Tragic Love Romance Short Stories & Cheating Novels

On our anniversary, I stood in the doorway holding the diamond ring I'd just bought, waiting for Crystal Linley to finish her video call. She casually took the ring box, set it aside without a glance, and checked her watch. "The client wants last-minute changes to the proposal. Go ahead and eat without me." I sat down at the table alone. The food tasted like nothing. At midnight, her childhood friend posted a photo of the two of them on Instagram, out on a yacht. Crystal was wearing the dress I'd given her, leaning against his shoulder with a glass of champagne in her hand. The caption read: [She said if I ever come back to her, she'll drop everything and run to me.] I calmly liked the Instagram post. A second later, my phone lit up. "Don't get the wrong idea!" Crystal's voice was frantic. "I swear, next anniversary..." I let out a long breath. "There won't be a next anniversary."

On the last day of the year, my music player app pushed out my 2025 listening report. My keyword was 'Resonance.' I had not actually spent much time listening to music that year. My account had mostly been used by my boyfriend, Jeremy Steward. A small line of text appeared underneath. [At 4:00 A.M. on December 1st, you were still sharing the same song with someone. So this is what love looks like, staying awake through the night.] My breath caught. December 1st was my birthday. However, that night, I had gone to bed early. Jeremy had rushed off right after cutting the cake, saying he needed to go back to the office for overtime. Almost as if possessed, I tapped my trembling hands on the unfamiliar profile that showed up as my most frequent interaction. Their keyword for the year was 'Exclusively Yours.' My heart skipped. I opened the details. [This year, you and this user listened to songs together late at night 688 times. Every time is a private whisper between souls.] Right then, a message from Jeremy popped up on my phone. [Babe, I have to work late again tonight. Don't wait up for me. Sleep early, okay?] At the same moment, that unfamiliar account posted a new update. A photo of two hands intertwined inside a car, fingers tightly laced together. [I love working late with him the most. We'll listen to music together for a lifetime.]

For the ninth time, my wife chose to have an abortion for the sake of her ailing first love. This time, I did not stop her. Even when my grandfather flew into a fit of rage, his heart faltering as he called me a disgrace to the family, I stayed silent. The truth was that I had already decided to divorce her. In three days, I'd be leaving for Westmarch to begin my research. Until then, I have decided to grant her every wish. If she wanted me to hand over a promotion so her first love could take the credit, I gave it up without hesitation. If she wanted to bring him home to rest, I vacated the master bedroom on the spot. She beamed with satisfaction, praising me for finally learning to be "sensible." She promised that once he recovered, she would give me a child of my own. However, what she did not know was that there would be no next time.

On the day of our wedding, my fiance's best friend, Penny Lynd, showed me a video, smiling as she said, "Hey, Lydia. I've already educated Aron for you. He's now a real stud, so enjoy!" I felt my breath leaving my lungs as they made love in the video, while Aron Quaker laughed, clapping her shoulder. "Where did you get that AI video? I only took your clothes off that one time." While he was laughing without a care, I felt like I'd just fallen into an abyss. Seeing me lose my cool, Penny laughed out loud too. "There! I knew it would upset Lydia! She's so dumb that she can't even tell that it's an AI video—and a bet's a bet! Starting today, we will be married for three days." It was only then that I understood. They made the AI video to bet if I would believe it, so that I would embarrass myself at my own wedding. And the wager was for Aron to be Penny's for three days! As the video continued, Aron turned to me, chuckling. "Don't worry. I lost the bet, but the wedding goes on as planned… Although you have to pick up your stuff from the bedroom and only come back three days later." He reached out to me, but I shook it off and took off my ring. "There's no 'later'. I'll get my stuff right now and let you guys have the wedding too. You're her husband now anyway, and you can't go without a wedding, can you?"

