Melodramatic Romance Short Stories & Bias Marriage Novels

By the sixth year of our marriage, I found another man's contact information on my wife's phone. She hadn't shown him to me willingly. While she was taking a shower, a message from an unfamiliar number came through with an intimate photo. A shirtless man had his arms around her while posing for the camera with a peace sign. I picked up the phone and opened the conversation. The chat history had been wiped clean. The entire conversation contained only that one photo, and the contact was saved under a single letter. [M] She hadn't saved his full name or anything else, but it was obvious she had cheated on me.

I loved Cassidy more than anything. Although she had been involved with countless men, and she had even cheated on me with Henry, the fake heir, I still couldn't bring myself to let her go. I worked out, took medication, and did everything I could because I wanted to have a child with her. When the doctor finally told me today that I met the required fertility criteria, I grabbed the test results and rushed straight to her office. "Cassidy, I–" My voice came to an abrupt halt. Cassidy was passionately kissing her new male secretary with her arms wrapped around him. She glanced at me impatiently. "Get out!" I suddenly came to my senses. I could accept having a wife like her, but could our future child accept having a mother like her?

I had returned from a five-year assignment. Walking out of the airport, my heart was filled with hope that Cyra Stern would accept my proposal. However, she just stood there expressionlessly. “Neil Spencer, I’m sorry.” Before I could even register my surprise, she spoke again. “That transfer order… was my doing. “I purposely had you transferred to that remote project in the Northwest just to create space for Devin Lawrence and me. “Back then, I was pregnant with his child. I had no other choice.” A long silence followed as I bit my lip until it bled. That was five years of living hell in the Fopi Desert. They were filled with swirling sandstorms, unbearable heat, and sixteen-hour workdays. It turned out that it was all a cage she had meticulously designed. “You’re so domineering and high-handed. I was afraid you’d hurt us. “I’m not confessing this to seek your forgiveness. I just want you to calm down before things get out of hand and you make a scene.” Her tone was filled with resentment. I took a step back as I dodged her outstretched hand. My smile was tinged with tears. “Cyra, you’ve turned something that could’ve ended in a dignified manner into something that can’t.”

When Wendy Chance's father, Josiah, was rendered speechless, I was the only one he wanted to go to speech therapy with. Every time Wendy and I wanted to go out, Josiah would clutch the corner of my shirt. Once again, Wendy would stuff an unused train ticket in my hand and pat my shoulder apologetically. "Treat my dad well, and I'll make it up to you on another trip. Evan can accompany me on this business trip instead. Don’t overthink this." Evan Striker was the secretary she claimed knew his place. I had collected 27 unused tickets over the past three years. They were from unrealized trips to the mountains, historical towns, and the beach. Every ticket turned into a post on Evan's social media accounts. I thought Wendy was just busy with work until one day, I overheard Josiah speaking clearly in the study as I brought him some water. "Did Evan have fun this time?" Wendy laughed. "You're a pretty good actor, Dad. Joel doesn't suspect a thing." Through the crack of the door, I could see Wendy and my best friend, Eli Conway, sitting at the table. Eli was holding up his phone to remind everyone about something. "Joel is supposed to accompany Wendy to the celebration party tomorrow. Remember to follow the plan and be sick tomorrow, Mr. Chance. That should stop him from attending the party and embarrassing Wendy." Everyone laughed, agreeing with the plan, and Josiah even started practising vague hand gestures. I lowered my head to look at the latest ticket in my hand. I had been duped, doing my best to make these schemers’ web of lies come to life. The ticket fell from my hand, and I no longer wanted to wait for Wendy to finally keep her promises.

