Familial Bond Romance の短編小説 & 小説

To save my daughter, I collected 50,000 plastic bottles. Day after day, I dug through trash, carried them home, and traded them for scraps of hope. However, when I finally hauled them all to the recycling center, I learned their selling price had dropped. The 50,000 bottles were worth only enough to buy my daughter a better urn. Desperate, I held my feverish daughter in my arms as she suffered a seizure. I called my actress wife for help. Her answer was ice-cold. “$5,000 for a fever? Do you think I’m some kind of charity?” The irony was that she had spent $50 million building a private hospital for her screen partner’s dog just hours earlier.

My husband, James Zeller, and I have established a common-law marriage. We did not have a formal wedding ceremony, nor do we have a marriage license. We also live separately, our lives barely intertwining, because he has a special profession. Therefore, despite being married to him for seven years, we've never met each other's friends and relatives. As his wife, I'm proud of being married to him despite how it pains me. I'm willing to give up the opportunity to study at the National Academy of Sciences to take care of things at home while he works. One day, my son, Jasper Chalder, comes home from elementary school crying. He sobs about not being a bastard child and requests to see James. Greatly distressed, I decide to take him to visit the military base over the new year for a family reunion. However, I don't expect this trip to turn my life completely upside down.

Adrian Vance and I had been secretly married for ten years, and I had always been his perfect wife. He was the president of a hospital. But lately he'd fallen in love with playing broke. I asked him to pick up blackberries; he came home with bananas and a sad little story about money. I needed a ride to my own surgery; he drove me there rattling along in a beat-up van, because the van fit the part. And when our daughter was dying and the one person who could save her was him, he looked a stranger in the eye and swore he was nobody, just an assistant, certainly not the hospital's president. That was the moment it finally landed. He hadn't drifted into an affair on a whim. He had chosen, with his whole heart, to walk away from his wife and his child. Fine. I'd take our daughter and clear the way for his great love.

Today was my younger son, Luke's, eighteenth birthday. My ex-husband, Major General Arthur Ashford, let himself into my house without knocking. He headed straight for the liquor cabinet like he still owned the place. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and looked at me with open contempt. "Allison, how have you enjoyed the last eight years? Stuck here in Briarwood because of a family court order. "All because I broke a couple of glasses and put my hands on you a few times, you just had to file for divorce." "And what did that get you? The judge stopped you from taking the kids out of the city and made sure I got regular visitation." He swirled the whiskey in his glass, spilling a little onto the carpet. It was the same cocky look he wore the night he came home drunk and beat me with his belt. "You really thought you could get away from me? As long as I say no, you'll spend the rest of your life under my control. "After Luke cuts his cake, I am filing for emergency guardianship. You will never take my son away from me." I looked at his smug face, gripping the edge of my sleeve, and said nothing. Then he lifted his glass, ready to start barking orders at everyone. My daughter, Kate, rose from her chair and set a thick stack of papers onto the table in front of him. "General Ashford, you should read these. "As of midnight, Luke is legally an adult. Every travel restriction the family court placed on Mom is gone. "And this is the filing receipt for the name change petition for the two of us, which I filed with the Supreme Court." Arthur gave the papers a dismissive glance. Then his smile disappeared. Printed across the top in bold letters were the words: Petitions of Kate Ashford and Luke Ashford to Change Their Surname to Pierce.

Thor and I grew up together—we were the definition of childhood sweethearts. We'd promised to attend the same university, graduate, and marry right after senior year. Everyone envied us. They said we were a perfect match, destined for a lifetime together. And I believed that too. I truly thought I'd spend the rest of my life with him. Until the final semester of our senior year in high school, when a new transfer student named Lina joined our class. At first, the two barely spoke. But as they grew familiar, their bond deepened in ways I could no longer ignore. He started staying after school to tutor her, bringing her breakfast every morning. When she was upset, he'd take her for a drive along the coast. If she craved Italian steak, he'd have fresh cuts flown in. Even during her period, he'd quietly prepare everything she needed. I was furious. I confronted him, argued with him, and even threatened to break up. The first time I said it, he thought I was joking and coaxed me out of my anger. The second time, he dismissed it as another tantrum and tried different ways to please me. The third time, he broke down—standing outside my house in the pouring rain all night, half kneeling before me, begging for forgiveness. Again and again, I tried to leave, and every time, he refused to let me go. Yet with each reconciliation, something in him shifted. He started taking me for granted, assuming I would always come back. His patience wore thin. His apologies turned perfunctory. Even when he came to make peace, there was no sincerity left in his voice. So I said it for the hundredth time, and that was the last. That was the moment I finally gave up on him.

