เรื่องสั้นแนว Melodramatic Romance และนิยาย Bias ในฉาก Family Emotions

A blizzard had buried the mountain, turning every road into a death trap. Locals called it Deadman's Pass—seventy-two icy switchbacks with zero room for error. As the only person who had ever made it through without a scratch, I'd just gotten a million-dollar rescue call from beyond the final curve. Ten years ago, I went there once. My seventeen-year-old daughter, Maya, was skydiving with her classmates when a violent air current forced an emergency landing. The rescue came too late. She died there. Later, I learned my husband, Jayden Boone, had ignored Maya's safety. He poured hundreds of thousands of dollars into the rescue effort and redirected every team to save his ex's daughter instead. The girl had only sprained her ankle on a hiking trip. The day Maya died, I walked away from my career as a professor and stayed here, living as a broke driver. I risked my life running Deadman's Pass again and again until I knew every turn by heart. In the ten years since, no one else had died on that road. Today, a friend shoved a million-dollar rescue job in front of me and told me to leave right away. I looked at the face in the photo—the one I could never forget. Then I smiled and tossed my keys onto the table. "I can't take this job."

On the day my daughter, Dakota Bradshaw, gets into a car accident, I rush over to save her, only to get crippled instead. Both my wife, Delilah Rowland, and Dakota don't mind the fact that I'm being a burden to them. Instead, they put in a lot of effort to take good care of me. But one day, a fire breaks out at home. Yet, Delilah personally closes my room door. Since I'm crippled, I end up falling to the floor in my state of panic. That's when I notice Dakota's shoes through the gap under the door. "Dakota, save me!" I call for help at the top of my lungs. But only the sounds of the crackling flames respond to me. I have no idea how much time has passed when I catch wisps of a conversation hazily. "Mom, the firefighters are here. What should we do?" Dakota's voice is very low. Delilah replies calmly, "Tell the police that your father started the fire when he was cooking. We just reached the corridor at that time, so the doorknob was already warped from the fire." Dakota simply says one word. "Okay."

When I went to pick Diana Grant up, she just tossed the car keys toward me. Dangling from the silver ring was a plush white bear pendant. I paused, knowing that she had never kept a keychain or a decorative charm on her keys. Once I slid into the driver's seat, the entire alignment felt off. The seat had clearly been adjusted. "Did you let someone else drive your car?" I asked, keeping my voice casual. Dazed from the alcohol, she offered a dismissive shrug. "Yeah. I lent it to an employee for a quick business trip." I didn't press further. The next morning, the chime of the doorbell broke the silence of the house. When I pulled the door open, a shy, clean-cut young guy was standing on the porch. He blinked, then forced a sheepish smile and handed over a cup of coffee. "Hi," he stammered. "I'm just here to drop off a fresh coffee for Ms. Grant." But my attention wasn't on the coffee. My gaze dropped to his left hand. Twirling lazily around his index finger was a set of keys, and swinging from the metal loop was the same white bear pendant. I took the coffee cup from his hand and quietly closed the door. In the room, Diana's phone lit up on the table. A new notification flashed across the lock screen. It was a message that read: [Diana, I just met your husband. He looks kind of scary. Coffee was delivered safely anyway. Try to drink less alcohol next time, okay?] I picked up the phone and pulled up the video camera. With the recording running, I held the coffee cup over the kitchen sink and slowly poured the warm liquid down the drain. Then I uploaded the recorded video to Diana's social media, broadcasting it to her entire social circle. The caption read: [Thanks for the concern, but she doesn't drink coffee.]

Ethan Hale was the name every pilot at North Ridge Air Base looked up to. I was Ava Morgan, his wife and his only flight partner. To earn my ace qualification, I had to complete three final evaluation missions within the review period. I failed all three. I refused to accept it as coincidence, so I followed the access logs, flight records, and maintenance files until every abnormal detail pointed to one person. Chloe Bennett. When I took the evidence to Ethan, I heard him arguing with his deputy, Liam Reed, behind the office door. "You are putting Chloe forward for the ace-track recommendation? She can barely hold steady in a back seat," Liam said, his anger barely restrained. "Ava is my wife and my flight partner. Chloe is different. She has nothing." Standing outside the door, I suddenly laughed. Then I turned around and accepted the return offer from the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. Before I left, I gave Ethan three things. And he would regret them for the rest of his life.