My wife, Lily Tanner, is a mortician. She's trying to avoid getting fired during her pregnancy, so she keeps locking herself in the morgue. I may be her husband and colleague, but even I am not allowed inside. I don't want her to work too hard, so in the middle of the night, I sneak into the morgue to do her checks for her. However, she reacts by going berserk and sounding the alarm. Ever since then, I've been very careful around her, fearing that it may affect her pregnancy. Later on, with Lily repeatedly receiving praise from the deceased's family, our department decides to hold a commendation ceremony for her. The whole family seems relieved. However, as soon as Lily receives her award, I ask her for a divorce. The room instantly falls silent. Tearing off the medal on her chest, she complains in a wounded tone, "I'm working myself to the bone even when I'm pregnant, and I'm doing all this to give our child a better life. You're worried that I'll outperform you and overtake you as the top mortician in the industry, aren't you?" I look away from her, a cold smile forming on my lips. "Spend the rest of your life with those bodies, then. I don't want the child anymore, and I'm definitely divorcing you."

In a feverish haze, I heard the doorbell ring. The delivery guy called out, "Delivery for Mr. Hendrick." I smiled as I took it from the delivery guy and thanked him. I was going to laugh at James for being childish. After all, before falling asleep, I had only mentioned that I had a fever. Yet he had already ordered medicine for me. However, when I opened the delivery bag and saw what was inside, my expression froze. Condoms and lubricant were right there in plain sight, and even the toy in my hand made my head spin. Just as I took out my phone, ready to demand an explanation from my husband, a text message suddenly popped up. "This is Sangland Resortworld. Dear Mr. Hendrick, we are delighted to confirm your reservation…"

After Heath Renwick abandons me and our daughter for Celeste Worthing's dog for the seventh time, we finally learn our lesson. He parades around with Celeste and the dog, trending online, landing magazine features, and I don't say a word. He even tears up our daughter Maisie's favorite sketchbook to line the dog's bed, and she doesn't cry or make a fuss. Then the dog chases Maisie down a flight of stairs. She hits her head and ends up in the ER with a concussion, and only then does Heath bother to show up. "Raven! Why didn't you tell me? I'm Maisie's father too!" I spend the whole night sitting outside the emergency room. I look at him, my voice perfectly calm. "It's nothing serious, just a mild concussion. She'll be out in a couple of days. We know you're busy, so Maisie will understand." Heath freezes. "A concussion is serious, and you're telling me it's nothing? What kind of a mother are you?" He wants to blow up, but the whispers around him stop him short. "Mr. Renwick really is better suited for Ms. Worthing. If she hadn't gone abroad back then, a small-town woman like Raven would never have had a chance." "Exactly. She can't even keep her own child safe." Heath frowns. "There's nothing going on with Celeste. She's like a sister to me!" I nod. "I believe you. "Maisie fell down the stairs because Prince chased her. I know that dog means everything to Celeste, so I didn't bring it up. I didn't want to put you in a difficult position." A flicker of shame crosses Heath's face. "I'll find the best doctor for Maisie. Prince is everything to Celeste, you know that. She has mental health issues." "Mr. Renwick, I understand. Maisie doesn't need to call you Dad anymore." He panics. "If you're upset, just say so! Stop putting on this act and dragging the kid into it!" I nod. "Okay. I got it." I'm not planning to make a scene. I already have plane tickets to Eraly. In five days, we'll have nothing to do with each other anymore.

On the night before my wedding, the bridal party is too excited to sleep, so someone suggests a game of anonymous confessions. Everyone writes down one thing they want to say to me, the groom-to-be. I eagerly close my eyes, expecting heartfelt wishes and congratulations, but the first note stuns me. "You bastard. If you weren't forcing my sister to marry you, Lyle would be my brother-in-law!" Lyle Thomas is my best friend. Just three hours earlier, he called to apologize, saying a last-minute business trip had come up and he couldn't make it to the wedding. My hands tremble as I continue reading. "That watch she gave you as a wedding present is one Lyle turned down. He said it looked cheap, so she dumped it on you instead. The day your dad died, she was screwing Lyle in the apartment you shared. In fact, Lyle isn't missing your wedding because of work. He's too busy taking care of their baby." The moment I reach the final note, I recognize Alyssa James' handwriting. "You've already ruined this life for me, and I've come to terms with it. But if there's a next one, stay away from me." The sheer absurdity leaves me stunned at first. Once the shock fades, all I feel is bitter irony. I crumple the notes and toss them into the trash, along with the watch on my wrist. Then, I look up at Alyssa. "Since that's how you feel, let's turn tomorrow's wedding into a party for your new baby instead."