Just after I finish a meeting, the parents' group chat for my daughter's kindergarten suddenly buzzes with activity. Someone shares a viral post. The poster writes, "A daughter is always her daddy's sweetheart. She's already using her allowance to buy her dad a birthday present! I wonder who my gentle, wealthy little princess will marry someday." The one who shares the post adds excitedly in the comments, "She's the one and only successor to the Webb family in Jemton! She's a true heiress!" The parents in the group chat eagerly offer their sycophantic compliments. They can hardly wait to offer their own sons as potential suitors for the little girl. But I'm puzzled. Other than my wife, Lucy Webb, I don't think there is any other family with the surname Webb in Jemton. Then, I open the photo attached to the post and instantly freeze. The sweet little girl smiling as she holds the gift is unmistakably my daughter, Emilia Webb, whom I personally drive to and from kindergarten every single day.

My husband had a bizarre obsession with role-playing. In every scenario he invented, I was always the devoted wife he eventually cast aside. One day, he became the ruthless CEO who fell for the nanny; the next, he turned into a respected professor who could not resist his students. Each time he handed me a divorce agreement, watched me sign it through tears, and then tore the papers to shreds the following morning with a satisfied grin. "It's just a game, babe." That changed when my mom was in a catastrophic car accident and needed 200,000 dollars for emergency surgery. Deep in character as a penniless failure, he said, "I'm flat broke. Where am I supposed to get that kind of money for your mom?" I watched my mother take her last breath because we couldn't pay the bill. On the day of her funeral, he arrived with a pretty college student on his arm. "I've fallen in love with one of my students. It's time we get divorced." He pulled a folder from his briefcase and handed me the agreement. This time, I didn't wait for him to rip it up.

After seven years of marriage, my husband, Marcus Doakes, gave every bit of his tenderness to his divorced first love and her daughter. From then on, I began teaching my own daughter to call him "Mister." When my daughter had an asthma attack and her little face turned blue from lack of air, one phone call from his first love saying, "Jacey is scared of the dark," was enough to make him leave. I covered my daughter's eyes and told her to whisper, "Goodbye, Mr. Doakes" At the parent-child piano competition my daughter had been looking forward to for ages, his first love cried that Jacey had no father to accompany her and was too afraid to go onstage. He turned and left without hesitation. I swallowed the ache in my chest and told my daughter, who had lost her chance to perform, to thank "Mr. Doakes" for coming to watch. Every time, my daughter could only wipe her tears silently in my arms. Later, he seemed to finally realize how much he owed us. For once, he canceled his business banquet and offered to take us to the amusement park for the weekend. But right at the amusement park entrance, his first love called again. "Marcus, the children at the amusement park are laughing at Jacey because she doesn't have a dad. Can you come pick her up...?" When I saw the pity and hesitation flash across his face, he had just crouched down to explain to our daughter. This time, before I could say anything to remind her, my daughter let go of his hand on her own. With tears still shining in her smile, she stepped back obediently. "It's okay, Mr. Doakes. Go protect that little sister. "I have the cotton candy Mommy bought me. That's enough."

I died on my birthday, but neither my parents nor my husband noticed. They were too busy pouring all their attention into planning my twin sister, Esme Shaw's, birthday party. While she was surrounded by people helping her pick out a gown, I was tied up and thrown into the basement. With what little strength I had left, I forced my broken fingers to press in the code—9395. It was a signal my husband, Edwin Grant, and I had once agreed on. It was a straightforward way to call for help in the event of danger. I never thought I would actually need it one day. But when I sent it, he didn't believe me. His reply was cold, "Claudia, just because I didn't take you shopping for a new dress, you've decided to put on a show? "You can still wear last year's gown. Stop making trouble. I'll see you at the party later." What he didn't know was that Esme had already shredded that gown into pieces. And what he couldn't imagine was that the moment after he hung up, I was already gone. So, when the celebration began, I never appeared. But when everyone saw the birthday gift I had prepared for Esme ahead of time, the entire room lost its mind.

Our daughter was diagnosed with a genetic illness. To save her, my husband founded a charity in her name. To raise the funds, he pushed himself to the brink—working three hundred days straight, surviving on three hours of sleep a night. His relentless drive moved countless people. The media hailed him as "Father of the Year." Everyone congratulated me on having such a devoted partner. Then came the day he rallied the entire nation, securing pledges for millions in donations to fund our daughter's cure. At the gala, with over ten million dollars moments from being transferred, I suddenly hit the pause button. "And now, we'll take a brief intermission for a signing," I announced. The room erupted. They shouted at me, called me selfish, a monster. My husband stared at me, utterly stunned. "Have you lost your mind? Children around the world are waiting on this money to survive! What in God's name are you talking about?" I lifted my gaze to meet his. "A divorce agreement."

