Melodramatic Romance Short Stories & Bias Regret Novels

On New Year's Eve, I hurry home from abroad to surprise my wife, Moira Wesley, from whom I've kept my return a secret. But when I push open the front door of our home, I'm greeted by the sound of laughter and friendly chatter. Overcome with emotions, I enter the house to see Moira with a baby in her arms as she announces sweetly, "Today, we celebrate New Year's Eve and Beatrice's one-month birthday! Happy New Year, everyone!" Upon hearing my entrance, Moira glances over her shoulder, then turns and walks toward me. She grabs the mug of hot tea on the table and splashes it at me. "Who are you? How dare you trespass into a private residence on New Year's Eve?" I try to ignore the burning pain on the left side of my face as I grab Moira's arm, hoping she'll explain herself. However, she shrugs off my grip and gives me another hard slap. "Noah, call the police! Tell them a suspicious person broke into our home and is attempting to rob us!" After that, Moira winks at me, then turns with the baby in her arms and joins an older couple. "Francine, Eric, don't worry about that. It was someone irrelevant." I stand in place, watching as the large family has fun in the house that now seems so unfamiliar, and feel a sudden wave of emptiness wash over me.

In the short time I'm away at the restroom, the waiter has already cleared half the dishes on the table. My girlfriend and best friend move to a two-seat table by the window, sitting across from each other, completely engrossed in conversation. Neither of them even notices that I've left and come back. "I'm flying to Portside City next week. This hotel has a rooftop pool. Are you in, Captain Clark?" Dylan Humphrey's voice is bright. "If you like it, then sure. It could be a nice getaway." I freeze. That is the same hotel I had shared in our group chat a month ago. Back then, Hayley Clark had replied with only three words, "Stop following trends." Bitterness rises in my throat. Suddenly, I'm reminded of our high school graduation night. The three of us stay up late talking about our futures. Hayley says she wants to become a pilot, and Dylan swears he will be the most handsome flight attendant in the sky. Then, they both turn to me, their eyes shining with expectation. I say, "Then, I'll be an air traffic controller. No matter how high you two fly, I'll be the one guiding you." Now, watching them sit across from each other, chatting and smiling, I suddenly feel disheartened. I don't want to keep waiting for them to land anymore. My control tower is shutting down.

Three nights before my wedding, I called my fiancé, Garrett. A version of him from five years in the future answered. I couldn't keep the happiness out of my voice. "Are we happy together? Has your mother finally accepted me?" A long silence hung on the other end before a low, tipsy chuckle came through. The laugh was faint, the kind you'd use to humor a naive child. "Vivi, in the last five years, you've asked me for a divorce more times than I can count." I froze. "...What do you mean?" "It means you found out about me and Kiera." My breath caught. I couldn't believe it. "My sister? I thought you couldn't stand her." He let out a quiet sigh. "Vivi, saying I couldn't stand her was just my way of hiding how I really felt." "Don't worry, I won't divorce you. We made our vows at the altar, after all." A chill ran through me. I wanted to press further, but a lazy little giggle drifted through from the other end. "Garrett, who is it?" He murmured something in response and hung up. A second later, a message from Garrett popped up on my phone. [Vivi, our wedding is almost here. You're happy, right?] [I'll be good to you for the rest of my life. If I ever break that promise, I don't deserve to live.]

