Cerita Pendek & Novel Countdown Romance

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.

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."

It was the fourth anniversary of our relationship. Heather Hilmann took her friend Liam Sherr and me went to have barbecue together. The waiter recognized them and smiled, asking, "Still the usuals?" Heather nodded. It was a table by the window for two, and Liam sat on the inside. The ribeye had slightly charred edges, and the dipping sauce had no onions. She gave the first piece and the last piece to Liam. I sat near the aisle, and there was not even a dipping‑sauce dish in front of me. When they paid the bill, the waiter checked the membership records and reminded them with a smile, "Ms. Hilmann and Mr. Sherr, tonight was your 100th visit. You can take your customized grill pan home." A line of words was engraved on the back of the grill pan: [Heather and Liam, Together Forever.] The date was three years ago. I then remembered that Heather had been at the hospital celebrating my birthday that day. It turned out that the two hours she had been away were not for a company meeting. Liam touched the engraving and asked her with a smile, "After you and Ian Jeffrey get married, will we still have our monthly get‑together?"

When she was finally certain that Luke Jefferson would never fall in love with her, Raine Stone asked for a divorce and left with Zach Jefferson, their son. After the divorce, the usually aloof Luke abruptly started trying to win her heart back. He was no longer as cold as before, and he started to beg for her forgiveness by blocking Raine’s path. During his breaks, he spent time with Zach and prepared all sorts of surprise gifts. He even protected them and shielded them when a robber tried to stab them, leading to him spending some time close to death’s door. As Zach begged for them to reunite, Raine finally felt her determination crumble and agreed to get remarried with Luke. But right after getting remarried, she and Zach were on their way back home when they got into an accident. They went through more than ten hours of treatment, and Raine came out of it with a kidney gone, while Zach lost his vision. On the second day of the accident, when Raine and her son were taken past the doctor’s office, she heard a shocking secret.

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.

On my birthday, I was busy making preparations. I decorated my house and made dinner. Then, I waited until all the dishes went cold. That was when I received a text message from Zac Hilton: I’m on a business trip. Don’t wait for me. You should go to bed first. Then, I saw his girl best friend, Faye Smith, posted a social media post. In the photo, Zac had his sleeves rolled up. He wore an apron as he was making dinner in the kitchen. She added the caption: I hope this moment will last forever. I suddenly became vapid. I liked her post and reheated my dinner before eating. Throughout dinner, my phone kept ringing, but I ignored it. I only picked up my phone after I finished the meal. There were a dozen missed calls from Zac. Finally, he sent a voice message to me. [Piper, I’ll explain to you when I return. Don’t overthink it. There are so many future birthdays that we can spend together.] I did not reply to him. I had only one thought to myself. “Will there be a future for us?”

Just before the wedding starts, Mom suddenly clutches her chest and collapses. I drop everything and rush her to the hospital. The moment we pull up to the emergency room, my phone buzzes with a text in the family group chat. "Davian's at the hospital. I lured him away. You guys can start the wedding now." A second later, Dad replies, "Good. Kayden's already up on the main stage." Then my sister, Elaine Burke, chimes in, "Kayden's waited ten years for this. Now he can finally marry Leah out in the open." Within seconds, all three messages are deleted from the chat. Then my best friend, Simon Cohen, accidentally drops a video clip of the ceremony right into the group. In the video, my younger brother, Kayden Burke, is wearing the tuxedo I had handpicked for myself. My fiancee, Leah Hunter, stands at the end of the aisle, slipping the ring meant for me onto his finger. The same friends and relatives who cheered for me yesterday are now chanting in unison, "Kiss her! Kiss her!" Mom lunges from the hospital bed and snatches the phone out of my hands. The agony on her face is gone, replaced by pure panic at being caught. "Davian, Kayden's waited so long for Leah. He just wants a wedding of his own. You've had Leah for seven years. Just let him have this one time, okay?" I look at the ECG patches still stuck to her chest and let out a cold laugh. Everyone else gets to play the hero in their little drama, and I'm the only fool left in the dark, performing for their amusement.