My family sold one of their properties to put me through school abroad. Nathan Kingsley and I had been together three years. Two of those were long-distance. Through those two years of me alone overseas, he never broke contact — airport pickups, long phone calls, every anniversary remembered. I'd never once doubted him. I thought distance hadn't beaten us. The day I flew home, he was waiting at Arrivals with a bouquet of flowers. He smiled and said, "Finally." We set the engagement date. We picked out the dress. We booked the reception. The day the wedding march began and I stood at the top of the aisle looking at him, I thought — these three years were worth every minute. Then the doors behind me opened. My sister walked into the chapel, in a white dress, and slid her arm through his. She smiled at me. "Sorry, sis. Those airport pickups? I'm the one who sent him. For the last three years, he's been mine the whole time."

While shopping at the supermarket, my daughter, Rebecca Westcott, stared longingly at the frozen fruit bars in the display case. I checked my bank balance, then reached for one. The steep price made me freeze. The sales clerk cheerfully explained, "You get what you pay for. This is the flavor kids love most." Seeing how awkward I was, Rebecca quickly spoke up. "Daddy, I don't want one. I was just looking. One of my classmates had one before. It wasn't anything special." My chest tightened with bitterness as I reluctantly started to put it back. Then a cool, unfamiliar voice spoke behind me. "It's the holidays. Let the kid have something that makes her happy." I turned in shock. A young man dressed head to toe in designer clothes dropped the frozen fruit bar into my cart. I immediately tried to refuse, but he ignored me and started filling my cart with all kinds of snacks. "You've got to be a little more generous as a dad. You can't be the kind of parent who ruins the fun. Relax, man. I've got it. I'll pay for everything." At the checkout, the man pulled out a black card and reassured me, "Don't feel pressured. It's a family card. This amount is nothing to my wife." I froze. A week earlier, I had seen an identical card in the pocket of my wife, Madeline Westcott.

"Daddy, I want to see Mommy," my son, Simon Lloyd, murmurs after he regains consciousness on the hospital bed. I freeze for a moment and instinctively look toward the hospital room door. No one is there. Yesterday, after Simon came out of the operating room, my wife, Selena Aston, held his hand and said, "Don't worry. I'll be right outside waiting for you. I'm not going anywhere." Why is she nowhere in sight? I begin to panic and pull out my phone to call her, but there's no answer. Just then, I see a new photo posted on Instagram. Her male colleague, Joe Carter, is the one who posted it. The caption reads, "I'd like to thank a certain someone for filling the role of a mother in my daughter's life." In the photo, Selena is wearing matching outfits with Joe's daughter, Katy Carter. She holds Katy in her arms while smiling brightly the whole time. They look like a happy family of three. That is, if Selena weren't my wife at all.

On my birthday, my fiancé, Vincent Drake, gave me an expired anti-aging serum. Meanwhile, my sister, Diana Ashford, wore the luxury diamond necklace he'd given her. She stood on stage, cutting into a custom cake he'd ordered for her worth over thirty thousand dollars. Just like every year, my parents and my fiancé were right by her side. They toasted to another happy year for her. From my corner, I stared at the anti-aging serum in my hands. It wasn't even meant for someone my age. The "sample" sticker on the back hadn't been fully peeled off. I shared the same birthday as my sister, but I was always the one who got overlooked. Even the event staff each got a slice of cake. But by the time they got to me, there was none left.

"Mommy, can I stop being a Lawson?" My daughter has a peanut allergy. We always kept an EpiPen at home. But on her birthday, my husband took the only one and gave it to his first love's son. He said, "Tommy's school has a field trip. Serena's worried something might happen. What's the big deal about lending it?" Later, my daughter accidentally ate peanut butter. Her face turned blue and she couldn't breathe. I rushed her to the hospital and called my husband seventeen times. He didn't answer. His first love's son had just won first place in a speech contest. He was in the audience, taking photos of the two of them. When my daughter woke up, her first words weren't "Where's Daddy?" She just clutched the hem of my shirt and whispered, "Mommy, can I stop being a Lawson?" I looked at the needle marks on the back of her hand and nodded. "Yes." "From now on, you'll have Mommy's last name."

On my twenty-ninth birthday, I was supposed to be formally announced as the next head of the Ashford family. But before the charity gala began, my mother fed my succession speech into the shredder and replaced it with a written pledge to my sister. "Lydia hasn't had an easy time since the wedding. Announce in public that you're giving her the Harbor Hotel. Think of it as backing her up." It was the first property my grandmother had left me, and the only project I had been allowed to run on my own in eight years. I asked my mother, "And if I'm not willing?" My father looked at me coldly. "Don't forget, you'll inherit all of Ashford one day. She only has us." They had always used the inheritance to keep me in line, forcing me to hand over what was mine to my sister Lydia. This time, I didn't argue. I took out the resignation letter I had signed long before and set it in front of my father. "Then let Lydia inherit all of Ashford. "From today on, I want nothing."

