Contos de Romance com Bias e Romances com Cheating

I had a massive fight with my husband, Gary Mitchell, while I was six months pregnant. He kicked me out of the house. With nowhere to go and no money, I ducked into a convenience store just to get some warmth. I was staring at the steam rising from the hot food display when the cashier walked over. "Excuse me, Miss. We have one last bottle of amnesia water left. Would you be interested in it?" I froze, then let out a bitter laugh. "I don't have any money." She said, "You don't need to use money. You can exchange it for something from your body." Instinctively, I raised my hand and touched my swollen belly. "How about this?"

I spent three years on a medical aid mission in Afrikad. During that time, my husband and I could only video call twice a year. In our third year, I missed him so much that I secretly flew home, hoping to surprise him. The moment I opened the front door, I froze. A wedding portrait I had never seen before hung in the living room. In the photo were my husband and another woman. Then, I heard a burst of chatter. As I looked closer, I realized the plants in the house had started talking again. The pothos stretched its vines toward the living room. “She’s back! She’s back! That woman is wearing the doctor’s pajamas again!” The spider plant snickered, “She claimed they were a gift from her best friend last week. That old hag comes up with a new story every few days.” The cactus grumbled, “Quit arguing. She’s bringing that other man over for dinner today. How do you think she’ll explain this to her husband this time?” The pothos replied, “She’ll probably call him her cousin. That’s what she said last time.” Just then, a woman walked out carrying a child. She was startled for a moment when she saw me. “Who are you?” I gave her a faint smile. “I'm Justin's mother.”

Gavin Fletcher’s twin side chicks had caused trouble yet again. Having gone three months without contacting me, his very first call was to demand I clean up their mess. I agreed calmly. First, I spent the freezing winter night searching through a man-made lake to recover the necklace belonging to our partner’s wife, Mrs. Sinclair—a piece Stella Wright had thrown away in a fit of rage. Next, I took the fall for the video of Luna Wright stripping drunk at a private club, calling a press conference to issue a public apology. That same night, the hashtag #Oakhaven’sMostPatheticTrophyWife was trending like crazy. I swiped the notification away without giving it a second glance. In my past life, I had made a frantic, desperate scene over these two lovers of his, only to ask for a divorce in heart-wrenching despair in the end. Gavin hadn’t bothered to keep me. Instead he used every resource at his disposal to ensure I walked away without a penny. The ink was barely dry on my divorce certificate when I received my son’s diagnosis: terminal brain cancer. Staring at the astronomical figure in the medical expense column, I cast aside every ounce of dignity, begging on my knees before Gavin while sobbing my eyes out. Yet he simply sat there with the twins wrapped in his arms, ordering the butler to throw me out of his mansion. “Using your son’s life for reconciliation—the Fletcher name can’t have any tie to such a snake of a woman!” In the end, I could only watch helplessly as my son drew his final breath in my arms. Now reborn and given another chance, I would do anything to save my son’s life.

My girlfriend, Clara Sutton, had severe mysophobia. Before every intimate moment we shared, she required me to disinfect myself thoroughly in advance. She even set strict rules about how often we could kiss or sleep together, and how long it could last. Without her permission, I was not allowed to touch her. I had always believed she treated everyone this way. I even secretly felt relieved, thinking that I must have been somewhat special to her. Then came that night at the bar. During a party, her childhood friend, Ethan Ford, drew a dare in a game of truth or dare. Then, in front of everyone, he leaned in and kissed Clara. Although it was supposedly a punishment for losing, they kissed deeply for a full five minutes. Our friends laughed and jostled one another as they turned to look at me. Only then did I realize that Clara’s obsession with cleanliness had never been a universal rule. It had existed simply because she did not like me. Disheartened, I asked for a breakup. But Clara soon regretted it. With reddened eyes, she begged me not to leave.

I had been in a relationship with Celine Jodie for seven years, but she married her first love, Dylan Graham, a month before our wedding. One afternoon, I was checking the guest list when a screenshot popped up in the wedding planning group. The screenshot was of another group chat called 'Our Promise at 18'. There was a photo of Celine and Dylan standing at the entrance of the local county clerk's office, holding their marriage certificate, and below were people who responded with texts. Her brother, Jordan Jodie, said: [Did you manage to keep it a secret from Gabriel? Don't let him delay the wedding over this matter.] My best friend, Isaac Tatum, replied: [Don't worry, he's still waiting for Celine to come back to try on her wedding dress.] Celine's best friend, Hailey Krate, wrote: [They just want to give their youth a proper ending. It's only a temporary marriage certificate. It's not like we're actually changing the groom.] Celine said: [Let's keep this from Gabriel for now. I'll explain to him after the wedding.] I held my phone, my fingertips cold. Two seconds later, the screenshot was unsent. The wedding planning group was silent for a moment. Then, Jordan casually asked how many boxes of candy I wanted to order, and Isaac urged me to try on my suit tomorrow. I stared at the screen and answered: [No need to order candy for doorgifts anymore. The groom won't be attending.]