On our wedding anniversary, my husband left me standing in the pouring rain so he could drive his secretary home. That was the last straw for me, and I asked for a divorce. I gave up custody of our son, but Charlie simply gave me a cold look. "What, are you trying to use our child as an excuse to keep clinging to me?" I smiled and said nothing. I would not. Because I had heard the son I had nearly died giving birth to mutter in his sleep, "I want Megan to be my mom. Dad and I will protect her."

On the day I remarry Jeremy Grant, the fake heiress, Jessica Decker, sets my foster mother ablaze, killing her on the spot. Right after calling the cops, I get knocked out by an unknown assailant. When I open my eyes again, I realize that Jeremy has ordered cosmetic surgery to be done on me. Since I'm sporting Jessica's face right now, that means I'm being used as a scapegoat for Jessica's crimes. Three years later, on the day I get released from prison, Jeremy's legal team is on standby the whole day. As soon as I show any signs of getting revenge, they won't hesitate to admit me into a mental hospital for the next three years. My son, Oliver Grant, even uses the money I've given to him in the past to build a 99-story safehouse for Jessica. In fact, she's hiding in the top floor. The name of that building is J Tower. Of course, the "J" is taken from Jessica. Everyone is terrified that I might hurt Jessica in any way. But I respond by vanishing from the face of the earth. Just like that, I disappear from everyone's lives. The next time we meet is when Jeremy and Oliver show up at my street food stall. I turn on the gas stove before smearing the grease all over my apron. Then, I cut open a pancake skillfully. At the same time, I say calmly, "It'll be an extra dollar for an egg. Two dollars will be charged if you want spicy sausage included." Jeremy gulps quietly, his voice coming out terse. "I'm allergic to eggs. Oliver can't endure any spicy food at all." A pause later, he adds, "Have you forgotten about our preferences?" There's no need for me to remember a single thing about them. All I need to remember is that I'll be able to save enough money to pay off the last installment of the burial plot next to my foster mom's plot if I can sell 33 more dishes.

The year I lost my sight at five, I found Stellan Hale half-frozen in the snow. I told my mother I wanted a companion to guide me and begged her to take him in. Then I leaned close to his ear and whispered a promise. "I don't need you to be my guide dog. Just stay alive. Go wherever you want to go." Still, Stellan stayed. After Mom remarried, he became the only person I had left. He watched over me as I grew up, serving as my eyes and my cane year after year. He even gave up his extraordinary talent for painting to study medicine, all for the sake of my sight. Even after he became one of the most brilliant ophthalmologists in the country, I still could not see. On my 25th birthday, someone he had once been close to won a prestigious art prize. He shut himself inside the study, and I could hear pages rustling behind the door. He told me, his voice carefully even, that he was writing my birthday wishes. I smiled and moved toward him, wanting to kiss his cheek, when words suddenly scrolled across the darkness behind my eyes. "Wake up, you blind little fool. He's tearing every one of his paintings to shreds. On the back of each one, he even wrote 'Go to hell, Elara Langley.' "Stop walking. There's a wire on the floor ahead of you. One more step and you're dead." I froze. Then I smiled again and kept walking. "Stel, Stel, every wish you made for me is going to come true."

On the night Wynnie Moore is done recovering from childbirth, she suddenly brings up the traumatic nightmare that I never wish to revisit. "Actually, the person who imprisoned and assaulted you five years ago was Margaret Silva." Margaret is Logan Jameson's wife, and Logan is the adopted younger brother she raised. My mind goes blank as I blurt, "What?" Wynnie continues as if she's discussing something insignificant. "Back then, Logan found out he was infertile. His mother-in-law never liked him to begin with. To help him secure his position in the Silva family, I agreed to his proposal that you would provide the sperm. "Meanwhile, Margaret had always harbored feelings for you. So..." It turns out the three of them have worked together to imprison and assault me over the course of a few days until Margaret becomes pregnant. I try hard to suppress the nauseous sensation rising in the back of my throat. My lips tremble as I ask shakily, "Why are you telling me this now?" Wynnie lets out a long sigh, as if a burden she's carried for years has finally been lifted. She says, "I've been keeping this a secret for five years. It's exhausting. Also, I've already made up for the child that I once owed you. They say a man takes on a much softer character after becoming a father. Well, that certainly seems to be the case. "You're not losing your temper like you used to. You've finally become calmer and more agreeable." I force a strained and ugly smile. She has no idea that I haven't mellowed down the slightest. It's just that I have a secret that I've never revealed to her too.

