Mga Maiikling Kuwento at Nobelang Bias Romance

Climbing this mountain was supposed to be the trip where Keegan Poock proposed. The night before our climb, we were at base camp when our guide, Edward, counted an extra set of cold-weather gear. "Keegan, who's this for?" Every head turned toward me. The whole team knew this climb was supposed to be our big day. But Keegan looked over at Ada Beech, curled up in the corner, shivering. "Give it to her," he said. "It's Ada's first time at this altitude. Let her ease into it." Ada blushed and took the gear with both hands. "Thanks, Keegan." Edward hesitated, then stayed silent. My best friend, Sadie, called on the satellite phone. I could practically hear her crushing it in her hand. "Wasn't he supposed to propose at the summit? Why'd he bring Ada again?" I smiled and swallowed the bitterness in my throat. "Relax. The plan's still on." I'd make it to the top. I'd wait for the ring. And if he didn't ask? Fine.

Before my abortion, my best friend asked, "You're pregnant with Zeke's baby. Why do you suddenly want to break up with him?" I handed her my phone. "Because of one message." The conversation was still open to the text I had sent around noon. I included a picture of my lunch and complained about how terrible the takeout was. Four hours later, Zeke Evans replied with two simple words. [I see.] But when I checked social media, I saw that he liked a picture of Hailey Moore's lunch and commented, [Takeout isn't good for you. I'll cook for you from now on, like I did today.] Underneath, the two of them exchanged more than a dozen pointless comments, chatting as though they never ran out of things to say to each other. I stared at the post for a long time before deleting the message I had started typing, asking what he'd had for lunch. Then I scrolled back through our old conversations. For seven years, I shared every little detail of my life with Zeke: flowers I passed on the street, weeds pushing through cracks in the sidewalk, the stray cat that hung around outside my building. In the beginning, he was just as excited to tell me about his day. Over time, his replies dwindled into distracted, simple answers. It started when Hailey came back. When you love someone, you want to share your life with them. Everything Zeke stopped telling me, he was now telling her. "Ruby, they're ready for you." The nurse was calling my name. I looked out the window at the evening sky, then got up and followed her. The sunset was beautiful that day, but for the first time, I had no desire to take a picture and send it to Zeke.

For the first time ever since we got together, my boyfriend, Clarence Xenos, got angry with me because an eight-million-dollar company deal was ruined. In front of everyone, he belittled me and called me worthless. When we got home that night, he said in a cold corporate tone, “Work is work. There’s no ‘us’ in the office. You messed up, and that’s that.” An intern in our office, Naomi Smyth, texted me an apology. [Lucia, I’m so sorry. This was totally on me. But don’t worry, Clay got me a cupcake to cheer me up. It was actually pretty good. Do you want me to order one for you, too?] The next morning, Clarence habitually threw the breakfast I had prepared into the trash can. “How many times do I have to repeat myself? I don’t eat breakfast.” At work, my colleague, Zoey Thorpe, leaned in with a sly look and gossiped to me. “That new intern is so bold. She went up and talked to Mr. Xenos, and even bought him coffee and a sandwich. He not only ate them but also commented that they were delicious.” Whatever. I was beyond caring at that point. The person on my phone was still relentlessly trying to get me to be with him. [Look, if it doesn’t work out with him, I’m fine being the other guy. Just give me a chance, alright?] I pursed my lips and typed back. [There’s no need to be the other guy. You can just be my boyfriend.]

