เรื่องสั้นแนวBest Friend Romance และนิยาย Cheating

I accidentally stumbled upon numerous explicit videos on my husband's computer while tidying up his desk. The videos showed him in bed with my unmarried best friend. The relationship between my husband and me had been platonic ever since I gave birth 40 years ago. His reason was that he was no longer capable of physical intimacy. Now, it felt like my entire life had been a sham, despite all my efforts for my family.

Once the graduation ceremony is over, I take a five-hour train ride to meet my boyfriend, Blake Jones. While I wait for him at the station, I come across a popular post on Reddit. "Am I Overreacting? My Childhood Friend Ditches Me for His Girlfriend, and I'm Pissed. "His girlfriend is my best friend, and the three of us have always been close since we were kids. He's always been really sweet to both of us. "Two days ago, I had a fever, and he rushed me to the hospital in the middle of the night. He even took a day off to keep me company. When my supervisor rejected my thesis, he stayed up all night to help me revise it… "I never used to mind his relationship. But now, whenever I hear him talking to my best friend on the phone, I can't help feeling awful." That catches me off guard. I remember one night when I called Blake, but his phone was switched off. He didn't get back to me until the next afternoon. He said something had come up, but he never mentioned who he'd been with. The comments on the post are all urging the poster to call her childhood friend back and see who he'll choose between her and his girlfriend. I'm just about to type a reply when a notification from Blake comes through. "Babe, something came up. I can't pick you up today. Can you take a cab and come over?" My breath catches. I click on the poster's profile and realize that her location tag is the same city I'm in.

Seconds before the crash, my best friend, Nora Sinclair, threw herself over me to protect me. When she woke up, she'd lost her memory and mistook my fiancé, Julian Pierce, for her boyfriend. There were five of us in our friend group, and for the sake of her recovery, we decided it would be best to play along with the mistake. The first month, the trip Julian and I had planned before our wedding became hers instead. Nora held his hand and kissed him while everyone cheered them on, leaving me trailing behind with all four of their bags. The second month, Nora moved into the home Julian and I had bought for after the wedding. My name was taken off the deed and replaced with hers. My sister, Yvette Lane, tried to reassure me. "Nora lost her memory saving your life. We're only playing along with this to help her recover." I believed her. I forced myself to smile and played my part through one ridiculous charade after another. Then came the ninth month. I had just finished having my bridal makeup done and hurried to the wedding venue, only to find Nora already wearing my wedding dress, smiling as she stood beside Julian and greeted the guests with her arm linked through his. Yvette patted me on the shoulder. "Nora accidentally found your wedding dress last night. We couldn't bring ourselves to tell her the truth, so just let her have the wedding this time." One of Julian's friends, Yale Lawson, grinned and chimed in, "Exactly. You've already given in eight times. What's one more?" A bitter ache spread through my chest, and suddenly the wedding ring on my finger felt painfully tight. Then I looked up and saw Nora wearing my spare wedding band. It fit her perfectly. Only then did I notice that the wedding dress had always been one size too small on me, yet it fit her perfectly too. Every guest there knew exactly what was going on, but they still laughed and cheered, calling her Mrs. Pierce. That was when I finally understood. From the very beginning, I was the only one who hadn't wanted this "mistake" to become real. With a bitter smile, I slipped off the ring that had been cutting into my finger. Fine. If this was what they wanted, they could have their ninth farce. I was done after this.