After a car accident leaves my girlfriend, Selene Voss, with temporary amnesia, she wakes up convinced that my best friend, Evander Thorne, is her fiance. Afraid that telling her the truth might worsen her condition, I agree to switch places with him. The arrangement is simple. We only pretend. Nothing more. Once Selene gets her memory back, everything goes back to normal. But six months have passed, and she shows no sign of remembering anything. Then one day, I stumble across a post online from someone in our city. "I lost my memory after a car accident and mistook another guy for my boyfriend. Now I've actually fallen in love with him. How do I explain this to my real boyfriend?" The top comment offers a simple solution. "Just keep pretending you have amnesia. You can't lose. If things work out with the new guy, great. If you regret it later, just say your memory finally came back." The author has liked the comment. I look up just as Selene and Evander walk through the door. She trails behind him with several shopping bags in her hands, and when she looks at him, the love in her eyes is impossible to miss. So, that's how it is. Somewhere along the way, Selene stops pretending. For her, this relationship has already become real.

On my wife Christine Stott's birthday, I held a property certificate, hoping to surprise her. I waited until midnight, but she never showed up. Instead, I got a confession. Christine: [I'm pregnant, but the baby isn't yours. I'm sorry...] I stared at those words, reading them over and over. I worked hard for three years to buy this property. I worked overtime until I was vomiting blood, I drank myself into the hospital at business dinners, and I came home every night so exhausted that I would collapse straight into bed. And her? She wiped away all my efforts just by saying the baby was not mine. I called her. She answered quickly. "I'm sorry for what I did to you. I'll give you whatever you want." I took a deep breath and asked, "Anything I want?" "Yes." "Then let's get a divorce. You leave with nothing."

In our third year of marriage, my wife's kept boy toy decided he wanted to break up with her. He left her nothing but a long, dramatic message and blocked her on every platform before she could respond. [You can't give me what I actually want. I don't want to keep dragging this out with you.] I watched my wife's romantic drama play out with a cold, distant expression. After three years of them breaking up and getting back together more times than I could count, I figured this was nothing new. I expected Elena Sheridan to rush straight to coax him back like always. But this time, she was ice cold about it. "He was just a plaything I kept around for amusement. Now he thinks he can threaten me with a breakup? I’ve clearly indulged him too much." But a month later, the news broke online. He'd jumped from a building. The woman who had always been cold and unfeeling completely fell apart.

My husband Marcus Ashford has severe social anxiety. In three years of marriage, he refused to meet a single one of my friends or family. Even our wedding was just the two of us, because he said a crowd would trigger a panic attack. Because it hurt me to see him like that, I put up with my parents' disappointment and my friends' confusion, made every excuse for him, and guarded his fragile little world with both hands. That changed tonight, when I stumbled onto the social media page of his first love, newly returned from overseas. In the photos, Marcus moved through the room with Chloe, working the toasts with total ease, laughing wide and unguarded. I opened the next live photo, and a snatch of conversation came out of it. "Marcus, isn't today your father-in-law's birthday too? You're not going to swing by?" Marcus answered as though it were nothing, "Going would just be pointless socializing. A waste of time. I'd rather stay here with Chloe." I went through those few photos over and over, more times than I could count, until my eyes were dry and stinging, and then I shut off the screen without a word. Then I called a lawyer and had the divorce papers drawn up. So his world was full of voices and noise after all. It simply refused to open for me, and for me alone. Fine. If the party wasn't mine, I wasn't going to keep forcing my way in.