30,000 emergency meals meant for the disaster-stricken area were all sent to the incinerator as hazardous waste. The order to destroy them came from the deputy chief of the Health Department, Joanne Shea, my wife. The whistleblower was her childhood friend, Kevin Stafford, who claimed to be a retired undercover journalist. This was already the third time he had targeted my company. The first time, he reported my truck for illegal parking. Joanne then forced me to issue a public apology. The second time, he conducted an undercover investigation and accused me of violating packaging label regulations. Joanne issued a fine without hesitation and ordered my company to undergo a month-long rectification. Each time, Joanne has sided with him, using me as an example for others to learn from. This time, with water and electricity cut off in the disaster area, I rushed supplies there overnight only to be blocked at the entrance once again. Holding the certification of compliance, I pleaded, “The front lines can’t wait. If anything goes wrong, I’ll take the blame with my life!” However, Joanne coldly waved me off. “Kevin is a journalist. He would never take the disaster area lightly! Destroy the supplies immediately!” Two days later, the lab report confirmed that the food met all standards. However, the emergency rations had already been destroyed, and the “‘Poisoned Meals for Disaster Relief” scandal had spread like wildfire online. The company faced a widespread online boycott, and major clients terminated their contracts overnight. Joanne looked at the lab report. She felt guilty but still kept her arrogance. “I guess Kevin misjudged the situation, but he meant well.” I found it all hilarious and slipped off my wedding ring. “I’ve given you three chances. Let’s get a divorce.”

When I suffer a heart attack, I discover that my wife, Amelia Price, has given my private ICU room to her childhood friend, Norman Wallace, because an old injury of his has flared up again. Instead of a world-class medical team, I'm left on a hospital bed in the hallway, without even a curtain to shield me from the cold. Amelia is busy getting Norman a glass of water. When she's told about the mistake, she doesn't even bother turning around to look at me. "They booked it under the wrong name. He's already settled in, so just make do out here for one night," she says. I've been hearing that same excuse for five years. When I'm supposed to have my pre-surgery consultation with the specialists, Amelia books me into the wrong hospital. Instead, she spends the entire day at a private clinic with Norman while he undergoes physical therapy. When my chest pain is at its worst, she orders the wrong takeout, swapping the bland meal I want for Norman's favorite extra-spicy buffalo wings. Amelia even orders my expensive post-op support cushion in the wrong size, and it ends up as Norman's dog's new bed. To make sure she won't get it wrong again, I pay the ten-thousand-dollar deposit for my private hospital suite six months in advance. Then, I tape the confirmation paperwork to the refrigerator where she can't miss it. I even set three daily reminder alerts on her phone in the days leading up to my surgery. But when Amelia checks me into the hospital, she still gets it wrong. Seeing how pale I've gone, she only frowns. "Fine. This one's on me. It's just a routine surgery. Does it really matter where you have it?" She dismisses it as casually as she always does. But I'm done risking my life. I yank the IV from the back of my hand, remove my bloodstained wedding ring, and throw it into the trash. "You're right. It's just a surgery. But whether I live or die from this point on has nothing to do with you anymore."

The night the hurricane made landfall, the emergency alert had barely stopped sounding when my sister-in-law, Brielle Rourke, called again. I listened to her helpless sobbing, then calmly handed the phone to my husband, Caleb Rourke, who was busy boarding up the balcony doors. Whatever she said, he kept agreeing to it. He pulled on a rain jacket and gave me that practiced, guilty look. "Her window's broken, Lena. She's all alone over there. I'll patch it up and I'll be back before the worst of it hits, I promise." Once again, it wasn't a discussion. It was an announcement. Five years of marriage, and every storm had gone exactly the same way. The moment the thunder started, her call came right on schedule. I used to fight about it, but he always said, "My brother died young. Brielle's raising his son by herself. We help when we can." "You're a grown woman, and a strong one. You can look after yourself and our son, right?" The wind split the glass, and the shards opened my calf to the bone. I reached for the baby sweater I'd never finished knitting. Tonight, Caleb, I don't think your son or I need you anymore.

The first time Silvia Robinson undergoes ECT, she is all alone. Even Gregory Fisher, her fiance who loves her so much, is nowhere to be seen. After the doctor gives her a muscle relaxant, she starts to get drowsy. She is in a daze when she recalls what happened that evening. She has waited three hours in line for a special cake, which she is planning to surprise Gregory with. However, she comes home to see Gregory kissing her younger sister, Ella Robinson. The two are deep in a kiss as they hold each other tightly in an inseparable embrace. The cake in Silvia's hands drops to the floor, smashed beyond recognition as Silvia delivers a slap across Gregory's face. Then, she finds herself being pushed down the stairs by Ella. As she rolls down the stairs, Silvia feels like she has already seen this coming. Anyone close to her will eventually be taken away by her sister.