After spending a passionate night with Emma Kemp, she lights a cigarette lazily in bed. "You really should brush up your intimate skills. You can barely hold a candle to Scott in this aspect." I feel as though my blood has turned to ice in my veins. Scott Barlow is the son of my mom's side piece. Emma continues, "When you called me to check on what I was doing, Scott was right next to me. The moment he heard your voice, he got so worked up that he kept clinging to me very tightly." Then, she turns to look at me, her lips already curling into a mean smirk. "Honestly speaking, I finally understand why your mom had cheated on your dad back then." Emma is waiting for me to kick up yet another ruckus hysterically, just as I did the first few times I found out about her affair. But I opt not to say anything. Instead, I just pick up my clothes that are strewn across the floor and put them on. Emma is stunned at first, but she soon scoffs and dials a number before putting it on loudspeaker mode. "You're wrong. I told you that Vince has learned his lesson this time." Scott's disdainful voice soon drifts out of the loudspeaker. "Fine, you win. You get to decide which position we're using in bed next time." But what Emma doesn't know is that I've never learned my lesson. On the contrary, I don't want her anymore.

On the day of the court hearing, the judge went through the routine questioning: “You’ve only been married for three years. Has the marriage truly broken down irretrievably?” I bit my lip with a bitter smile, slipped off my wedding ring, and placed it on the table. “In our three years of marriage, we’ve lived apart for every single day. “Your Honor, do you really think there’s any love left between us?” Throughout our five years of dating, I was the one pinned at the top of her chat list. I was her emergency contact. I was even the sole beneficiary of her insurance policy. I thought I had found the right person—the love of my life. But on our wedding day, she took a phone call, and her face turned deathly pale. When I asked what was wrong, she claimed her mother was gravely ill. Dropping everything, she bought a ticket and flew back to her hometown that very day. For the next three years, she sent me daily photos of her meals, yet her mother was never in a single picture. My heart ached for her, so I offered to quit my job and move there to help care for her mother. But she declined gently, saying she couldn’t bear to let me suffer. It wasn’t until a month ago that I stumbled upon a viral vlog channel of a cancer patient. There she was—Amelia Rose Whitmore—appearing right in Austin Carter’s videos, accompanied by a heartwarming caption: “She’s there when I wake up. “She’s there for every meal. “She’s the one whose hand I hold so tightly.” What about me then? For 1,095 days and nights, I had no one but myself. She lied to me. The judge struck the gavel and asked one final question: “Have you truly made up your mind?” I gave a firm, heavy nod. When the official divorce decree was handed down, I stared at the paper as tears finally came streaming down my face. Goodbye, Amelia. I’m setting you free. And I’m setting myself free, too.

On the first day of my husband's business trip, an unknown number calls me. It belongs to an employee of a pharmacy. The employee sounds very anxious over the phone. "Hello, are you related to Mr. Yates by any chance? He came to the pharmacy this afternoon to buy a box of morning-after pills, but he left right away without paying for the pills. Please pay the bill right now." My mind buzzes at the news. Morning-after pills? I suppress my emotions immediately before calling Zachary. I begin probing him afterward. "Where did you go this afternoon, honey? Your credit card statement shows that the payment you've made at a pharmacy has failed to go through." Zachary pauses for half a second before letting out a soft chuckle. "Ah, I bought the pills for a new intern in my department. She's a young woman who gets flustered easily, so I ran an errand for her." I just smile while saying "okay" to Zachary. After ending the call, I call the pharmacy once again, this time in a cold voice. "Send me your pharmacy's address. I'll head over and pay the bill in person."

Three years after I died, Stella, my wife, decided to divorce me and marry her dying ex. She stormed into my old house like she owned the place, forcing me to sign the divorce agreement. Mom told her the truth—I was already gone. Stella rolled her eyes. "Why's he still pretending? Harvey's dying. I just wanna be there for him. What's so wrong about that? If he won't come out, I'm done paying your medical bills." She thought threatening Mom would shake something loose. But what Stella didn't get? Mom had already stopped treatment. She was just hanging on to watch her crack.