After their son died, Shiloh quit every habit Manuel hated. No more blowing up his phone. No more crying when he stayed out all night. No more scenes. Even after a car crash, when the doctor told her to call family, she only said, "I'm an orphan. I don't have anyone."

"Jump. You love me to death, don't you? Didn't you say you'd do anything for me?" Ethan Hart wanted me to throw myself off the observation deck of the tallest tower downtown, live, in front of the millions of people watching the broadcast. I stood on the wrong side of the railing. Below me, traffic streamed through the streets and neon flickered in the distance. His friends clapped and cheered. Vivian Lane laughed softly and curled herself against his arm. Ethan's grin turned vicious. "Come on, don't waste everyone's time. Jump, and I'll marry you." He'd made me a promise once. Finish a hundred of his demands, and he would marry me. When his company was circling bankruptcy, he told me to hand over everything I owned, and I did. Then he moved Vivian into my house in the suburbs and left me to sleep in a motel. The night he was tangled up with Vivian at a private party, he sent me over with something for his hangover, and made a point of telling me to bring a box of condoms, the right size. I stood at the door holding the soup I'd made, and heard him laugh. "She's my ATM. I use her, then I throw her out." No matter how far it went, I'd done all ninety-nine. This was the last one: jump. He thought I'd hesitate, thought I'd cry and beg him to pick something else. I didn't. I let go and fell. The wind roared in my ears, and the whole lit-up city slid past me. I heard him shout, heard the crowd scream, and underneath all of it, the one voice I'd waited too long to hear. [Congratulations, host. Emotional conquest progress: one hundred percent. Reward delivered. Your mother's terminal illness is fully cured.]

I'm born different, with two hearts inside my body. This is the only thing about me that makes my parents happy, because my brother, Tristan Foster, has congenital heart disease. They bring me into this world only so he can keep living. Then I meet Cindy Green and marry her. She pulls me out of the desperate need to chase my family's love. I think she's going to be different from my parents. But when Tristan's condition flares up, she becomes obsessed with wanting me to donate one of my hearts to him. What she doesn't know is that I only have one heart left. The other one is already beating inside her.

The yacht carrying my parents and my younger brother, Dylan Marsh, exploded at sea. There were no survivors. I came home to an empty house and a mountain of debt I had no way to pay off. Numb with despair, I climbed onto the roof, ready to jump—when a stream of comments suddenly scrolled past my vision, as if I were watching myself from the outside. [Plot twist: your parents actually won three hundred million dollars in the lottery. They took your brother abroad to live it up.] [Lol, Dylan has no idea the poor, blind girlfriend he dumped is actually the eldest daughter of the Ross family. She's just been playing along, pretending to be broke.] [Once Dylan blows through all his money and comes crawling back, Celeste Ross is going to lock him in a room and make him pay for it.] [Come on, cannon fodder, jump already. Everyone's waiting for Dylan's big comeback.] I decided, right then, that I wasn't going to die after all. That night, soaked to the bone and half-drunk, I knocked on Celeste Ross's door.

Everyone said I was the most generous man alive. When my CEO wife brought her brother-in-law and his son through the door, he stood there with bloodshot eyes. "Emmett's mother is gone. Could I borrow Colette for a few days to be his mom? He cries every night. It's breaking my heart." Without a word, I went to the bedroom and packed Colette Harmon's things for her. "We're family. You don't have to ask." At my son's birthday party, Emmett Pryce wanted to go to the amusement park and told everyone he did not want to share his new mom. My son immediately turned to the guests and apologized, saying, "Ms. Harmon has an urgent matter to attend to. We'll have to wrap up today's party here. Thank you all for coming." Everyone praised us, father and son, for being so gracious about it. Only I knew what had really happened. My son and I had been reborn. In our previous life, Colette had favored her widowed brother-in-law, Stefan Pryce, just the same. I had swallowed every last bit of it. When my patience finally ran out, I forced the divorce. Not long after, my son developed a heart condition and needed an artificial heart. The medical bills were staggering, so I had nowhere else to turn but Colette. However, she laughed in my face and threw me out into the blizzard. "You'll never be half the man Stefan is. Give it up." My son's heart stopped in my arms. Now that we had been reborn, I willingly let these things slide. All I wanted was for my son to live.