On my birthday, My wife told me there was an emergency at the hospital and she couldn’t come home. She sent me five hundred dollars with a note: Happy birthday. Love you. Ten minutes later, her young resident, Evan Hayes, posted a screenshot of a transfer. Fifty thousand dollars. Congratulations on becoming an attending. I’ll be there for every milestone from now on. Seven years ago, Claire lost both her parents and was buried in debt. I gave up a senior architect position overseas, stayed by her side, and helped her through medical school, residency, and every exam that stood between her and the life she wanted. The first time she put on a white coat, she held me and said, “Adrian, I wouldn’t be here without you.” Years later, she gave someone else the time, patience, and care she once gave me. That night, I didn’t argue. I accepted the London offer I had turned down three times, took off the ring I had worn for seven years, and left. Claire wasn’t worried. “He loves me too much. He’ll come back.” A month later, she called in tears. “I’ll give you everything. Just come home.” She still didn’t understand. I never left because Evan got more. I left because the woman I spent seven years lifting up had finally made my love feel worthless.

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.

My sister Kira and I had shared one body since birth, each controlling it for half the year. Even so, my CEO boyfriend Aiden loved me more than life itself. He built me a glass-domed garden where it was always spring so I could experience the seasons I slept through, tattooed my name over his heart, and promised, “You’re the only one I love.” I believed him. Yet our wedding was postponed eighteen times in six months. Before every wedding date, I was caught in an accident. Each time, I was badly injured but never killed. After I woke from the eighteenth accident, my private doctor told me my soul had suffered too much damage. When Kira woke in three days, I would disappear for good. I stumbled home in a daze and overheard my father talking to Aiden. “Eighteen accidents are too many. What if you really hurt Roxy?” “I calculated the risks in every accident,” Aiden said calmly. “None of them was supposed to kill her. How else was I supposed to keep postponing the wedding until Kira woke?” Tears blurred my vision. “As you wish.” Three days later, Kira woke as usual, and I never woke again. But after I died, Aiden went mad with regret.

The first time I meet my girlfriend, Nadine Grant‘s parents, she stops me at the door. Her childhood friend and neighbor, Nick Lockwood, has just pulled a tarot card. The card says I'll attract trouble today, so I shouldn't go inside. Before I can say a word, Nadine reaches for the gifts in my hands. "Wait in the car for a while," she says. "When dinner's over, we'll go home together." I don't let go. "I've spent over a month getting ready to meet your parents, and you're not even letting me in?" Displeasure is written all over her face. "Andy, I'm doing this for your own good!" Before I can argue, she shoves me back into the car. Nick smiles at me through the car window. He says, "Andy, don't take it the wrong way. I'll go in and keep Mr. Grant company for you." Nadine stands beside him without looking back once. This is all happening because of one tarot card Nick pulls. I'm the one who's here to meet Nadine's parents, yet I'm somehow the last person they want inside. Then, I have no reason to become part of this family either!

I spend three years in prison taking the fall for Dwight Reed, the precious assistant of my hospital director wife, Gretchen Payne. On the day I am released, the first thing I see is yet another Medical Malpractice Liability Acknowledgment. "Sign it, Dustin. I want you to take the blame for this incident, too. Dwi has a bright future ahead of him. He can't have a stain on his record." Gretchen shoves a pen into my hand. "You've already served time. So, one more charge isn't going to make a difference." When I don't budge, she clicks her tongue impatiently. "Dustin, you're a convicted felon. You should be grateful for the chance to take the fall for Dwi! It's only five years! "Don't push your luck. Or is this about money? In that case, name your price!" I look at Dwight, who's sitting in the car with his arm around her waist, and let out a silent, bitter chuckle. My hand tightens around the late-stage leukemia diagnosis in my pocket. Gretchen, how am I supposed to serve five years when I only have seven days left to live?

After Poppy Steele, the heiress of the Steele family, loses her sight, my brother, Trevor Nott, breaks off their engagement and moves abroad. Left with no other choice, my parents ask me—their adopted son—to replace Trevor as a form of compensation. I take meticulous care of her for five years until she regains her sight. Just as she is about to marry me, Trevor appears at the wedding holding a bouquet of flowers, gets down on one knee, and confesses his love to her. The usually aloof Poppy bursts into tears. She throws away her wedding ring and runs to him, asking why he has only shown up now. I instantly become the laughingstock. I don't make a fuss, though. I change out of my suit and let them have the wedding. Poppy praises me for being sensible, claiming her recent actions are just for show. She promises that I will always be her fiance. I smile without saying anything and quietly book a flight abroad. She doesn't know yet that my care for her is nothing more than a deal. Now that her old flame is back, it's time for me to live my own life.

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."