Ever since I was a child, I could enter the dreams of the people closest to me. However, I could only do it three times in my entire life. I used my first chance when I was ten. In my father's dream, I saw him holding another woman and telling her he had fallen out of love with my mother long ago. Heartbroken, I ran to tell my mother everything. Three months later, they divorced, and I moved in with her. I used my second chance at sixteen. In the dream, a wealthy man held my mother's hand and promised to marry her. He had only one condition: she could not bring along her unwanted baggage. He was referring to me. The next day, my mother left me $30,000 and disappeared without a trace. Two dreams. Two losses. Both times, I had lost someone I loved the most. After that, I swore I would never use my final chance, not even if it killed me. Fortunately, I met Jade Smith in college. We had dated for ten years and been married for five. I thought we knew each other better than anyone else in the world. Recently, she had been sleeping poorly. She kept her phone glued to her hand and often looked at me as if she wanted to say something but could never bring herself to. I wondered if something had gone wrong at her company. I was also worried that she might be sick. On our wedding anniversary, I finally gave in and used my last chance to enter her dream. However, I saw no signs of bankruptcy or a terminal illness. Only one person appeared in her dream: the new intern at her company. When he worked late, she braved the rain to bring him an umbrella. When he had a stomachache, she searched half the city for medicine. When he casually mentioned wanting to see the ocean, she took him there countless times. In her dream, he asked her, "If you weren't married, do you think you could ever fall for me?" She remained silent for a long time before finally nodding, her voice thick with tears. I jolted awake, my eyes wet and cold. That was what my three chances had been for. Three dreams, three people I loved, and three times I was destined to lose them. Only this time, I would not wait for her to walk away from me. I would be the one to leave first.

A month before our wedding, my fiance decides to father a child with his late best friend's widow. I don't lose it or make a scene. Instead, I calmly send him a text. "There are plenty of ways for her to become a mother. Why does she have to have your baby?" A second later, he calls and accuses me of being unreasonable. "My best friend entrusted her to me on his deathbed. She doesn't know anyone here, and I'm all she has. Why is it such a big deal if I have a child with her? Besides, we're using IVF. It's not like we're sleeping together, and I'm still going to marry you." I smile as I text him back. "Don't bother. I'm marrying someone else, so you two can have each other."

My ex-best friend's birthday is also my mother's death anniversary. When I see Susan Lloyd picking a birthday cake with Hans Luther, I know she's going to snatch my husband after snatching my father from me. I won't let her get away with it, though. I don't want to follow in my mother's footsteps and be forced to jump off a building. So, after ruining Susan's birthday party, I leave the divorce agreement I've prepared and move out of my marital home. It's been less than seven hours since the incident. In that time, I've spent one hour packing, one hour getting to the train station, and three hours getting to my grandmother's house. In my final two hours, I convince my grandmother to let me stay. Hans, I don't want you anymore.

I'm a wedding dress designer, and one day before the finals of the Bridal Queen Tournament, explicit photos of me are posted all over the internet. Countless people accuse me of defiling the concept of love. They say I don't deserve to make wedding dresses, and in the end, I'm disqualified from the tournament. The photos can only come from one person—my boyfriend, Felix Evans. On the verge of a breakdown, I seek him out for answers. But right before I walk through the door, I hear him having a conversation with his twin, Leon Evans. "As expected, the netizens sank their teeth into Dahlia the moment the photos were posted online. I'm guessing that she's going to be blacklisted by the entire fashion industry too. There's no way she can compete against Sylvia for the title of Bridal Queen anymore." "Does this mean I can't pretend to be you and sleep with her anymore? Truth be told, she's pretty good in bed. She's pure, but she's also seductive." "You should take advantage of the situation and sleep with her as much as you want then. Once Sylvia wins the title of Bridal Queen, I'm going to cut ties with Dahlia completely and officially pursue Sylvia." Listening to their casual conversation, I feel like a sharp blade is being ruthlessly stabbed into my heart. I don't know how I got home. After sitting in a daze the entire night, I call a studio overseas and tell them, "I'll be joining you in three days."