It was my daughter's first day of kindergarten, but she was nowhere to be found. My wife's first love texted me. "Guess where your daughter is." This was already the fourth time Donald Shaw had played a cruel joke like this. On the day Claire Wilson and I went official, he told me she got into a car crash. I cried as I ran nearly two miles through the freezing night to reach her. When the truth came out, Donald hid behind Claire and laughed. "Just a prank. I only wanted to see how much you loved her." On the day of our wedding, he took Claire away and disappeared with her for twenty-four hours, leaving me alone to face the guests' mockery and her parents' anger. The next day, he came back holding her arm and said casually, "I just wanted to play a little game." When Tina was born, he came with a fake DNA test and said she was his. Only after I was overwhelmed with rage and ended up in the hospital did he finally reveal the real report. Every single time, my wife protected him like a heartbroken girl defending her first love. Then she would turn around and scold me. "He's just a bit childlike. Don't be so serious." And now, that bastard was using my daughter as the punchline of his latest joke. I was shivering with fury and I called my wife. But Claire only said impatiently, "He just wants to play hide and seek. Stop crying already." Then she hung up. My eyes stayed fixed on the screen. It showed my daughter's location. And right now, she was in the middle of a river.

"Ms. Clarke, you have successfully purchased a Final Memories recording package. We have arranged hidden cameras to record you anytime and anywhere. From this moment on, no matter where you go or what you do, everything will be secretly filmed until the day you pass away." The staff member handed the contract to Lila Clarke and asked her to confirm everything one last time. Without hesitation, she signed her name. The reason she ordered Final Memories was because she had been diagnosed with cancer. She had no more than one month left to live.

On the day of my daughter’s graduation trip, I ended up late because of work. When I rushed to the airport, I was stopped at the counter. “Sir, we don’t have your ticket details in the system.” I stood stunned for two seconds. I called my wife Sue Jenkins a dozen times before she finally picked up. “Did you buy a ticket for me?” It sounded very noisy on her end and her voice kept being cut off. “I accidentally filled in Clement’s name instead of yours, so I thought I’d just bring him along on the trip. I was so busy boarding the plane just now, I forgot to tell you. If you want to join us, take the next flight in…” My daughter’s voice suddenly sounded through the phone. “Dad, just do your work in peace. It’s good enough to have Mom and Clement with me on my graduation trip.” The call got cut off. The airport was bustling with people, but I stood rooted to the ground for a long time with my luggage case behind me. Sorrow filled my heart. When I was young, my mom was always biased toward my brother. She would always tell me that the elder brother should always give in to his younger brother. After growing up and having my own family, my wife took a liking for my younger brother. Even my daughter liked pestering him on a daily basis. I looked at the itinerary I spent many nights preparing. Exhaustion filled me. I picked up my phone and sent the resignation email I had typed out long ago to my company. Then, I booked a one-way flight ticket scheduled seven days later. Since I was always excluded, I decided to take the initiative to leave.

My grandparents, Timothy Shaw and Dorothy Elmer, show up one day to ask for 30 thousand dollars. In response, my wife, Jade Quinn, shuts the door in my face. She refuses to discuss the topic of a loan or open the door for anyone. All she does is send me a text message that reads, "I earn a fixed salary. How could I possibly come up with 30 thousand dollars on the fly? Don't you have other colleagues and classmates? Just ask them for a loan." I mull over the message as my hand hovers over the study door's knob. Through a crack in the door, I can see her on a video call with a male student named Nicholas Dion. She says to him, "Nicky, I've transferred 200 thousand dollars to your bank account. It's not safe for a young man like you to live in a rented place off-campus. Consider the money a gift from me for you to use as a down payment." My hand freezes in midair, trembling slightly. Just then, the door is opened, and Jade sees me standing outside the door. She offers no explanation and shows no sign of guilt. She simply explains unhurriedly, "I married you and not your entire family, so I'm not letting just anyone mooch off of me. I worked hard to earn my money too." She closes the door in my face. She was a mere inch away from catching my hand in the doorframe, but she showed no hesitation. I clench my hands into fists, understanding abruptly dawning on me. It turns out that our marriage is worth less than 30 thousand dollars to her.