Keane Mercer was the captain of the Boston Blades, one of the biggest teams in professional hockey. We'd been together for five years, and I hadn't missed a single one of his games. I could never get seats near the glass. Every game, I settled for the best spot I could find in a corner, lifting my camera to capture every moment he was on the ice. I asked him once. "Could you save me a seat in the friends-and-family section just once? The view is so much better from there." He didn't even look up. "I'm the captain. I can't play favorites. Maybe another time." He never said when "another time" would be. I never asked again. The friends-and-family seat remained empty season after season. Until the semifinals this year. For the first time, someone was sitting there. She was a young woman with a warm, bright smile, standing with the help of a crutch. Every time Keane scored, his eyes found hers. When the final buzzer sounded, he skated straight to the stands, lifted her effortlessly into his arms, and carried her out, shielding her as they disappeared into the crowd. I lowered my camera, packed away my gear, and walked out of the arena alone. Then I reopened the transfer offer I'd deleted and clicked "Accept". If I was never going to have a place in Keane's friends-and-family section, then I was done waiting on the sidelines. It was time to build a life that belonged to me.

I was a sucker for pretty faces. The only reason I agreed to date Isabelle was because she was passable-looking as partner material. It had only been a few days since junior year started when my roommate came over to me and awkwardly said, "Damian, I just spotted your girlfriend getting pretty close to that well-known broke pretty boy by the campus lake." I immediately rolled up my sleeves and rushed toward the lake. From a distance, I saw Isabelle standing very close to a slim young man. But the moment I got a good look at his face, I froze. "Damn! This guy was insanely handsome!" He was so good-looking that even I, as another guy, was jealous. Isabelle frowned and stepped in front of me. She said impatiently, "His grandma was rushed to the hospital after a heart attack. I was only trying to comfort him. Don't give him a hard time for no reason, okay?" I pulled her aside, then walked over and gave the handsome guy a firm pat on the shoulder. "Bro, if you're in trouble, you can come to me!"

I spent seven years drafting divorce papers for other people. I never expected that the ninety-ninth agreement would be my own. That night, my husband, Carter, lost a tabletop game during a live stream with his childhood sweetheart, Chloe. The penalty was to give up the thing he treasured most. Chloe smiled at the camera, tapping his wedding ring. "Lend me your marriage for a day." The comment section blew up. Carter looked at me like he was giving orders to an assistant. "Evelyn, you know the drill. "Sign a temporary divorce agreement. I’ll cancel it with you tomorrow morning." Chloe lowered her eyes, her voice trembling. "Forget it. She won't let you. You always choose her over me anyway." I reached into my bag and touched the positive IVF result. Seven years of hormone shots. Four miscarriages. I didn't even have the energy to tell him anymore. As the camera zoomed in on my face, I pushed the papers back across the table. "Carter, this time, I’m putting down a bet, too. “I bet the thing you lose tonight isn't just me.”

Seven years into my relationship with Isla Farrow, she legally marries Damien Calder, a student she sponsors who is also ten years younger than her. When I see the marriage certificate, I think it must be a joke. Then Isla rushes to explain, and I realize it is real. "Damien's school is really strict. He has run out of every excuse in the book to get time off for his volunteer trip to an underserved community. Wedding leave is the only one he hasn't tried. "I'm just helping him out with a cover story. He's doing a good thing. When he gets back, I'll file for divorce. "It's not that big a deal. Why are you so mad? Once I'm divorced from him, we'll get married. Isn't that enough?" I put the marriage certificate back in the drawer. "There's no need. I wish you two a lifetime of happiness."

At the party, friends teased us, asking when Rosalie Diaz and I would finally get married. I looked at her, smiling. She said nothing, and stiffly changed the subject. The friend who'd started the teasing glanced at me awkwardly, apology in his eyes. My smile didn't waver. I took a sip of my drink. I've always been a bit of a procrastinator, though not a hopeless one. So I decided to let Rosalie go. And to let myself go, too.