I've spent eight years in a secret relationship with my best friend's brother. In public, Gerald Scott treats me like nothing more than his capable secretary. Behind closed doors, he holds me in his arms every night, whispering that he'll love me forever. One day, I accidentally discover that he's bought one of those 'one-per-lifetime' engagement rings. Certain he's about to propose to me, I follow him to the beautifully decorated venue, my heart bursting with excitement. Instead, I watch him drop to one knee before a woman who bears an uncanny resemblance to me. Tears fill his eyes as he slips the ring onto her finger. "You're the only woman I'll ever marry." After the woman says yes, Gerald's friends gather around to congratulate him. One of them laughs. "The real thing's finally back. So when are you getting rid of the stand-in you've been keeping at home?" Gerald takes a slow drag on his cigarette before exhaling a cloud of smoke. "That woman's completely devoted to me," he says quietly. "She'll never leave me. There's no rush." I clamp a hand over my mouth to stop myself from crying. Then I turn around and send my mother a message that reads, "Mom, I've made up my mind. I'll go through with the arranged marriage." As fate would have it, the day Gerald is getting married is the very day Alvin Hart and I are due to make our marriage official. And when Gerald sees the wedding announcement I post, the color drains from his face.

On April Fools’ Day, I texted my wife and told her I was terminally ill. I told her that I had no more than a month left to live. I thought that if I made her cry, I would make it up to her with a villa. But as soon as I reached the front door, I heard her complaining inside. “Terminally ill? He’s already dying. Don’t tell me he’s going to waste money on treatment. “That money will be ours sooner or later. Why should he spend it on himself? “No. When he gets home, I’ll tell him I’m pregnant. “He loves me so much. He’ll definitely give up treatment for the baby and me.” Before I could process her words, I heard my best friend’s voice right after. “It’s no wonder you always say he’s up to no good. Every time you finish with him, you come to me so I can satisfy you. “I thought you were just greedy. It turns out he’s really that pathetic! “What do you think will happen if he finds out you’re carrying my baby? Do you think he’ll die even sooner?” Only then did I realize that my wife and my best friend had been having an affair for a long time. I laughed bitterly. Then, I turned around and called my assistant. “Don’t transfer the deed to the Bayhaven villa yet. Draft a divorce agreement instead.” She cheated on me and still thought she could take my money! She could keep dreaming.

The day my boyfriend returned from his business trip overseas, I broke up with him. He looked at me with a faint smile. "You're breaking up with me just because I didn't buy you that handbag?" "Yes." I nodded without hesitation. Seven days earlier, my boyfriend, Elias Jones, had traveled to Francoria on a business trip with his team. When he came back, he had souvenirs for everyone. Even the security guard at the office received a crocodile leather belt. Everyone got a gift except me. The bag I had been talking about for the past two months and wanted for my birthday had slipped his mind completely. Then I opened Instagram and saw a photograph his newly hired secretary had posted, proudly showing off a designer handbag. [Feeling grateful for the best boss in the world! You're the absolute best!] Elias had replied beneath the post. [It was nothing.] I stared at the screen for a long time before quietly deleting the message I had been about to send him. Melissa: [Can't wait for you to come home.] Elias and I had known each other since we were seven years old. We fell in love at eighteen and had spent the last twenty years growing up side by side. There had been a time when I was always his first priority. Somewhere along the way, everyone else started coming before me. Just like now. We were in the middle of ending our relationship when his phone lit up with a Messenger invitation from Tracy, his new secretary, asking him to join her for lunch. He glanced at the notification, smiled, and waved the whole conversation away. "Come on. Stop being dramatic. "It's just a handbag. I'll buy you one next time. "Tracy's waiting for me for lunch. Just grab a cab home." He hurried out without looking back. I did not try to stop him. Instead, I opened my chat with a studio in Brighton City. They had already invited me to join them seven different times. I finally sent my reply to their last offer. Melissa: [I've decided to accept your offer. My flight arrives tomorrow night. See you in Brighton City.] After hitting send, I slipped my engagement ring off my finger and placed it inside the top drawer of his desk. Elias… From this moment on, our lives would go in their separate directions.

The day my attending physician gave me the critical illness notice, my wife Jane Hesler secretly mortgaged the house to the bank without telling me. The money she borrowed was not for my medical treatment, but was transferred to her first love, Anthony Shane — all because he said he needed funds for his business. I called her. "The house is for our daughter. You can't touch it." Her voice on the other end of the line was full of anger. "If you'd been able to come up with the money, would I have had to mortgage the house? Anthony's business needs funding; what's wrong with me contributing some money as a partner? Let me tell you something. I can live a thriving life without you." After hanging up, the doctor asked me with a grave expression, "Are you sure you don't want further treatment?” I nodded, putting on a bitter smile. "Yes."

