Tragic Love Romance Short Stories & Bias Cheating Novels

My CEO fiancé lived by the rules. To him, principles came before everything. The day my mother suffered a heart attack, he offered to drive us to the hospital himself. Then he crawled along at five miles an hour, stopping for every pedestrian and refusing to change lanes or cut ahead of anyone. I urged him to hurry just once. He slammed his fist against the steering wheel and snapped at me to stop forcing him to do something that went against his principles. Then he pulled over, ordered my mother and me out of the car, and drove away. By the time we finally reached the hospital, we'd already lost the best window to save her. My mother died. Meanwhile, his personal assistant, Yara Cole, had just posted an announcement on social media. [I got into a huge fight with my parents because they won't stop pressuring me to get married, so I decided I'd marry the first person who showed up at the city hall for me. Guess who came flying over at 180 mph? My BOSS! He made it here in ten minutes and even got his driver's license revoked. Since he lost one license because of me, I guess I'll have to make it up to him with another. A marriage license!] Attached was a screenshot of the citation Caleb Foster had received for speeding through the city. It seemed to laugh right in my face, mocking me for ever thinking I mattered enough for him to break his precious rules. It wasn't until he realized I hadn't come home all night that Caleb finally called. "Yvette, I know you saw Yara's post. Your mom is sick, but there are doctors who can treat her. If Yara married the wrong person, that could ruin her entire life. Do you really want to stand by and watch one of our company's best employees throw her future away?" He didn't even give me a chance to answer before he went on. "Don't think I don't know what your mom's doing. She's pretending to be sick to pressure me into marrying you. "Once I get back, I'll have a serious talk with Yara's parents and straighten out their ridiculous ideas. Then I'll divorce Yara and marry you. Your mom will get exactly what she wanted, and she'll probably be so happy she'll make a miraculous recovery." I stared into the bright flames of the cremation furnace, but there was no light left in my eyes. Caleb didn't know it yet, but I didn't want him anymore.

Once again, Theodore Shaw was glued to his phone. Without thinking, he popped a whole grape into our six-month-old son's mouth. The next second, our baby's face turned bright red as he choked, his tiny arms and legs flailing frantically. Theodore did not even look up from his phone. His apology was careless and dismissive. "Sorry. I wasn't paying attention." Ever since his first love had added him back as a contact, those words had become his favorite refrain. Panicking, I patted our son's back over and over, tears streaming down my face. At last, he managed to cough up the grape. Theodore glanced at the resentment on my face, then returned his attention to the screen. "I have to get Vivi tickets to the concert she's been waiting months for. They'll sell out if I'm even a second slower." It was not an explanation. He was simply warning me not to make a scene and cost him the tickets. I held our sobbing, trembling baby in my arms, my back drenched in cold sweat. At that moment, I no longer wanted any part of the happy family everyone else believed we had.

On my wedding day, my fiancé showed up with another woman, flashing a marriage license. He announced, "She's my true love. Don't even think about taking her place." My doting brother sided with her too. "You've had a cushy life for over 20 years. Let her have this." I left quietly. My brother and my fiancé breathed a sigh of relief. They paraded the new girl around town, my brother even calling her his adopted sister to boost her status. They didn't know I'd gone to the border until someone mentioned me. I was done with them, but they started to regret it.

I had a unique profession. I was a breakup specialist. I did not need to go to court or write any contracts for that. That was a lawyer’s job. Everyone kept saying that love was priceless, but a couple who professed their love to each other for an entire night could be paying me tons to break their relationship up the following day. I was shaking my head upon those matters when I received a message from my husband, Matthew Grant, asking me to pick our wedding anniversary’s destination. A few seconds after that, a beautiful woman walked into my office. She appeared timid and had to take a lot of time to summon the courage to speak. “I’d like to hire your services for my boyfriend. He has decided to divorce his wife.” I made no comment as I picked up the documents she had handed me, only to see Matthew’s name on the paper. I froze, while the woman sitting in front of me ducked her head and continued, “My boyfriend says that his wife is a good person and that he doesn’t want to hurt her.” I smiled as I stared at the picture; it clearly was Matthew, but I had the strange feeling of seeing a foreign person too. My heart throbbed, and I could only lament. This was my third year as a breakup specialist, and I was actually hired to break up my own relationship.