For his preschool career assignment, my four-year-old son, Joey Parker, writes that he wants to be a homewrecker. When I stare at him in disbelief, he defends his choice with complete confidence. "Mommy's secretary, Mr. Sebastian Hayes, is a homewrecker, and he's living a pretty great life. "Mommy buys him fancy suits that you don't have, and she always drives him to and from work without fail." Joey tilts his head and looks at me curiously. "I hear the grown-ups calling him a homewrecker all the time. So why don't you become one, too? "Besides, they say male homewreckers are super rare. And you're so amazing, Daddy! I bet you'd be the best one ever!" My face drains of color. I stand frozen, unable to utter a single word. Years ago, one comment from my wife, Amelia Brooks, about needing someone to take care of the family for me was enough to make me quit my job and become a stay-at-home dad. For years, I've swallowed my hurt and endured one humiliation after another, all because I want our son to grow up in a complete family. I've never imagined that my patience would teach him to mistake being the other man for being loved. I'm about to respond when Joey interrupts me. "Daddy, I know you and Mommy fought today because she's going out to dinner with Mr. Hayes instead of celebrating your birthday with you. "I don't like it when you and Mommy fight. So when I grow up, I'll be a homewrecker, too. Then you won't have to fight anymore." It feels as though an invisible fist closes around my heart. Rage surges through me, making the veins in my forehead throb. But the moment I meet my son's innocent gaze, the question that has tormented me for years suddenly has an answer. "Joey, being a homewrecker is wrong. If you don't like living this way, then I'll take you somewhere new. We'll find a home of our own, one without your mommy."

Everyone said my wife, Zoey Harper, was an amazing wife and mom who'd do anything for me and our son, Leo. Leo's doctor warned us three times that he might not make it. Then he died. Zoey claimed she was overseas for work. She wasn't. She'd invited Peter Cole—the first love she'd never gotten over—and his family to our apartment for dinner. I came home carrying Leo's urn, ready to confront her. Instead, she tossed my luggage into the hall. "We have guests, and we're out of rooms. Go stay somewhere else for a few days."

According to the family tradition of the Denvers, I could only marry Elaine Denver if I picked an ace out of a pack of cards. I had picked out other cards for the past five years, but this year I cheated by bringing my own ace card, and I waited happily for Elaine to return home to marry me. However, she suddenly went missing. My childhood friend suddenly appeared after getting drunk, and he leaned in close to me with a puzzled look on his face. "How did you manage to get an ace when there wasn’t one to begin with?" That was when a notification from a family group chat that I had seen before popped up on his phone. Elaine had just shared a picture of my illegitimate brother, Scott Jones, and her getting married. She was leaning in his arms and smiling happily. "I have gotten married to the love of my life and had the cutest baby in the world." This was followed by a picture of a newborn baby. My father was the first to tag Scott. [I'm so happy for you, Scott!] [This is for my grandson!] My future mother-in-law had transferred $400,000 to them and sent a screenshot of the transfer to the group. The family group chat included my childhood friend and several of Elaine's best friends, who used to see me as Elaine's husband. "Elaine and Scott are finally together! Congratulations to the happy lovers!" "Lucas was so gullible to believe that excuse of picking aces. It was a great way to stall for time, and the only way to find some peace for all of us." Something broke inside of me once I knew the truth. My mother was seriously ill, and her dying wish was to see Elaine and me get married. However, everyone knew about her relationship with Scott, and they let me continue waiting for a marriage that would never be. I wiped away my tears and added myself to the group. [Congratulations on your wedding and the baby.]

On the day of her daughter Nina’s funeral, before the pastor could finish the eulogy, Rosalind answered Samson’s phone call. “Change of plans. Let’s meet earlier. I’m on my way now.” Ethan held the small cremation urn in his arms. His knuckles turned white from gripping it too tightly. Nina had been critically ill with leukemia. Only Samson’s bone marrow matched hers. Driven to the brink, Ethan desperately begged Rosalind to go along with Samson’s request. She promised that she would only be playing pretend and would not fall for Samson. However, as time passed, she eventually fell for Samson and indulged him in every way. On the night when Nina needed the transplant the most, Ethan called her, frantic. However, she was unreachable because she was camping deep in the mountains. Ethan helplessly watched the three-year-old die in the emergency room. Later, Rosalind even protected Samson and let him stomp on Nina’s cross necklace. She even forcibly confined Ethan to a sanatorium and forced him to donate blood to Samson. It was not until Rosalind learned that Samson had deceived her from the very beginning that she felt piercing regret. She gave him fifty percent of her shares, knelt for hours at the cemetery, and tried to make amends wherever she could. However, no amount of regret could bring back the man she had deeply wounded.