With the start of school approaching, my son's long-dormant parent-teacher group chat suddenly announces that there will be a Parent-Teacher Community Night this evening, which also serves as the first parent-teacher conference of the semester. The only requirement is that both parents need to be present. A flurry of messages from the other students' parents appear below the announcement, all of them confirming their attendance. I'm just about to reply when I notice that someone else has already done it faster than me. A woman with a family photo as her profile picture sends a voice message into the group. "Got it! Teddy's parents will both be there!" I stiffen at once and click through all the accounts in the group chat to double-check everyone. My son's name is Theodore Baird, and everyone calls him "Teddy" for short. But, if she's representing Teddy's parents, then who am I supposed to be? I immediately call up my husband, Joseph Baird. However, before I can even get a word in, I hear him speaking in a cheerful voice. "Darling? Derrick just invited me over for dinner tonight. I'll be bringing Teddy along. You can just have dinner without me and go to bed early." I feel my heart drop to my stomach. Derrick Johnson's wife, Angela Peters, is one of my good friends. However, I clearly remember seeing her showing off a vacation photo of her and Derrick having the time of their lives in the Palmives just this morning. How can Derrick possibly be inviting Joseph over for dinner, then? I remain silent for a short while. Then, I smile and reply that I got it. After hanging up, I immediately call an Uber to bring me to Teddy's school. I'm going to see for myself who this "other parent" of Teddy's really is.

In the ward, Lydia Webb leans bashfully against Hayden's chest as he tenderly feeds her soup. Lydia pouts. "It's all your fault, Hayden. You were so rough that you made me bleed." "I just couldn't help myself," Hayden says, his voice thick with affection. "I'll be gentler next time, okay?" Outside the door, Melissa Smith clutches a lab report so hard her knuckles turn white. Her heart aches as if crushed in a vice. The report states, "Two months pregnant, with healthy fetal development." The man inside is her husband—the very man who swore to love her forever. Ten days ago, Hayden said he had to work overtime and hasn't been home since. She never imagined he spent those ten days indulging in another woman's bed.

In the seventh year of Julia Fenner's marriage to Colonel Everett Warden, she carried her family papers to the housing office to buy a subsidized faculty apartment and was told the record in her hand was a forgery. How could that be possible? Certain the clerk had made a mistake, Julia politely asked her to check again. "My husband transferred my records after we married." The clerk checked the county and military-family registry again, her patience visibly thinning, and looked at Julia with something close to scorn. "There's no mistake. Everett Warden's lawful record lists two other people: his wife, Lydia Warden, and their son, Peter."

In the seventh year of her marriage to Daniel Horton, Quinn White overheard her son ask in a naive voice, "Dad, why can't Aunt Charlotte be my mom?" Quinn froze. Did he mean Charlotte Scott, Daniel's first love? Before she could process whether she had misheard, a speeding car hurtled straight toward her son. Instinctively, Quinn charged forward and pushed her son out of harm's way. The massive impact caused her to lose consciousness. When she woke up, Quinn let out a sigh of relief as she looked at her husband and son standing by the hospital bed, completely unharmed. She was about to reassure them she was fine when her son's painful question echoed in her mind. Spurred by an impulse, she put on a bewildered look. "I'm sorry, but I can't remember anything right now." The two standing before the hospital bed were caught off guard for a second before immediately ringing the bell to call the doctor over. After a thorough examination, the doctor reached a conclusion. "A blood clot formed in the patient's brain following the car accident, which will lead to temporary amnesia." Once the doctor left, Quinn maintained that same bewildered act. "How did I end up in a car accident? Who are you, and what do you have to do with me?" Daniel frowned, opening his mouth to speak, when a gleeful childish voice cut him off. "You're the family nanny!"