I'm severely allergic to pollen. If I come into contact with even a speck, I'll suffer from difficulty in breathing. Alas, my boyfriend, Glenn Winchester, is a famous luxury floral designer. On Valentine's Day every month, he'll bring back a bunch of stems that only come with leaves. For the past three years, I have been keeping them alive in a glass vase filled with water. For so long, I've been thinking that this is Glenn's way of protecting me by specifically choosing flowerless plants for me. That is, until his floral design studio accepts a commission to design a grand wedding. I stand far away from the venue and watch as the entire hall is decorated by tens of thousands of roses of the highest quality. The bride, Adeline Shoeman, is Glenn's childhood sweetheart. She flaunts the most flawless and beautiful bridal bouquet on her social media feed. "He told me that my skin is delicate. That's why he has personally trimmed every thorn off the stems of all ten thousand roses, leaving me with the softest petals ever." I tap on the photo and zoom in, soon noticing that the roses are trimmed so short to the point that they only have the shortest, barest stems left. That's when I suddenly recall the bare stems Glenn has given me over the past months. All of those stems are covered with uneven nicks where the thorns have been snipped off. It turns out that the exclusive love I think I have is nothing but a pile of waste from Glenn's trimming sessions just so he can prevent the roses from pricking his beloved Adeline's hands. After I return home, I pull the stems from the vase, break them in half, and toss them into the trash can. Glenn, you've cultivated wonderful roses. But I will not be receiving anything from you from now on.

My boyfriend's childhood friend got knocked up. To save her rep, Quentin Palmer married her. When I asked what that meant for me—and our baby—he stayed ice-calm. "Rainee's not like you. I'm all she's got. She wouldn't survive the gossip." Like I had anyone else? Like I wasn't carrying his baby too? Later, while people laughed behind my back about the "fatherless" kid I was having, Quentin just stood there—next to Rainee, silent. That's when it hit me—love comes with a pecking order. So I ended the pregnancy. Gave up my baby... all so he could play the hero for her.

On the day of my abortion, my best friend tried to stop me. "You and your husband have been married for seven years. You finally managed to get pregnant. Why does the baby have to go?" I answered calmly, "Because of a glass of water." Aaron Jefferson had a severe germphobia. He never shared everyday items with me. If I had already drunk from a glass, he would not touch it. Then I found a video on his student's social media. In it, the girl held up her half-finished coffee and brought it to his lips. Aaron leaned down and took a sip straight from her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He frowned slightly, but a smile still touched his lips. "That sweet, huh? Careful, or your teeth will start hurting again." That night, I sat alone in the living room and watched the video hundreds of times. When Aaron woke up, I poured myself a glass of water and took a sip in front of him. Then I held it out to him. "Drink up." He stared at me as if I had lost my mind. "Tessa, I don't drink after other people." Seven years of marriage, and to him, I was still just one of those other people. I pulled myself back to the present and walked into the operating room. Then I lay quietly on the table. Outside the window, cicadas sang at the height of summer, and the sun blazed overhead. Suddenly, I no longer wanted to hold on to Aaron or that glass of water.

My gastritis medication fell out of my bag during my engagement party. My best friend, Celeste Sims, frowned and said, "Didn't I tell you not to take birth control pills? They’re bad for your health!" I shook my head weakly. "Birth control pills? You're mistaken, Celeste. This is my gastritis medication. I’ve never used—" Before I could finish my sentence, I was suddenly reminded that my fiancé, Justin Ludwig, always gave this medicine to his friend, Callie Fuller. After looking everywhere for Justin, I heard him and Callie having 'fun' in the storeroom upstairs. I did not make a fuss as I quietly turned on the recently repaired security camera in the storeroom.

I always believed that I was the most blessed man in the world, having a beautiful wife, a cute kid, and a good job. That is, until I was rushed to the hospital after a car accident. Suddenly feeling the urge to play a prank on my best friend and my wife, I asked, "Who are you? Do I know you?" I was just feigning amnesia to see them panic, only for them both to sigh in relief. "Did you forget? I'm your best friend, John Tucker! And this is my wife, Wanda Lloyd." I was just about to laugh at how quickly they caught my prank, only to watch as my wife blushed and jammed her lips on John's. As I froze, John studied me intently, then asked tentatively, "Ned Cross? Do you really have amnesia?"