Seven days before my wedding, I discover that my stepsister Harper Brooks' wedding invitation lists the same groom as mine—Jeffrey Sullivan. At first, I assume the printing company has made a mistake. So, I take the invitations to my mom to ask what's going on. Before I can knock, I overhear her talking to Harper through the door. "Marry Jeffrey first. Once the baby's born and everything's settled, he'll go back to Barbara. She owes you her life. Letting you marry him first is the least she can do." Tears stream down Harper's cheeks. "But what about Barbara?" Mom sighs, then says matter-of-factly, "They've been together for 12 years. One piece of paper isn't going to change much. But your situation is different. Your baby needs a father." Outside the door, I grip the invitations so tightly they crumple in my hands. Only then do I realize why Jeffrey skipped my wedding dress fitting three months earlier. He claims he's busy with work, but in reality, he's taking Harper to a prenatal appointment. At the time, I just laugh and tease him. "Stand me up on our wedding day too, and I'll find another groom." Jeffrey smiles as he settles my veil over my hair, then leans down and kisses me. "Don't be silly. I'm the only man you'll ever marry." Now, that promise seems every bit as ridiculous as these two wedding invitations. When Jeffrey finds me, he doesn't deny any of it. Instead, he pulls me into his arms, his eyes red-rimmed. "I've always loved you. But I have to take responsibility for the baby she's carrying," he says. "I'll marry her, but my heart will always belong to you." I know exactly what he means. He wants Harper to be his wife while turning me, the fiancee who's loved him for 12 years, into his mistress. I look at Jeffrey and smile. "Okay." He thinks I've agreed. But he doesn't know that on our wedding day, he'll marry Harper, and I'll marry someone else.

On their wedding day, right as Elena Emerton and Kyle Fenton were about to exchange rings, a woman rushed Kyle with a knife. Elena moved on instinct, throwing herself in front of Kyle. The blade sank into her chest, and she crumpled into Kyle's arms. As the woman was dragged away, she screamed, "Kyle Fenton, we're not done! How dare you get married?" That was when Elena recognized her. Allison Smyth. Kyle's sworn enemy for the past six years. Before anyone could react, Allison broke free and held the knife to her throat. "Kyle, I'm tired. Let's end this." Kyle's eyes went wide. He dropped Elena and rushed to Allison, catching the blade with his bare hand. Elena hit the floor hard. Blood spread across her white wedding dress. Kyle held Allison tight, terrified she'd hurt herself. When Allison passed out, he scooped her up and rushed right past Elena. Not once did he look back.

I've loved Caitlyn Murray for ten years, but she hates me to the core. She hates me for replacing her first love, Adrian Darrow, as her husband, and making him suffer great injustice in my place. We continue tormenting each other until I'm diagnosed with ALS. In my last moments, she stays by my bedside, feeding me my favorite strawberries. Then, she tells me with reddened eyes, "Let's never meet again in our next life, Abram Darrow." However, after my death, she kills herself at my grave. When I open my eyes again, I realize that I'm reborn at the same crucial moment when the Darrow family goes bankrupt, and someone is needed to take the blame for its financial crimes and go to prison. In my past life, my younger brother, Adrian, is the one who goes to prison in place of Mom. He ends up dying a tragic death, and that is also the reason why Caitlyn hates me for the rest of my life. This time, I step forward and say, "Mom, I'll go. Let Caitlyn marry Adrian instead." I take all the blame so that she can be with her first love forever.

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.

My Android Husband Cheated On our wedding anniversary, I waited at home from morning until well after dark. The dishes in front of me had gone cold no matter how many times I reheated them. My husband, Adrian Hart, finally came home carrying a shopping bag. Beside him stood his pregnant assistant, Rachel Palmer. She stroked her belly and gave me a smug, triumphant look. Adrian slipped an arm around her waist and spoke to me in a gentle voice. "Sophie, move out of the bedroom. Rachel is pregnant, so she and I will share it. That way I can take care of her." I froze, unable to believe what I was hearing. "You got her pregnant?" He nodded under my shocked gaze. But Adrian was an android. He could not possibly get a human woman pregnant.