After five years together, Abby Young finally said she was ready to take me home to meet her parents. However, on the day of the visit, she asked my friend Gene Burke to pretend to be her boyfriend and told me to tag along for the free meal. “Abby, I’m your boyfriend! You’re supposed to introduce me to your parents today!” She did not even look up. “Gene just went through a breakup last month. He wants to know what it feels like to meet a girlfriend’s parents, so let him have this one.” I refused to move. Gene sighed. “Forget it. I was only joking. You two should go.” He started to get out of the car, but Abby held him back. “Stay where you are. You’re not going anywhere.” Then, she pulled me into the car and said to me in a persuasive tone, “Tony, it’s only one dinner. I’ll explain everything to my parents after this. Just this once.” Left with no real choice, I reluctantly agreed. When we arrived at her parents’ house, Mr. Young’s face lit up the moment he saw Gene. “Gene, you’re here! Come in! We’ve been looking forward to seeing you. I even made that dessert you love!” Abby went inside with a smile, leaving me alone on the doorstep as though I did not belong there. I turned to her. “How do your parents know Gene?” Abby rubbed her nose, looking guilty. “Actually, this is the third time I’ve brought him home. I was worried about him after his breakup, so I’ve been passing him off as my boyfriend whenever we visit my parents.” I laughed in disbelief. I threw everything I was holding at her feet and turned to leave. “You can enjoy your little family dinner without me.”

The air conditioner in our apartment was broken. I asked my wife, Maya Cullen, several times if we could buy a new one, but she refused every time. "Evan, just hang in there a little longer. As soon as we get paid next month, we'll buy one." It was 102 degrees outside. Every night, we lay awake fanning ourselves, exhausted from the heat. I couldn't stand watching Maya suffer, so I borrowed 5,000 dollars from a friend and gave her the money to order an air conditioner. She placed the order, yet it never arrived. After I asked her about it twice, Maya finally lost her temper and slammed her phone down. "Evan, are you serious? It's a little heat. Deal with it. I'm swamped with work, and I don't have time to worry about your stupid air conditioner!" I quietly picked up her phone and didn't mention it again. Two weeks later, while Maya was in the shower, I used her phone to check the delivery status. It said the air conditioner had already been delivered. But not to us. It had been delivered to an address in another city. I spent ages arguing with the shipping company, but they insisted they hadn't made a mistake. With no other option, I called the person who signed for it. "Hi. I'm calling about an air conditioner you received a few days ago. I think it may have been delivered to the wrong address..." The man on the other end sounded confused. "That can't be right. My wife bought that air conditioner. We had it installed a few days ago." His wife? My breath caught. When I finally spoke, my voice was unsteady. "Is… Is your wife's last name Cullen?"

On the day I was supposed to register the marriage with my girlfriend, the CEO of Whitmore Group, her scheming male assistant stepped in first and handed over his ID. Just like that, the marriage certificate that should have belonged to me and my girlfriend became his and hers instead. All I did was ask a couple of questions. The assistant dropped to his knees in front of me, looking as if his world had ended. “Nathan, this is all my fault. If I hadn’t needed to get my child registered for school, I never would have resorted to something like this and entered a fake marriage with Claire.” Then he started sobbing and tried to slam his head into the wall as if he had to die to make up for it. Claire Whitmore had always been sharp and levelheaded, but this time, instead of saying a word for me, she slapped me across the face in front of everyone. “Ryan is a single father. Everything he did was for his child. Do you really have to be this petty? “It’s just a certificate. Once Ryan’s child is enrolled, I’ll divorce him. What difference does it make if you get yours a little later? Did you really have to push him to the edge? “Get on your knees and apologize to Ryan. Then give him half your salary as compensation. If you behave, I might let you borrow our certificate, take a picture of it, and show it off in your family group chat. Otherwise, don’t even think about getting one with me.” I gave a cold laugh. “Then forget it.” And I did not mean only the certificate. I was done with her, too.