While taking photos at the tourist attraction, I moved around three or four times to find the best angle. I aimed the camera at my boyfriend, Shawn Jacobson, and called out three times, "Hey, look this way." He seemed unable to hear me. His eyes were fixed on something in the distance instead. Then Nadia Sparks, my best friend, fumbled for her phone and called out to him, "Look at the camera!" He immediately struck a pose and smiled tenderly into her camera. A young couple saw the photos on Nadia's phone and teased her, "Wow, your boyfriend must really love you. You can see it in his eyes!" Nadia's face instantly turned bright red, and Shawn cleared his throat awkwardly. I looked down at my camera and saw that I had only captured a third of his profile. It looked like a paparazzi shot. Ever since we were kids, they had always ignored me. The two of them acted like I never had an opinion. As teenagers, they always excitedly picked where we would go, assuming I'd just follow along. When we grew up, the two of them decided to study medicine. They never bothered to ask what I wanted and signed me up for a medical program too. Later, they became the ER's dream team, while all my hard work only earned me a place as just a nurse. When I looked up, they were already walking side by side toward the next spot for photos. They probably expected me to just follow them, but I turned around and walked in the opposite direction. All this time, I had always stayed one step behind them. But even I had a day when I no longer wanted to follow them.

Yves Riverson had a new razor. It was royal blue, wrapped in red silk, and he placed it at the very bottom of his suitcase as though it were some priceless treasure. During the flight, the plane suddenly hit turbulence. The alarm screeched through the cabin, and in that moment, the thing he clutched was not my hand. It was the razor someone else had given him. Only after the plane landed did he seem to remember I was there. He gently caressed my hand and told me not to be afraid. I said nothing, nor did I push him away. After we left the airport, I watched him eagerly pick up his phone. "Yeah, yeah, it's fine." Then he turned and saw me. The smile on his face froze. "Just talking to my parents." I nodded and ended the call with his parents. The car was moving slowly, and he was happily chatting with that person. I was scrolling the screen. The jewelry purchases made through our linked-payment account. That person made sure to note that the razor must be royal blue. "To Ms. Samantha Shaw." Samantha's laughter drifted faintly from the phone. I looked at my tired reflection in the car window and suddenly blurted out, "When did you start having an affair with my best friend?"

On the day my overseas assignment ended, my boyfriend, Victor Walter, posted something on social media and quickly deleted it. The room was filled with familiar friends. The caption read, [Waiting for tonight's guest of honor.] I thought he had found out that I had changed my flight to come back early and wanted to surprise me. When I arrived at the location and entered the room, everyone fell silent. My best friend, Cynthia Haight, was the first to recover from the shock and said, "Welcome home! We've been waiting for you." Everyone ushered me into a seat and took turns toasting to my return. After several rounds, I leaned drowsily into Victor's arms and closed my eyes to fake being drunk. He pinched my cheek the way he always did and tested me, "Clementine?" When I did not respond, he draped his jacket over me. I smiled a little. Just as I was about to tease him, I heard Cynthia's voice, saying, "Victor, what are we going to do about our wedding on Saturday?" Victor let go of me and turned to pull her into his arms. "Don't worry. The wedding's still on." Their friends chimed in and reassured her softly, "Clementine won't find out. We're all covering for you. There's nothing to worry about." My body turned rigid. I only dared to open my eyes a tiny bit. Under the couch, I noticed something that had been shoved out of sight. [Victor Walter & Cynthia Haight—One-Year Anniversary.]

My best friend's brother and I have been dating for half a year, and she has no clue. My best friend drags me out on Christmas for a singles' night out. Unexpectedly, we see her brother, Chris Lambert, holding hands and kissing a girl under the fireworks. "Damn, Chris finally got the school belle!" She looks thrilled and pulls me forward to say hi. Chris awkwardly rubs his nose and introduces me to his girlfriend, "This is my sister, and the one beside her is… sort of like my sister too." I smile silently. We have held hands and kissed, yet now, I am just sort of like his sister.