For five years of marriage, my husband, Caleb Sullivan, had only one rule when it came to buying household appliances: if he could get it secondhand, he would never buy it new. He had found our refrigerator on an online marketplace, picked up our washing machine from a local seller, and even complained that the robot vacuum I had spent six months waiting for at a discounted price of 300 dollars was too expensive. "We're not putting our lives on display for other people. What matters is that the machine works." I had always assumed he had grown up poor and was simply afraid of going back to those days. That was until my best friend, Yasmine Owens, moved into her new home and Caleb asked me to help her unpack her deliveries. A 500 dollars robot vacuum, a 2,000 dollars washer-dryer set, and even the coffee machine I had wanted to buy last year but could not bring myself to splurge on were all sitting in her kitchen. I stood there, stunned for a long moment. "Did you strike it rich or something?" Yasmine laughed as she unwrapped another package. "Caleb bought them for me." Caleb did not even look up. "She lives alone, so it's safer to have new appliances. You and I both know how to find good secondhand deals. There's no need to waste money." When I got home, our old washing machine, which had been leaking for a while, broke down again. I took our shared tablet to list it on the online marketplace, but when I opened the app, I discovered Caleb had forgotten to log out of his account. I tapped on his purchase history and found a total of 47 orders—every single one had been delivered to Yasmine's address. The sideboard, the floor lamp, the juicer, the old television… The first dozen or so purchases were all things Caleb had told me he had found at a bargain over the years. Things we had been using in our own home all along. As I stared at our leaking, battered washing machine, it finally dawned on me—it was not that he knew how to find good secondhand deals. He had simply been waiting for Yasmine to wear things out first.

On the first night of our graduation trip, the class representative, Gordon Perkins, suggests that we draw lots in order to get our rooms assigned to us. "Let fate decide the pairs who get to stay in the same room as long as they have the same number, regardless of their gender! Imagine how exciting this is!" Throughout my four-year college life, Ivan Decker and I have been in a relationship for three of those years. No one knows about our relationship, though. I pull out a ball from the box and await my partner. When it's Ivan's turn, he draws out a ball with the number seven. Gordon raises his voice immediately. "The other lucky person who gets to stay in room seven is… Rebecca Benson!" Rebecca, the young woman whom Ivan has pursued in a high-profile manner in the past, goes bright red. Everyone cheers on them right away, claiming that Lady Fate really wants them to be together. But I'm the only one who stays silent. No one knows that I've heard Gordon secretly tell Ivan something before it's time to draw lots. "Look for the ball with the raised dot. I specially saved those ones for you and Rebecca." As I look at Ivan, who walks over to Rebecca and picks up her suitcase for her with a soft smile, I find myself smiling as well. It turns out that Ivan never plans on making our relationship official despite having waited for him for three years. This time, I decide to be the one who leaves first.

My fiancé hated anything that felt like a hassle. In the five years we dated, I always chose where we went. His only job was to have his driver take him there. For birthdays and anniversaries, he gave me the same Barbie-pink lipstick every time. When we started planning our wedding, nothing changed. I tried to go over the guest list with him, but he said it was too much trouble and couldn't be bothered to check it carefully. Even when it came to our engagement photos, he complained that the shoot would take too long, so we only did one basic package. Today, I came to the wedding planning studio alone to give final approval on the arrangements. As the planner, Claire Bennett, pulled up the renderings, she chatted casually with me. "You know, a while back, we had a gentleman come in who was incredibly meticulous about everything. "He personally sampled more than twenty different candies just for the wedding favors. The bride doesn't like sweets, so he even checked the sugar content of every single one." Claire smiled and went on. "Funny coincidence, too. He has the same last name as your fiancé, Sutton. And just like your fiancé, he doesn't like roses." The tip of my pen froze against the paper. Claire didn't notice anything unusual. She looked toward the entrance with a smile. "Look, Mr. Sutton is here again. "This time, he wants to add an outdoor fireworks display because he's worried the bride will feel cooped up indoors." I followed her gaze. Yale Sutton pushed open the door and walked in. All the disappointment that had piled up again and again, along with the shock of this moment, came crashing down on me at once. So he wasn't afraid of trouble. He just wasn't willing to go to any trouble for me. If his heart wasn't with me, then there was no reason to keep holding on. This relationship had run its course.