Late one night, I was scrolling through social media when I came across a post asking people to share their wedding photos. I was about to leave mine in the comments when the pinned reply caught my eye. It was a set of wedding photos of my husband, Sebastian Moore, and my cousin, Xena Zane. My ears rang, and my mind went completely blank. I tapped into the account that had posted them. There were hundreds of posts, and nearly all of them were wedding photos. I scrolled down and opened the very first one. Wendy Tanner, my best friend, had left the top comment. [Finally! I've been waiting forever for you two to go public. Wishing you a lifetime of happiness!] My mom, Diane Stone, had commented right beneath her. [You two look wonderful together. Take good care of each other.] Mutual friends, relatives, and people from every corner of our lives had all chimed in with congratulations. Something inside me finally snapped. Everyone had known from the beginning. Everyone except me.

I made a deal with the Devil. My soul, in exchange for seven days on earth after I died. The eleventh hour after my death happened to fall on our third wedding anniversary. The moment I walked through the door, he had just come home from another woman's place. He had an anniversary gift waiting for me. A set of sapphires. But the card tucked beside them bore another woman's name. I spotted a pale lavender hair tie in his hand. Once, I would have fought him over a hair tie like that, all the way from the front hall to the study. This time, I said nothing. It was him who froze instead, staring at me like I was a stranger. "You didn't used to be like this. I almost miss the way you used to fall apart over everything." He was right. The old me would have thrown a fit over something as small as him forgetting to cut my steak. But ever since the miscarriage, my heart had been dying by slow degrees. When I found out I was pregnant, I was overjoyed. I wanted him to be the first to know. But I couldn't reach him, no matter how many times I called. I lost the baby. I hemorrhaged. That very afternoon, while I lay on the operating table, a photo of him and that woman hit the entertainment headlines. He never even knew I had carried a child. Now there was only one last thing I wanted from him. To drive me up to the northern coast, and bury me with his own hands. But when he realized I had truly vanished from this world, he came undone.

"Can I undergo surgery to widen my vaginal canal? My husband is… on the larger side. It's a bit too much for me to handle," a woman says. I stare at the attractive young lady before me, feeling slightly surprised. Most of my patients come to me for vaginal tightening procedures or hymen reconstruction surgery. Requests for vaginal widening surgeries are extremely rare. According to her medical file, the woman's name is Melanie Sanders. After a brief consultation, I examine her. Her vaginal canal is somewhat narrow, but her condition isn't severe enough to warrant surgery. I advise her against the procedure, but she refuses to reconsider. "My husband is quite… well-endowed. He's afraid of hurting me during sex, so he always tries very hard to hold himself back," she explains. "I can't bear to see him suffer. Please schedule the surgery for me as soon as possible, Dr. Smith." Her words make me think of my husband, Zachary Hudson, whose size has caused me pain during intimate moments on several occasions. Feeling my face grow hot, I quickly push the thought aside and schedule the woman's surgery. All of a sudden, the door to the consultation room bursts open, and a man marches inside. Before I can say anything, Melanie throws herself into the man's arms, calling him "honey". I stare at the couple, my blood running cold. As it turns out, the man she has been talking about is the same man I've been married to for two years.

The first time I meet my girlfriend, Nadine Grant‘s parents, she stops me at the door. Her childhood friend and neighbor, Nick Lockwood, has just pulled a tarot card. The card says I'll attract trouble today, so I shouldn't go inside. Before I can say a word, Nadine reaches for the gifts in my hands. "Wait in the car for a while," she says. "When dinner's over, we'll go home together." I don't let go. "I've spent over a month getting ready to meet your parents, and you're not even letting me in?" Displeasure is written all over her face. "Andy, I'm doing this for your own good!" Before I can argue, she shoves me back into the car. Nick smiles at me through the car window. He says, "Andy, don't take it the wrong way. I'll go in and keep Mr. Grant company for you." Nadine stands beside him without looking back once. This is all happening because of one tarot card Nick pulls. I'm the one who's here to meet Nadine's parents, yet I'm somehow the last person they want inside. Then, I have no reason to become part of this family either!