My mom's dying wish was to see me marry Callum Sinclair. Callum, who lived and breathed surgery, finally agreed to put down the scalpel and come with me to get our marriage license. But just as our number was called over the speaker, my best friend, Helena, stopped him. "The cryo-transplant in Cardiology has gone wrong. The heart muscle is rejecting irreversibly after rewarming." Callum walked away from the window at once. I grabbed his arm. "It's our turn. Sign first, then go. It's three minutes." Callum yanked his hand free. "A life is on the line. I'm a doctor. Three minutes is enough to kill someone." "But my mom is dying too. She wants to see me get married." My tears soaked the front of my dress, and Helena rushed over to pry my fingers loose. "Rosalie, stop this! Your mom is terminal. Nothing can save her now, but other people still have a chance. "You can't let Callum be branded negligent just because of your pathetic selfishness!" But the hospital had just called. My mom's oxygen levels had crashed, and she wouldn't make it through the night. The two of them walked out of the hall, one after the other. I would never fit into their world. They'd both gone to medical school. They never ran out of surgical cases and ideals to talk about. They ate off the same plate and debated the same patient's treatment plan. And me? I could only cook their late-night meals at home and wash their white coats that reeked of disinfectant. They were on the same wavelength. I was always the outsider. A world of life, death, and ideals I could never squeeze into—suddenly, I didn't want to try anymore.

Maisie Stone has known Ethan Ford for 15 years. She's gone from being a young woman to a married one. She's also gone from being Ethan's true love to an old flame. He cheats on her repeatedly, and she forgives him every time. After a suicide attempt, Maisie finally sees the light. This rotten world is just a competition to see who can be more shameless than others. In an open relationship, both parties live their own lives. Since he's messing around with her sister, she can mess around with his friends and brothers.

For the ninth time, my best friend was left at the altar. And for the ninth time, my fiance was dragged in to play the part of her pretend groom. I was holding two cups of coffee. Before I could knock on the dressing room's door, I heard my best friend purring at someone. "You're the best, Anton. You knew this was an act, but you played along anyway." My breath caught. Through the half-open door, I stole a glance inside. My fiance, who had always been cold and unreadable, was looking at my best friend as if she were the most precious thing in his world. "Getting left at the altar must've traumatized you. If I don't help you get over it, Emilia's going to be worried even if she marries me." My best friend tugged lightly at the hem of his shirt. "But this is going to affect your relationship with her." "Not like it's the first time. She's still with me. We're still a couple." My fiance took out a diamond ring and held it against my best friend's finger. "We've been together for ten years. She has no other choice, anyway." The summer heat was scorching, yet part of me felt frozen solid. Slowly, I took my phone out and dialed a certain number. "Hey, I'd like to show you what I look like in that wedding gown."

I worked as a waitress in a small-town diner, but I put my husband Tom through Harvard Law School. But after he graduated, when I was eight months pregnant, he divorced with me and married my best friend, Sarah. On their wedding day, I didn't cry or make a scene. Instead, I went to work as their housekeeper. Tom thought my love made me easy to control. Sarah treated me like dirt, thinking I was born to serve. I never complained – I just prepared a surprise for them. But when their daughter was admitted to Harvard, they opened the surprise and went crazy.

My husband, Mitch Cooley, has been with me through my fifth year of battling depression. While searching for recipes online, a notification for a late-night livestream for anonymous confessions pops up on my phone screen. "What's the biggest lie your husband has ever told you?" I tap on the notification out of curiosity as my eyes are drawn to the profile picture showing two hands tightly clasped together. The interviewee replies, "I'm still single, but if it's about my stupid best friend, then she'd been lied to by her husband three times. "The first time, her ex-boyfriend died in a car crash while cheating on her, and her now-husband hid the truth on purpose so that she thought the main reason her ex died was that she wanted to break up with him. "Her husband knew all along that her ex-boyfriend had been cheating on her with me, but he watched her try to slit her wrists in remorse multiple times without telling her the truth. "As for the third time, I just mentioned to her husband that he could only ever have a baby with me, and he immediately got himself a certificate proving that he was sexually frigid and refused to sleep with her. "But the most ridiculous thing is that my best friend still stupidly went to get an IVF done while I was rolling in the sheets with her husband every night." I feel alarm bells go off in my head. Mitch had also suddenly experienced sexual frigidity recently. The hospital he went to for treatment was one recommended by my best friend, Lexie Moyer. My hands tremble as I click on the interviewee's profile picture. I then realize that the red mole on the ring finger is the exact same one on Mitch's finger. The interviewee's tone suddenly turns low and restrained. "Even when her husband told her today that he would be working overtime at the company, when he was actually keeping me and our son company, she still made a whole table of dishes waiting for him to come home." I freeze on the spot the moment the interviewee's voice changer malfunctions for a bit. I know that voice too well. It is Lexie's.