Erin Greer values a good joke more than boundaries. She always says that we have to keep things fun if we want our relationship to last. So she and her childhood friend, Mark Levine, have a standing arrangement. They will orchestrate a surprise every year on our wedding anniversary—with all their friends playing along—just to see if I'll fall for it. Three years ago, she told Mark in front of me that she regretted marrying me. When I turned to leave, she laughed and pulled me back, saying I was too easily teased. Two years ago, she had Mark put divorce papers beside my pillow. After I signed them with a trembling hand, she laughed and said it was just a prank. Last year, she and Mark held a fake wedding and forced me to stand beside them as the best man. When I got upset, she shrugged it off, saying I was being too serious again. And this year, their surprise is even more outrageous. A guilty-looking Mark stands before me, holding a prenatal test report. "Richard, I'm sorry. Erin is pregnant with my child." Not only does Erin not explain herself, but she also stands obediently beside Mark. They exchange a look, as if waiting for me to break down in despair. I look at their faces as they struggle to hold back their laughter, and suddenly, I feel exhausted. This time, I don't get angry or make a scene. Instead, I take off my wedding ring. "I'm not playing along with this year's surprise."

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.

I watched as my boyfriend put the ring that he had promised to give me on Sophie White's finger at her birthday party. When I questioned him, Mark Goodman shrugged nonchalantly. "I promised to marry Sophie. Since that's not happening now, the ring is compensation." I was left speechless from rage and so disenchanted that I decided to cut all ties with him. Everyone was cheering when Mark later showed up at a gathering with Sophie, both wearing a matching set of rings. But when they all thought I would make a scene, I smiled faintly. "You two really deserve each other. When are you getting married? Do send me an invite."

After catching my husband, Jaxson Larkin, cheating on me for the third time, I end up developing aphasia. Out of guilt, Jaxson spends a month teaching me to communicate using "One" and "Two". "One" means yes, and "Two" means no. No matter what Jaxson says to me, as long as it involves Sasha Fuller, I only answer with "One". When he says Sasha is in poor health and wants to borrow the amulet that my mother left behind to bring me blessings, I answer "One" without hesitation. When he says he wants to postpone our wedding anniversary to celebrate Sasha's birthday, I reply with "One". Even when he brings a pregnant Sasha into our home, I still answer with "One". I even thoughtfully pack my things and give up the master bedroom. It's not until I take the wedding photo off the wall that his eyes turn bloodshot. He grabs my hand tightly and says, "Charlotte, you said you'd never take down our wedding photo unless we got divorced. Are you saying you want a divorce?" Seeing that I'm about to reply to him with "One" again, Jaxson breaks down and roars at me, "Don't you fucking say 'One,' Charlotte! Your vocal cords are fine. You can talk! Just say something!" The next second, as if afraid of scaring me, he coaxes gently, "Lottie, say 'Two,' okay?" I pull my hand free and look at him, puzzled. Has he forgotten that back when he loved me the most, he had signed a prenup? After getting married, if he cheats on me, he'll be given two chances. If he does it again the third time, the divorce agreement will automatically take effect. A month ago, the agreement already went into effect.

My name is Regina Chavez. The first time Carter Gresham cheats, he falls to his knees before me, slapping himself in shame. The tenth time I catch him, he smiles and tries to comfort me. "Once I get my heart back on course, I'll come back to the family." The 20th time, his patience snaps. He yanks my hand away and throws a divorce agreement in my face. I tear the papers to shreds and spend the night destroying everything in the house. By the 30th time, Carter simply sends a signed divorce agreement. In a desperate bid to make him come back, I threaten to cut my wrists. But even as my blood pools across the floor, no one seems to care. When I wake up, his friends are gathered around me, telling me to get a divorce. "Haven't you already spent years building a life with Carter?" "He's already dealing with enough because of your depression. His seeing someone else isn't the end of the world. Do you really need to cry and threaten to kill yourself over it?" Without thinking twice, I find myself signing the divorce papers. The following day, I quietly schedule an abortion, keeping it a secret from everyone. I'm done waiting for Carter to come back.

On our fourth wedding anniversary, I waited at home in vain. Ethan set off fireworks across the entire city for his first love. I was burned by the sparks and ended up in the hospital. Seeing my blackened wounds, he shielded his first love from the doorway and said coldly, "Don't look. It's disgusting." After returning home, I found lace lingerie in the washing machine on the balcony. I calmly took it out, folded it, and placed it on the living room table. Closing the lid, I booked a flight to London.

I begged my boss, Arthur Hutton, ninety-eight times for us to get officially married. Each time, he canceled our plans because his childhood sweetheart deliberately lured him away. On the ninety-ninth attempt, I waited for him at the city hall. Arthur simply patted my head and then put up a sign on the door that read, [Serena Xander and Dogs Not Allowed.] He said indifferently, “Millie’s throwing a fit, and I can’t calm her down. I need to marry her first. “I’ll divorce her, so just wait for me. Next Wednesday is a good day. I’ll marry you then.” But he did not know that I only had ninety-nine chances to give. I would be resigning the following week.