On Sunday night, I had already changed into a dress and was about to take a wedding anniversary cake to my husband at the hospital. I had just picked up my car keys when several lines of text suddenly floated into view. [Don't go.] [The moment you step into Avermont Medical Center, tonight's surgery - the one where Elise Parker's patient dies - will be recorded with you as the primary surgeon.] [Grant Holloway will use your EHR e-signature credentials, alter the surgical schedule, and add false entries to the chart so you take the fall for her.] [Three days later, the patient's family will livestream outside the hospital demanding answers, and the internet will brand you a heartless doctor.] [In the end, the patient's brother will attack you with a knife.] I froze in the entryway. A second later, Grant called. "Jessica, are you at the hospital yet? Swing by Medical Affairs when you get here. I need you to sign off on something."

To avoid being the topic of gossip, I could only use disposable items every time I went to my girlfriend, Erica Livingston's, house. She made me use disposable slippers in her house, and disposable utensils when we had our meals. Even when I stayed the night, she prepared disposable sheets for me. "If someone saw any of your things at my house, I wouldn't know how to explain it," she would tell me every time. "I'll get you everything you deserve once we go public." I waited three years for that to happen, and I had to enter her house every time as if I was a guest. This continued until one day, when she held a birthday party for her assistant, Ryan Strobe, at her house. When I opened the door, I saw Ryan taking out their matching house slippers from the shoe cabinet in her house. Erica's best friends arrived next and wore all of the other disposable house slippers available at her house. I was left standing by myself at the door. "You can come in barefoot. It's not cold in the summer," Erica said to me without looking up. It felt like she was calling out to a stranger to enter her house. I stared at the table, full of food, from afar, with utensils printed with Ryan's favorite anime character. In the far corner was a pair of cheap, disposable utensils that belonged to me, and I suddenly felt like everything I had with her was disposable as well. It was time that this love that was buried deep in secret should also be disposable to me, and I should throw it away now that I was done with it.

After a car accident wipes my memory, my mind is stuck ten years in the past—right after I get down on one knee to propose to Angeline Stone. I tear through every app on my phone, desperate to find any proof that Angeline is actually my wife. But all I see in my contacts are numbers I don't recognize, and my WhatsApp chat list is empty. I have no choice but to call my buddy, Rick Tate, to ask him whether Angeline accepted my proposal. To my surprise, he explodes on me like a lit firecracker. "Did a donkey kick you in the head, Caleb? Did she accept your proposal? You're about to divorce her!" My first reaction after hanging up is—damn, I'm a legend. I actually managed to land an ice queen like Angeline. My second reaction is to stare blankly at the handwritten divorce agreement on the nightstand. Who wants a divorce? Me? Am I out of my mind?

At eight months pregnant, Esther Rivera went to the mall to buy a duffle bag and stock up on supplies she would need when she went into labor. She was once again mistaken for a mistress and was assaulted by Summer Moreno. To protect the baby in her belly, she could not fight back at all. Summer grabbed her hair and slapped her several times, even nearly tearing off her clothes. At her wit’s end, Esther called the police. Both of them were taken to the police station. Each of them claimed to be Jasper Clarke’s wife The police officer, John Hayward, called Jasper to verify the truth. When Jasper learned about this, he went to the police station. Summer swiftly took out a mirror to touch up her makeup before looking at Esther smugly and saying, “Esther, do you think Jasper will say I’m his wife just to protect me? “I bet he will.”

Ophelia Hart had been married to Rowan Cabell for five years. He had been cheating on her for four and a half of those years. His list of mistresses could probably stretch all the way from Merion to Freeka, and the condoms he had gone through could practically wrap around the entire globe. However, Ophelia never made a scene. Whenever Rowan brought another woman to bed, she would quietly prepare a cup of warm water and a box of his favourite lemon-flavored condoms. When they were done, she would calmly arrange for the maid to clean the room. It was all because of the first rule in the Hart family’s code for women—'A husband’s infidelity is never an excuse for anger or confrontation. Never make a scene. Never raise your voice. His comfort must always come first. Violate this rule, and you will pay the price yourself.’ Ophelia had once paid that price for six months. Those six months were more than enough to make the lesson unforgettable. Hence, when Rowan wrapped his arms around Lydia Beaumont and passionately kissed her in front of everyone, then loudly announced that he was going to marry her, Ophelia merely reached into her bag. She pulled out a pack of strawberry chewing gum, offered it to them with both hands, and said sweetly, “Kissing feels better when you’re chewing gum.” Everyone burst into laughter and started cheering. They thought she had finally learned her lesson. However, they had it all wrong, because she was about to leave…