Years after graduation, I walked into a college reunion with a freshly printed wedding invitation in my hand, ready to give it to the man across the table. His eyes turned red as he asked me a question. "Do you remember an upperclassman named Derek Ashford? The one who brought you breakfast every morning and spent hours with you in the library?" I smiled and shook my head. He pressed on. "Do you remember running two miles through a downpour for his birthday? He said he'd love you forever." I frowned instinctively, my hand pausing halfway across the table with the invitation. Nathan Sterling, the boy I'd grown up with, came over and slipped an arm around my waist. "Who's Derek Ashford?" I leaned into Nathan's shoulder and lifted our clasped hands for everyone to see. "Let me introduce you all. This is my husband, Nathan Sterling." The moment those words left my mouth, every pair of eyes in the room turned to the man who had just knocked over his cup of tea. Tea dripped off the table edge onto his pants, but he didn't seem to notice. His gaze was locked on the diamond ring on my finger. His reaction baffled me. Six months earlier, Derek had brought Selene Dawson, his graduate advisor's daughter, back to the apartment we'd prepared for our wedding. She claimed to have amnesia. I ran out into a rainstorm and was hit by an out-of-control truck. When I woke up, every memory of Derek Ashford was gone. The only person left in my world was Nathan Sterling, my childhood sweetheart and the man I had come to love all over again. We had just made it legal at the courthouse.

Natalie Shaw, the dance company's new understudy, slipped razor blades into my practice outfit and left my back slashed and bloody. My boyfriend, Derek Mercer, the theater's associate director, sent her makeup case skidding across the room with one furious kick. "Touch her again, and I'll end you!" Natalie was thrown out of the rehearsal room, her eyes rimmed red. After that, she didn't just refuse to back down. She hired a few thugs to corner me in the alley behind the theater. Derek threw himself in front of me to block a steel pipe, fracturing his arm. Everyone said Derek would die for me. Then, at a sponsors' dinner the night before the tour, I drank a glass of wine Natalie handed me. Within minutes, my limbs went slack and my skin began to burn. I dragged myself into a storage closet at the end of the hall, only to hear Natalie's syrupy voice just outside the door. "The way you took that beating for her two days ago almost broke my heart. But..." Fabric rustled, and Natalie giggled. "Back in the private dining room, you watched me slip something into her drink. You knew those sponsors had cameras ready and were waiting for her. And you just stepped out for a smoke." "You let me destroy her reputation, so the principal role is mine now. Right?" Derek said nothing. He only pinned her against the door. The door vibrated slightly, striking a heavy blow against my heart. He had already given his heart to someone else.

Victoria Graham told me we'd have to postpone getting our marriage license again just as I was picking up my fork. Victoria set down her cutlery, her tone as casual as if she were commenting on the weather. "Next time." I took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. "Okay." She glanced at me, then lowered her head and reached for another bite. Before taking it, she looked up at me again. "You're not angry?" I took another bite and answered calmly, "I'm not." We'd been engaged for six months, and this was the 17th time she'd postponed getting our marriage license. She was used to it. So was I. I ate slowly and finished my meal, one mouthful at a time. She didn't touch her food again. After taking my last bite, I got up to clear the dishes. As I passed her, she grabbed my wrist. "Lucas, next Monday. I'll definitely be free next week. We've already had the engagement party anyway. A few more days won't make a difference. Don't worry. I definitely won't stand you up this time." I lowered my gaze to the hand wrapped around my wrist, then looked back at her and smiled. "Okay." Over the past six months, she'd said "next week" 9 times, "definitely" 13 times, and "don't worry" 16 times. Even so, we had still never gotten our marriage license. And next week wouldn't be any different. Because this time, I was the one who was going to stand her up.