The day I received my admission to the New York Bar, I finally confessed my feelings to Alex Walker, the man who had been my mentor for the past three years. He was crouched down, carefully fastening the strap of Claire Harrison's designer heel. Claire was the heiress and CEO of a rival firm. When he heard my confession, he stood up and looked at me with nothing but contempt. "Eileen, who do you think you are? You think you deserve to marry into my family? You're just an assistant from some backwater town who happened to pass the bar. Do you really believe that makes you worthy of standing beside me?" Before I could react, he slipped a stack of forged trade secret documents into my handbag. Then he handed me over to Lucas Morrison, the infamous heir to the Morrisons, a man whose ruthless reputation was well known throughout New York's elite. "Mr. Morrison, she's all yours. Make her take the fall for the leaked documents. And while you're at it, teach her to stay in her lane. I've already chosen Claire. I have no use for this one anymore. Do whatever you want with her." His men dragged me away. Alex never looked back. One month later, Walker Law Firm was collapsing under a flood of scandals—fabricated financial records, misappropriated client funds, and malicious lawsuits. Alex finally called me, his voice as arrogant as ever. "Have you suffered enough? Admit those fake accounts and lawsuit files were your doing, and I might consider letting you come back as my assistant." Before I could answer, Lucas let out a low, amused laugh from beside me. "Mr. Walker," he said lazily, "my wife is busy acquiring your law firm. She doesn't have time to be anyone's scapegoat."

When my mom is rushed into the emergency room after a car accident, I call my doctor boyfriend, Henry Scott, eight times. Yet, he hangs up on every single call and only sends one message. "Mina twisted her ankle. I'm treating it right now. Tell your mom to wait." After eight years together, Henry has gotten used to making me wait. On our anniversary, he makes me wait while he watches the fireworks with his childhood sweetheart, Mina Stetson. When I am in extreme menstrual pain and book an appointment with him, he makes me wait because he is too busy replying to Mina's messages to see me. And now, my mom is seriously injured in a car accident. But Henry, her attending physician, still wants her to wait. Ultimately, I send him a single message. "Let's break up." I can wait for him, but I won't let my mom do the same.

Mackenzie Lister, my germaphobe wife, refuses to let any man besides me touch her. She stays a full arm's length away even when posing for photos with investors. It stays that way until the day of my birthday, when Colin Sumner, her assistant, suddenly posts a photo on his social media. In the photo, Mackenzie lets Colin hold her around the waist from behind. "I finally got to meet the role model I grew up looking up to! I have to keep pushing forward and chase my dreams!" I leave a comment on the post. "You two are an item now?" Mackenzie calls me. "He has always looked up to me, that's all. Why do you always have to twist things around? You'd better not make a fool of yourself and delete that comment this instant!" Additionally, my colleagues also blame me for meddling too much in other people's business. Colin immediately posts an update. "I've learned my first lesson from my role model—don't waste your time arguing with petty people." I look at my social media feed, which is getting spammed with comments, and place a single phone call. The next day, every investment in Mackenzie's company is withdrawn.

At my best friend Naomi Dodson's Sip and See, my husband, Joe Walsh, gifts her a luxury villa. I think it's a mix-up, but he stays deadly calm. "Naomi's baby is mine. The villa is her reward." The world goes cold around me. Desperate, I push for answers. "When did this start?" He knit his brows, annoyed. "Does it matter? You're still Mrs. Walsh. You get the money, the freedom, and a kid without the birth pains. What's not to like?" What he doesn't know is that he has severe azoospermia. I am never the infertile one. He is.

The day I walk free, my wife is standing in the wind, waiting for me. There's no screaming, no hysterics. It's nothing like what I once imagined. Then our eyes meet. She's holding a black coat as she says, "Jude, you've lost weight." Before, I would have reached for her hand. I would have asked, in a raw voice, if it could just be the two of us from now on. But right now, I just turn away without a word. This time, we're only going to drift further apart. Lena Cartwright, I don't love you anymore.