Because the company had a strict no-dating policy, my boyfriend and I kept our relationship a secret for ten years. During those ten years, I stayed by his side through his lowest moments, took care of his parents, and even carried his child. Our tenth anniversary happened to fall on the same day as the company’s team-building event. The man had always hated public attention. Out of nowhere, he suddenly announced that he wanted to propose to the woman he loved. In an instant, everyone looked at me with surprise and envy. They all assumed I was the one. I was so touched that tears filled my eyes, when he held out a ring and got down on one knee before my best friend.

The day Declan James filed for divorce again, the judge gave us one final thirty-day chance to reconcile. Three years ago, when I first found out he was cheating, I smashed his car windshield, staked out his hotel, and even stood on the edge of a roof like a lunatic, screaming at him, "Who on earth is she?!" But he refused to answer. He only repeated the same words. "Harper, let's just get a divorce." My parents told me I had lost my mind. My brother, Henry Sullivan, begged me to stop tormenting myself. Even my best friend, Emma Anderson, wrapped her arms around me with bloodshot eyes and pleaded. "Stop digging, Harper. He's not worth destroying your life over." However, I couldn't let it go.

I've had a terrible sense of direction since I was a child. I can walk past an intersection and forget it the second it's behind me. My boyfriend, Lucas Wentworth, and my best friend, Brielle Fontaine, were always finding new ways to "train" me out of it. We went camping together. When I woke the next morning, both of them were gone. I panicked until I found a note. [Nora, we're doing this for your own good. You're an adult now. You can't expect everyone to accommodate you forever.] Underneath it was another line in Brielle's handwriting. [Sweetie, I took your phone too so you can't call for help. You can do it!] I spent an entire day and night trying to get out of the mountains. My shoes tore open. My hands went numb from the cold. Mud and weeds covered me from head to toe. I had to keep stopping strangers and asking for directions before I finally found my way back to the lodge. Through the restaurant window, I saw them sitting over a steaming pot of fondue. Lucas reached across the table and casually wiped sauce from the corner of Brielle's mouth. I stood there watching them, and something inside me went cold. I was never walking Lucas's road again.

My best friend, Genevieve Sachs, has never been a particularly good driver and is always scraping her car against something. So when she buys a parking spot, she chooses the one right between mine and my fiance's. Both she and my fiance get off work earlier than I do, so by the time I come home, Genevieve's car is often parked crookedly across the lines. I have no choice but to leave my car in an open-air lot nearly a mile away and walk home. Genevieve often feels bad about it and comes over to cook for me as an apology. Then, one day, Riverton issues a warning for a heavy rainstorm. Once again, I can't fit my car into my parking spot, so I have to leave it a mile away and walk home through the downpour. By the time I get home, I'm soaked to the skin. My fiance, Logan Poole, is in the kitchen with Genevieve, chatting about what they should have for dinner. The moment they notice how drenched I am, Genevieve sticks out her tongue sheepishly. "Sorry, Keira. I was afraid I'd scratch Logan's car. I'll be more careful about where I park next time." Logan immediately grabs a dry towel and hands it to me. "Next time, just park a little closer to my spot," he says, turning toward Genevieve. "If you scratch my car, so be it. I don't want you to have to keep dealing with this." As always, before I can even say anything, the two of them have already apologized and admitted fault. Suddenly, I feel completely numb to it all. "Okay," I murmur before heading into the bathroom. I peel off my clothes, which are clinging to my skin, and sink into the bathtub. For the next half hour, I soak in the warm water while I can hear their laughter coming from outside. The hot bath is comforting, and for once, having the whole tub to myself feels just right. Somewhere in those 30 minutes, I finally come to a decision. If there's no room for me in that parking spot, I'm not going to fight for it anymore. And if there's no room for me in their relationship, I'm done fighting for that, too.