On the anniversary of our child's death, my mother suddenly suffers chest pain, and my husband, Gavin Grover, accompanies her to the hospital first. Meanwhile, I go to the cemetery alone and leave my daughter, Miley Grover, various toys and snacks. It isn't until evening that I hail a cab home. A radio program is playing in the car when the host takes a call from a new listener. The moment the man speaks, I recognize the voice. "Two years ago, my wife had complications during childbirth. We lost the baby, and the doctors said it would be very difficult for her to get pregnant again. My in-laws are getting old and want us to continue the family line, so they asked me to have a child with another woman and pass it off as my wife's. She is giving birth today. I don't know whether I should tell my wife the truth." My entire body goes rigid. He goes on to say that he has been trying to have a child with another woman for the past six months. He says, "At first, I felt guilty. But now that the baby is about to be born, I can't just abandon Jenny." My mind goes blank. Jenny is my younger sister, who has been away from home for the past six months. With trembling hands, I call Gavin, but he hangs up. The next second, he sends me a voice message. "Your mom's fine. She's already gone home. I'm working overtime at the office. Go home. I made some food in the kitchen." He sounds as gentle as ever. But unmistakably, a baby is crying in the background. At this moment, I realize something. While I'm mourning the child we lost, he is with someone else, waiting for their child to be born.

My son, Nick Hammerback's grades suddenly skyrocket after he spends the summer supposedly getting tutored at his classmate's house. Wanting to thank the family, I bring his classmate's mother a gift at the first parent-teacher meeting of the school year. Instead, she looks completely confused. "Tutoring? That never happened. Our whole family spent the summer in Rosta." My smile freezes. When I get home, I demand to know where Nick has really been going all summer. Instead of answering, he gets irritated and storms off. "Why does it matter? You're the one who's always telling me to study harder. Now I'm getting good grades, and you're still not happy?" Then I notice an essay he's left on the table. The assignment is titled "The Person I Want to Thank Most." His title makes my heart soften. It reads, "My Mom." But the warmth lasts only a second. According to the essay, his mom spends the entire summer helping him study. She loves wearing white dresses, while I never wear white because I'm always doing housework. Just before school starts, the three of them even take a family vacation together. The dates match the exact days my husband, David Hammerback, claims he's away on a business trip. I stare at Nick's perfect-score essay and finally understand. David is lying to me, and now my son has learned to lie too. They haven't just built a second family behind my back. Nick has already fallen in love with his new "mom". That evening, after dinner, Nick announces that he's heading out for another "tutoring session". David immediately offers to drive him, claiming he needs to stop by the office anyway. This time, I simply smile and let them go. If they love their other family so much, they can keep it. Starting tonight, neither of them needs to come home.

On the day of our wedding, Henry Tate tells me, "I slept with Rebecca." He points at the big screen with a grin. "When Yves left you because of Rebecca, I swore I would make him pay and let him know what it feels like to be betrayed. So I slept with his woman." I stare at him in disbelief and suddenly realize that the screen isn't displaying our wedding photos, but photos of a man and a woman being intimate. The man is Henry, and the woman is Rebecca Litt. Three years ago, I caught my fiance, Yves Sullivan, and Rebecca, the student I support financially, in bed together. I'm devastated, and Henry is the one who helps me get through it. But now, he's using the same way to stab me where it hurts most. Tears roll down my face. Henry frowns. "Why are you crying? I got back at him for you. You should be happy."