A day before my wedding, my fiancee, Claudia George, was suddenly required to go on a business trip to North City. “There are some issues with the project. The issue should be settled by tomorrow morning, and I’ll return immediately. I won’t delay the wedding at all.” She was afraid that I would overthink the situation, so she video-called me right after she landed. In the video call, she was wearing the down jacket that I had bought her. Behind her was the white wall of the hotel. It was snowing heavily outside the window. She showed me the entire room. There was one pillow on the bed, and one set of toiletries on the sink. She even opened the closet for me to have a look. I nodded with a smile and urged her to go to sleep early. However, after she hung up, my tears trickled down my cheeks uncontrollably. It was a super El Nino year. No snow was supposed to fall upon North City.

The day I catch my fiancée, Autumn Freeman, in bed with another man, the guy on top of her deliberately slashes his own face. Autumn throws herself in front of him, refusing to budge. Even as I fall apart right there, she refuses to let me get a clear look at his face. She turns to me, her voice breaking as she pleads through her tears. "This is all my fault. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I only ask that you leave him alone, Clark Ballard." After that day, Autumn gives up her privacy. She hands me her phone every day and installs hidden cameras in her car herself. Even when patients text her, I grill her about it. She accepts everything without complaint, doing whatever it takes just to win me back. But when I go to pick up my suit three days before our wedding, the clerk gives me a puzzled look. "Mr. Ballard, you already picked up your suit this morning. I just came across a video of your wedding online." In the video she pulls up, Autumn's close friends, who were calling me Autumn's husband just yesterday, are handing rings to the newlyweds. Our mutual friends are standing right there, too, and Autumn looks absolutely radiant with happiness. Blushing, she gazes at the groom and softly calls out to him. "Kev." Hearing the groom's name, along with seeing a face that looks exactly like mine, leaves me rooted to the spot.

For five years, I had stood by my girlfriend as she worked her way from a tiny street stall to a successful chain of stores. Three times, I waited for her to finally give me a home. The first time, she bought a one-bedroom apartment. I packed my bags, ready to move in, only for her to hand the keys to her childhood friend, who had just gone through a divorce. "He's raising his daughter on his own. It isn't safe for them to live somewhere else," she told me. "Just stay with me in the basement for a few more months." The second time, she bought a two-bedroom apartment. I had already bought new sheets and gotten everything ready. Then, by some twist of fate, her childhood friend's apartment caught fire. She gave the new place to him and his daughter, then took me back to the cramped room behind the store. When I told her I wanted to leave, she hugged me with tears in her eyes. "Just wait a little longer. Once we buy a three-bedroom place, I promise I'll finally give you a real home." I stayed with her for another two years because of that promise. Finally, the day came when the new house was ready. I rushed over with the suit lookbook I had kept for so long, only to find her childhood friend already there, holding his daughter's hand as they picked out bedrooms. My girlfriend stopped me and lowered her voice. "He's fighting his ex-wife for custody. He needs a stable home if he wants a chance of keeping his daughter. Stay at the store with me for one more year. Once he gets custody, I'll bring you home right away." The suit catalog slipped from my hands and hit the floor. That was when I finally understood. It was not that she had never been able to give me a home. It was that every time, she chose someone else. This time, I was not waiting anymore. I no longer wanted the "home" she spoke of. I would leave her to care for the one person she had always wanted to protect.