doctor in the emergency room, and he's instructed everyone not to treat me. In my past life, he would show up with a single phone call. But, after his true love dies in an accident, he pushes the blame on me. On my mother's birthday, he poisons my whole family and repeatedly stabs me with a scalpel. "Does it hurt? Jackie was in much more pain before her death. If not for you, she wouldn't have gone out in my place. You killed her, so I'm making you and your family die for her!" When I open my eyes, I'm back to the day when I get acute pancreatitis after drinking the bar dry for his sake. This time, he runs to Jackie Morse without hesitation. He thinks he's made the right choice, but he later comes to me and grovels at my feet, begging me to take him back.

On the day the gynecologist confirmed that I was pregnant, my husband, Austin Jones, pushed me into the operating room to donate blood to save his first love. Feeling frail after the blood transfusion, I almost fainted in front of Austin. However, he pushed me away and went to take care of his first love. Furthermore, he hung up on all my phone calls and stayed with his first love all night on the day I miscarried. Time after time, I was met with disappointment. When I finally decided that I had enough of his mistreatment and no longer wanted to love him, he panicked and begged me to give him another chance.