My wife, Cheryl Sharpley, has a low sex drive. Every time we're intimate, she keeps a strict track of the time. Tonight is no different. We're only halfway through when the special notification on her phone goes off. It's a custom alert, reserved for one person. Her secretary, Henry Sadler, sounds extremely upset. "Ms. Sharpley, I dreamed about you. My chest hurts so much…" Without a second thought, Cheryl gets dressed and climbs out of bed. Pressing my lips together, I lower my eyes and reach out to catch her hand. "It's late. We haven't even—" "Henry is all alone in this city with no one to rely on. I'm his boss. I can't just ignore him." She doesn't even look at me as she says that. Calmly, she slips her hand free and stands before the mirror, applying fresh lipstick to her lips. "Today's task is complete," she adds. "I'll make up the time to you next time." My breathing falters. That's all I am to Cheryl—a task. Not long after she leaves, a message from Henry pops up on my phone. The attached photo shows him leaning against her shoulder. "Joseph, I'm really sorry. I was just so scared of losing her. I'll make sure she makes it up to you next time. You'll have to make do with your hand tonight." I read every word in silence. Quietly, I get out of bed, take a long shower, and strip the sheets from the bed, tossing them straight into the trash. I then change into a fresh set of pajamas. At that moment, I decide that I no longer want her in my life.

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."

On the night the hurricane is about to hit us, my brother-in-law, George Madden, calls again right after the Extreme Wind Warnings are issued for a Category 5 hurricane. When I hear his hysterical sobbing on the phone, I calmly hand the phone to my wife, Taylor Cochran, who is next to me, and continue sealing the balcony. I don't know what he says on the other end of the line, but Taylor keeps responding and nodding repeatedly before putting on her raincoat and turning to me with an apologetic smile on her face. "Honey, George's window just broke, and Ryan won't stop crying. It's hard for him to take care of his son by himself. I'll go and pop by their house and check on him and Ryan. But I'll make sure to be back before the hurricane hits." It's always like this between us. Everything she tells me is always only an announcement with no room for discussion. Things have never changed over the past five years of our marriage. George will always call every time there's a heavy storm or some thunder and lightning, asking for Taylor to go over. He claims it's from some PTSD or something. In the past, I always get upset and fight with Taylor about it. However, she keeps refuting that, "Tiffany died too young, leaving him to raise Ryan on his own. He doesn't have it easy because he knows nothing about motherhood. We should help him as much as we can. "You're a strong man, aren't you? You're fully able to take care of yourself and our Timmy, can't you?" A strong wind blasts right through the glass windows, and a broken shard cuts into my leg, leaving a nasty, bloody gash behind. I stroke the wool sweater next to me that I still haven't finished knitting. After tonight, Timmy and I are not going to need Taylor by our side anymore.

My husband had never been interested in sex. Whenever we did sleep together, he always watched the clock. Tonight, halfway through, the custom ringtone he had set for his secretary went off. Her tearful voice came through the phone. "Mr. Doyle, a pipe burst in my apartment. There's water everywhere, and I'm scared..." Without a second thought, Vince Doyle pulled away and started getting dressed. Biting my lip, I reached out and grabbed his arm, hating how desperate I sounded. "It's late, and we haven't even finished…" "Lauren doesn't have anyone else to call. I'm her boss. I can't just leave her to deal with this alone." He didn't even look at me. He calmly pulled his arm free and buttoned his shirt. "I've done what I was supposed to do tonight. I'll make up to you next time." My breath caught. So sleeping with me was nothing more than another obligation he had to check off his list. Not long after he left, Lauren Barrett sent me a text. In the photo, she was curled up against Vince's shoulder. [I'm so sorry. I was just really scared. I'll make sure Vince finishes what he started next time. Looks like you'll have to pull out your little toy and finish the job yourself tonight.] I read the message without replying. Then I got up, took a shower, stripped the bed, and put the sheets in the wash. After changing into a clean pair of pajamas, I finally made up my mind. I was done with Vince.