Lucien Arden took the throne. He crowned Rosalind Hartwell empress. And Evelyn Hartwell—the principal wife who had fought at his side all the way from embattled prince to emperor—was given only the rank of Imperial Consort. The day the decree came down, Silverleaf Palace was completely silent. Every servant kept their head lowered and hardly dared to breathe, afraid that Evelyn would weep, or throw things, or come apart the way any consort does when the emperor's favor leaves her. Evelyn simply accepted the decree, calmly. “I thank His Majesty for his generosity.” There was no movement in her voice and nothing in her face. Even her beautiful eyes held not the slightest trace of grief. She turned, went back into the inner rooms, and picked up her book where she had left it. As though the decree that had just stripped her of her place as his principal wife had nothing whatever to do with her.

In my sixth year of running an inn in Rimevale, I'm diagnosed with bone cancer. I leave the inn in the hands of my fiancé, Eric Jones, and head to Varenia with nothing but an old enamel mug. Once I'm there, I start a livestream called "My Last 100 Sunsets." Every day at 7:00 pm, I turn the camera toward the snowcapped mountains and make coffee just out of frame. On my 31st livestream, a comment suddenly catches my eye. "Wait. Does that mug at the edge of the frame have a V-shaped chip in it?" Six years ago, when a blizzard left us stranded in the mountains, I kept that same mug filled with hot spiced cider for Eric all night. The chat explodes. "That's Alice Graham from Veylune Inn!" "Alice, why are you calling these your last sunsets?" Then a private message from Eric pops up. "Alice, where are you? Send me your location right now." What he doesn't know is that the night before I start chemo, I go back to the inn to get my documents and hear him and our receptionist, Denise Snyder, together in our bedroom. They're in the bed I picked out for us. "What if Alice comes back and catches us?" Denise asks. Eric laughs. "She won't leave me. Not after six years together." Standing outside the door, I open the confirmation email from an assisted-dying clinic in Varenia and click "Accept." By the time more than 100,000 people have signed up to watch my 100th livestream, Eric finally recognizes the snowcapped mountains outside my window and realizes where I am. I change the stream title to "My 100th Sunset: I Won't Be Here for Sunrise."

The night Helen Kerr's first love proposes, I stand on the 33rd-floor terrace, holding my terminal stomach cancer diagnosis. Through the glass, I watch the man drop to one knee. They exchange rings, and she slides the ring meant for me onto his finger. I stay hidden outside in the excruciating pain, refusing to ruin their moment. Then Helen spots me. There is no panic or guilt, just pure disgust in her eyes. She sneers, gestures toward the ledge, and mouths through the window, "Jump, if you're gonna jump. Stop acting just to ruin my night. If you actually die, maybe I'll believe you." Right then, the last flicker of life in me goes dark. I look at the woman I've loved for a decade and finally smile. That's a smile of pure relief. I turn and climb over the railing. "You're free now, Helen. Enjoy the final gift."

To leave something for her dying first love, my wife, Elara Wynn, decides to carry two babies at once, implanting his previously frozen embryo while she's already pregnant with our child. On the day of the procedure, she even stations 50 bodyguards outside, convinced I'll show up and try to stop her. But I never come. Once the embryo is successfully implanted, she finally relaxes. She doesn't understand why I'm making such a big deal out of it. All she wants is to leave something that belongs to her first love. She doesn't see anything wrong with that. Afterward, she comes to find me and says, as if she's doing me a favor, "Callum, aren't you happy I'm carrying twins now? Try to be the bigger person. What kind of example are you setting for the kids?" What she doesn't know is that while her first love's embryo survives the procedure, our baby doesn't. And I've already filed my immigration papers. In ten days, Callum Vane will cease to exist. I'll leave the country under a new identity, and she'll never see me again.

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.

It's been ten years since I followed my fated mate, Grace Murphy, into the human world. Her childhood friend, Fred Williams, is dying. His one last wish? To experience marriage. Grace said yes. She told me she wanted to give her wedding to Fred. I didn't cry. I didn't fight. I just smiled, slid the ring off my finger, and handed it back to her. She brought Fred home and said she wanted to give him a home. I said, “Okay,” softly, and stepped aside—clean, neat, no fuss. She wanted to take Fred to Hawaii—the honeymoon destination I'd been dreaming about for years. I still helped her book everything, calm and composed. The day she boarded that plane, I finally answered the summons from my pack. Three days from now, I'll be gone.