While verifying the numbers for next month’s mortgage, I opened the shared Notes folder my husband and I kept on iCloud. I stumbled upon a hidden folder titled “100 things to get Ava out of Clyde”. The list was extensive. “1. Tell Dawn the budget for the outreach program’s been cut. Use the money put aside for the SUV to help Ava run her own bed and breakfast. “2. She has her eye on the custom platinum necklace. Place an order tomorrow.” I stared at my mobile screen, my blood running cold. Mike had spent the past year working in a remote community. When I found myself in the ER with a high fever, Mike simply told me, “Reception’s terrible out here. Just drink plenty of fluids.” I probed him with a text. “Babe, can you pick me up a silver bracelet while you’re in Black Mountain next week?” Mike was quick to respond. “There’s nothing around here but farms and dirt roads. Stop asking for expensive stuff. I’m busy.” Minutes later, I watched the note update in real time. “3. Dawn wants a silver bracelet, but I can’t get her one because every jeweler within a hundred miles is busy finishing Ava’s one-of-a-kind jewelry pieces.” With my eyes glued to the screen, I chuckled. Not voicing any issues, I simply tapped on the family relocation consent form tied to his transfer request and declined it. Mike sent a voice note right there and then; his tone of voice weary and dismissive. “Babe, I know this assignment has been hard. When I come home, why don’t we have the wedding we never got to have?”

I suffer from severe depression, while Jayden Sherwell's best friend, Mindy Quest, is always quick to call people out for being dramatic. When my condition flares up, Mindy poisons the emotional support dog that has been by my side for five years. When I learn about Teddy's death, I break down and try to kill myself. Mindy locks me alone in the bedroom. "Suicide is just stupid. She's trying to kill herself over a dog? Just leave her alone to think things through," Mindy says. I pound on the door. My hands tremble as I grip a knife and hover it over my wrist. I keep telling myself over and over that I can't kill myself. I crawl to the drawer and search for my antidepressants, but it's empty. Mindy's smug laughter rings out from outside the door. "I just flushed them down the toilet. Just hang in there. Taking medication for years has made you stupid. "Now you try to kill yourself over every little thing." My physical symptoms become severe. I lie on the floor, struggling to breathe as I fight to call out to Jayden for help. Unable to bear watching me suffer, Jayden opens the door, but the moment he touches me, he takes two steps back. "Mindy is right. You aren't depressed. You're just being dramatic," he says. "You can't expect us to cater to you forever. Just hang in there. You'll be better soon." I collapse over Teddy's cold body, and whatever warmth remains in my heart disappears. At that moment, I feel as if I completely lose the will to go on living.

Yves Riverson had a new razor. It was royal blue, wrapped in red silk, and he placed it at the very bottom of his suitcase as though it were some priceless treasure. During the flight, the plane suddenly hit turbulence. The alarm screeched through the cabin, and in that moment, the thing he clutched was not my hand. It was the razor someone else had given him. Only after the plane landed did he seem to remember I was there. He gently caressed my hand and told me not to be afraid. I said nothing, nor did I push him away. After we left the airport, I watched him eagerly pick up his phone. "Yeah, yeah, it's fine." Then he turned and saw me. The smile on his face froze. "Just talking to my parents." I nodded and ended the call with his parents. The car was moving slowly, and he was happily chatting with that person. I was scrolling the screen. The jewelry purchases made through our linked-payment account. That person made sure to note that the razor must be royal blue. "To Ms. Samantha Shaw." Samantha's laughter drifted faintly from the phone. I looked at my tired reflection in the car window and suddenly blurted out, "When did you start having an affair with my best friend?"

After I became a vegetable, Samuel kept me alive for two years with all sorts of tubes. I thought he couldn’t bear to let me go—until his true love returned to the country. He took my corneas and transplanted them to her. Right in front of me, he spoke to her with the utmost tenderness: “Don't worry; you'll be fine. These eyes have been prepared for you for two years.” As a result, I had an adverse reaction after the surgery and passed away. When he heard the news, his eyes turned crimson with rage, and he nearly smashed the hospital: ”Didn't you say there wouldn’t be any problems?!”

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.