During those seven years, I helped Michael Spencer pay off his debts and worked alongside him until he became the company’s general manager. Almost all of my daily necessities were “secondhand.” I picked up a decade-old flip phone to use, and mended an old coat with the padding falling out to wear. Even our dishcloth was something I had salvaged from the old rags that the neighbors discarded when they moved. Back then, Michael would always hold me close. His eyes were filled with tenderness. “Nancy, just wait a little longer. “Once things get better, I’ll definitely throw you the wedding of a lifetime.” I believed him. That was until the seventh year, at the wedding rehearsal, when he walked into the backstage area and tossed me a “secondhand” wedding dress. “This is the one my cousin, Joanne, wore when she got married ten years ago. “You’re used to living frugally. A haute couture wedding dress doesn’t suit your style. You’re better off with this vintage one.” Before I had a chance to react, I saw the suit I had picked out replaced by a tattered jacket. It was on my father, Dan Norman’s back. “Your father comes from the countryside. He doesn’t understand suits and etiquette.” “This one from Joanne’s husband fits him perfectly.” Joanne was Michael’s first love. She had just returned home after her divorce last month and was standing beside Michael. I looked down at the frayed wedding dress in my hands. Then, I looked up at my father’s awkward smile. Suddenly, I realized something. This wedding, which I had waited seven years for, was no longer necessary. “Order me the most expensive wedding dress you can find,” I said over the phone. I was going to wear it to marry someone else.

My husband, Oliver Dawson, "forgot" everything in a car crash—and somehow fell for me all over again. After getting out of the hospital, he said he wanted to date me from scratch. Moved out, made it all romantic. People thought we were couple goals. I figured he just wanted that first-date spark back. Then I overheard him with his best friend. "The amnesia was a lie. I only moved out to take care of Katy. She's pregnant. Cecelia's never wanted kids. I'm not going childless." I glanced down at my barely-there bump and booked a hospital appointment. Then I found the memory-erasing pill Mom left me—and took it. Oliver had no clue I'd forget him in seven days. Completely.

Sam Cassidy and I have been married for three years. We lived in the poorer part of the city and ate canned food that was close to expiring, and I worked three jobs a day. I even had to consider for 30 minutes before deciding if I should buy a box of discounted strawberries. Sam was gentle and considerate, and I could not find any fault with him except that he was extremely broke. He was so broke that I had to take care of him financially when I could barely take care of myself. However, we had to live life positively, and an ordinary and busy life was the norm for ordinary people like us. This continued until I accidentally bumped into his phone, and the screen lit up. A chat group named 'The Fake Broke Challenge Committee' appeared on his phone screen. [I guess you're the reigning champion again, Sam.] [It's impressive that it has been three years and your lie hasn't been exposed.]

After I lost my five-year-old daughter, I slit my wrists for the 49th time in a haze of grief. My husband was bandaging the wound when he suddenly broke down. "You and our daughter got into that car accident because I put sleeping pills in your milk. "I've already stayed by your side through your treatment to atone for what I did. How much longer are you going to torture me?" I stared at Nicholas Halston, my eyes wide with disbelief. He took a deep breath, as if a weight had finally lifted from his shoulders. "The woman I've been seeing on the side for the past three years is actually your foster sister. "I drugged you because she wanted to do something reckless in the house that day. I was afraid you'd find out and divorce me. "I didn't know you'd leave the house afterward." The relief on his face felt like a rusted blade driven straight into my heart. After I drank the milk, the nanny rushed in to tell me our daughter had a high fever. I couldn't reach Nicholas, so I drove her to the hospital myself. Halfway there, drowsiness overwhelmed me. I slammed into an oncoming car, and our daughter died on the spot. Grief and guilt consumed me. I hated myself for the carelessness I believed had killed her. I never imagined that Nicholas and Rosalind Sommers were the true culprits. I laughed and cried like I'd lost my mind. Nicholas spoke again, his voice heavy with endless exhaustion. "Whether you want to have another child and start fresh or keep trying to kill yourself, that's up to you." The next second, his phone lit up with a pregnancy test report from Rosalind.