I was slow by nature, always a beat behind in matters of love. It was Julian who loved me, who took me exactly as I was, who married me against everyone's objections. I thought I was the luckiest woman alive. Until the fifth year of our marriage, when I stumbled onto the secret between Julian and my sister. They'd been carrying on behind my back for a long time. They'd even had the gall to make a baby together. He ruffled my hair, gentle as ever, his voice soft and doting. "I've fallen for your sister. The same way I once fell for you." "You could be generous about it. Accept her. Accept us." Every drop of blood in me seemed to freeze, and the tears wouldn't stop. I didn't scream. I didn't fall apart. I just shut the door and walked away. But Julian was the one who lost his mind. Six months later, when I still assumed the two of them were long since married with a baby, he was the one crying, begging me not to leave, like a dog begging for scraps.

Today was the day Quentin York had promised we'd finally go public. After five years of dating in secret, our relationship was finally going to see the light of day. I stayed up all night putting together a five-minute video from every photo we'd ever taken together. Then I posted it the moment the clock struck midnight on his birthday. But the second I hit send, I was suddenly kicked out of the account. By the time I logged back in, the video was gone. At the same time, a message from Quentin came through. "Your best friend just got dumped. Seeing your video will only make her feel worse. Be good, okay? Let's wait a little longer." Then a message from Lena Xavier popped up. "Can you please do something about him? I just got to the bar, and he suddenly showed up and forced me into his car. Seriously, he's unbelievable!" The two messages arrived one after the other. Just like every trip we'd ever taken together. They were always up front, while I trailed behind. This announcement was the last chance I was giving Quentin. Since he didn't want it, then forget it.

Before the Christmas holidays, the four of us besties from Kingsley City held a vote. We had one question on the table: should Mia Williams be allowed to join our tight-knit friend group? I thought my friends and my boyfriend would vote no, just like me. After all, Mia had ulterior motives. She had repeatedly mocked and provoked me, all while shamelessly flirting with my boyfriend. However, I could not have been more wrong. My childhood friend, Jason Miller, remained calm as he said, “I vote yes. Mia is great in every way. Jenna, your jealousy is getting out of hand.” My best friend, Lily Wilson, immediately backed him up. “Exactly! Jenna, you can’t be so selfish. You don’t get to decide who we’re allowed to be friends with.” I clenched my fists and turned to my boyfriend, Evan Taylor. He had already sent Mia an invitation to join our group chat. “Jenna, what’s one more person? Her joining isn't going to hurt you. Don’t be so difficult, okay?” That was when it hit me. The love and friendship I had always been so proud of had both betrayed me when it mattered most.

The day I reunited with Vincent Felker, I had just finished a dive to harvest seafood. Vincent stood calmly aboard a cruise ship. Meanwhile, I lay sprawled across a battered fishing boat that reeked of fish and seawater. I was too exhausted to move a finger. Yet, he still instinctively pulled my former best friend, Hannah Shreve, into his arms. It took him a long moment to realize that ten years had passed since he received that prophetic phone call. Hannah would not be brutalized to death by people I hired, and neither would I pick up a knife in an attempt to take him down with me. After a brief pause, he finally spoke. "Lena, none of the things mentioned in that phone call are going to happen anymore. I'm here to take you home." I did not answer and merely forced a faint smile on my lips. Reaching for my oars, I prepared to leave. Hannah called after me with teary eyes. "Lena, I know you're still mad at me, but even if you don't care about yourself, you must think about your child. You became a commercial diver to stay alive because you were waiting for Vincent to come and get you, didn't you?" I did not explain myself or look back. With my life nearing its end, I had neither the strength nor the time to get entangled with them anymore. All I wanted was to save enough money to reach that remote island. Then, I could rest forever beside the child who had been waiting for me for years.