My wife Naomi Holden's phone was always on silent mode. Whenever I needed to reach her, the call never went through. My only option was to ask everyone around us, but when every single person gave a different answer, I already knew the truth. She was with him again, the frail man she had never been able to let go of. On our seventh anniversary, we had plans to meet at our usual spot for dinner. Three hours passed, and she still had not shown up. I stood on the street, burning with fever, dialing one number after another. My father picked up, his voice warm and unhurried. "Naomi just came by for dinner. Don't worry, I've got my eye on her for you." A friend working at her company laughed it off. "Wyatt, relax. Ms. Holden is sitting in on a meeting in our department right now." Even my own sister swore up and down, saying, "Naomi's right here with me at a gallery opening. I'll have her home safe and sound, I promise." Last was our daughter, on the call through her little smartwatch. "Mommy's out shopping for toys with me and Grandma!" Every single person was trying to prove that Naomi was right there beside them. What none of them knew was that Naomi was standing right in front of me. Through the restaurant's glass window, she was cutting up food for the man sitting across from her. My own reflection stared back at me from the glass, haggard, rain-soaked, and pathetic. For the first time, I thought that maybe it was finally time to pull out the thorn that had been lodged in my heart for years.

My wife, Lani Fort, finally answered my calls only after my daughter, Anjou, stopped breathing. “Didn’t I tell you that Warren Stafford’s dog was having a difficult labor? I’m in the middle of saving a life right now. “You’ve called 108 times in two hours. What on earth is going on?” Two hours earlier, my daughter had suddenly developed a high fever, so I took her to the hospital. The doctor diagnosed her with acute myocarditis and said her only chance of survival was to use an ECMO machine. The $50,000 initial fee for the treatment had become an insurmountable obstacle for me. I called her 108 times, but she had rejected every single call. My voice trembled as I held my daughter’s lifeless body. “Anjou... she’s gone...” Loud cheers erupted from the other end of the line. Her childhood friend cheered joyfully. “They’re here! They’re here! Pudding gave birth to eight puppies in her first litter.” Lani’s voice also carried a note of relief. “I drove two hours to take her to the veterinary hospital. Spending $50,000 to save the lives of eight dogs was well worth it.” During the proposal, she said she would love me forever. After we got married, she said she could not give up her career. So, she made me quit my job to stay home and take care of the kids. The $50,000 treatment bill had cost my child her life. On the other hand, she had spent $50,000 to save Warren’s dog. Our marriage would not survive this.

On Twelfth Night, my wife, Joanna Jensen, and I agree to spend the day at my parents' place. I'm holding the hand of our five-year-old son, Charlie Reed. We've barely stepped through the gate of my parents' neighborhood when Joanna's phone rings. It's her brother-in-law, Ryan Quinn, on the line. "Joan, I'm trying to give Cynthia a bath, but she keeps crying for her Aunt Joanna. She's getting older now, and a girl her age shouldn't be bathed by her dad. I really don't know what else to do…" I've long since grown sick of his helpless act. Without saying a word, I just tighten my grip on Charlie's hand. Joanna's voice softens instantly, full of reassurance as she promises she'll be right over. When she hangs up, that familiar apologetic look is already on her face. "Honey, it isn't easy for Ryan to raise Cynthia all on his own. I'll just go check on them, give Cynthia a bath, and come straight back. I'll definitely make it back before lunch so I can eat with you and your parents." She isn't asking. She's telling me. I look at her, my heart sinking. Six years of marriage, and it's the exact same thing every single year. Ryan always plays this game, and Joanna always goes along with it. As I watch her walk away without looking back, Charlie tugs at the hem of my shirt and looks up at me. "Daddy, is Mommy going to Uncle Ryan's house again? But she promised she'd build Legos with us." I crouch down, smooth his hair, and suppress the anger rising in my chest. "Be a good boy, Charlie. Let's head up first. We don't want to keep Grandma and Grandpa waiting." Six years of marriage, and I've spent five of those years waiting for her to come with me to my parents' place. Charlie is five years old, and he's spent his whole life waiting for her to sit down and build Legos with him. This year, I'm done waiting. I'm not going to make Charlie wait anymore, either.