On the night before my wedding, Sherry Schmidt's male best friend, Cole Graham, suggests playing an auction game. Everyone writes an item up for auction on a card, and the others bid for it. Just like before, I eagerly play along and write something on a card, but no one is interested in bidding on mine. Then Cole boldly reveals his card, which reads, "My first time." The card instantly sends a wave of gasps through the room. "That's wild, Cole! You're really going all out!" Cole doesn't even flinch as he says, "Bid as much as you want. I can afford it." Fueled by alcohol, all the women at the party start bidding. They drive the price from 500 dollars all the way up to 50 thousand dollars. The next second, Sherry, who had shown little interest until then, suddenly makes the highest possible bid. She turns to me and lowers her voice to explain, "Those women are up to no good. I'm helping Cole out because I'm worried he'll get taken advantage of." Even though I felt conflicted, I nod. The next second, Cole grabs her by the arm and pulls her into the bathroom. Through the frosted glass, I can see him pinning Sherry against it and forcing a kiss on her. I stand there in stunned disbelief. Everyone else tries to reassure me. "Don't take it personally. They've been like brothers since they were little. There's no need for them to keep their distance." Looking at the blurry but suggestive scene through the bathroom glass, I suddenly understand something—I'm the one who should be keeping my distance now.

I discover Quilton Fuller's affair before our wedding, so I lie to him about having aborted our child. He hates me for that and gets engaged to a woman who looks just like me. On his wedding day, he video-calls me, wanting to show me his bride. However, he's greeted by the sight of me bloody and battered after being tormented by abductors. I beg him to at least save the baby in my womb, but he says to the abductors, "You'd better kill her and her child."

After a Thanksgiving dinner, my childhood friend, Calvin Sheafe, suggests playing Truth or Dare. When my wife, Tiffany Kramer, loses a round, she reluctantly chooses Truth. "When was the last time you felt nauseated?" Calvin asks with a teasing smile. "Where were you?" "10:00 pm last night. In bed," Tiffany answers without the slightest hesitation. The mood turns awkward, and a few of my friends glance my way. Tiffany and I grew up in the same neighborhood and got married soon after graduation. We'd agreed not to have children, and our marriage had always seemed happy and stable. That is, until we get into a huge fight before Thanksgiving. Tiffany has already made plans for us to spend Thanksgiving with her parents, as we've spent every holiday with them since they moved four years ago. But this year, I want to return to my hometown, Birchford, instead. When I insist on going back, Tiffany and I have a massive argument. Trying to lighten the mood, another friend jokes, "You've been married for seven years without kids. Don't tell me there's a little surprise on the way!" "Of course not." Tiffany sneers. "A woman only has a child for a man she truly loves." I shoot to my feet, and the gathering ends on a sour note. I assume Tiffany is still angry at me. But while smoking in the stairwell, I overhear her talking to Calvin. "I can't take it anymore. If you hadn't gone overseas back then, I wouldn't have married him. He kept chasing after me like a pathetic simp, and I ended up marrying him out of spite! "I never thought marrying a simp would still leave me feeling so wronged." I freeze, the cigarette ash burning into my palm. We've been married for seven years. Yet in all 2,557 days of our marriage, she has never loved me—not even for a second.

Two months into my cold war with Sean, the lover he’d been keeping finally danced her way right up to me, the real deal. Everyone expected me to react the same way I always had before, kicking up a huge scene to stake my claim. Instead, I looked at the intimate photos of Sean and her in the group chat, smiled, and sent them my blessing. [Looking good. Wishing you two a long and happy life.] The chat went dead silent. Sean must’ve sobered up from his little paradise because in the middle of the night, he drove home and pounded on my door. He was furious. “Do you think this is funny?” However, I only met his gaze calmly. “Honestly, after all these years, none of it is.”

When I found out I had terminal cancer and only a month left to live, my wife didn't want to talk about my illness. All she wanted was for me to donate a kidney to the man she'd never stopped loving. For five years of marriage, I cooked for her and poured every bit of love I had into her. Yet, she never once looked my way. Then, I actually died, and that was when she finally regretted it. She knelt devoutly at the church, praying I would come back to her.