Family Emotions Romance Short Stories & Novels

When my old phone finally died after eight years, I picked a new model and asked my wife, Mandy Sudds, for her opinion. When she saw the price, her face fell. "A marriage should involve compromise from both parties. Last week, you wanted $1,000 for a trip, and this week, you want another $1,000 for a phone. “Why didn't you think about how much I make from waking up early in the morning and coming home late at night? Have some sense, Mick." I had never traveled with her before, and all I wanted was a picture of her to commemorate the trip. Just one picture. I glanced at the latest model in her hand, and I suddenly wanted to buy a his-and-hers phone. She added, "If you really want a phone, just get a second-hand one." I looked up in delight and immediately went on an online marketplace to buy the phone I wanted at a 70% discount. When I received it, I realized the original owner had forgotten to do a factory reset, so the phone was filled with his pictures. The owner had traveled to rivers and deserts, enjoyed the night view at Wallace Harbor, and kissed his lover under the Northern Lights. When I looked closer at the pictures, I was shocked. It was Mandy and my buddy. They had traveled hundreds of thousands of miles over the last eight years. They had cheated on me behind my back for eight long years, and I had only just found out about them. My phone suddenly buzzed with a text. [Are you the buyer? I sold off that phone because my sweetheart was mad at me. I bought him the phone, and it means a lot to us. Could you return it to us?] When I did not reply, she got anxious. [Price is not an issue. Can we meet?]

The afternoon I underwent a surgical pregnancy termination at Boston Women's Medical Center, I came across a video a travel blogger had just posted. The title read: [Tuscany's Most Romantic Olive-Tree Vow: A man gets down on one knee and fastens a silver bracelet engraved with "Yours Alone, for Life" around the wrist of the woman he loves.] In the video, a man knelt beneath a centuries-old olive tree, fastening a silver bracelet around a young woman's wrist. Tourists gathered around, clapping and cheering. The girl threw herself into his arms with a laugh, and he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. The moment I saw his profile, the billing receipts in my hand scattered across the floor. Half an hour earlier, the doctor had told me the fetus had stopped developing. I was lying in the recovery room, my abdomen still seeping blood. Every other patient had a partner or family member at their side. Beside my bed sat an empty chair. He was my husband, Daniel Cole. Eight years ago, we met in the industrial design lab at our state university. He was so broke he could barely cover rent on his teaching assistant's salary. We used to split a cold slice of pizza in the studio at two in the morning, sketching each other into every blueprint of our future. Later we got married, and together we founded Shoreline Design Lab. I had always believed that if you stood by someone through their hardest, leanest years, they would never betray you. The girl wearing the silver bracelet, her face flushed with shy delight, was Claire Winston, the intern designer I had personally brought into the company. Two hours ago, Claire had posted in the company group chat saying she had caught the flu and could barely get out of bed. Daniel had also texted me a blurry photo of a conference room, claiming he was accompanying investors on a factory tour and might be unreachable for the next few days. Yet while I lay alone on that freezing operating table, losing our baby before it had even begun

After my husband's car accident, I did a checkup and found out he had a malignant brain tumor. Instead of telling him right away, I stuck the report in my bag, planning to wait for the right moment. Guess what? He found it first—and thought I was the one with the tumor. A few days later, I overheard him in his office, laughing with a buddy: "My wife? No looks, no figure, just money—and now she's got a brain tumor. Talk about a win for me. If Rainee hadn't gone abroad, I'd never have married her. Bad luck, huh? At least I dodged the kid bullet. Once she's gone, I get everything." Then he pulled the amnesia card, blamed it on the accident, and started treating Rainee like his wife. He even welcomed her into our house. I smiled and said, "Nathan, let's get a divorce."

My mother-in-law was obsessed with picking mushrooms. She said mushroom stew with chicken was incredibly nourishing. She often made it to boost my husband’s health. However, she never let me have any, not even a sip of the broth. Every time, she came up with some excuse to send me out on an errand. If I refused, my husband’s fists and kicks reminded me to obey. So, this time, I obediently went out like always. Even though I just had a miscarriage five days ago and the sun outside was scorching, I had to go.

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.

I had a miscarriage and was confined in the ICU. Meanwhile, my husband was off traveling the world with his first love. It wasn't until he decided to divorce me that he finally remembered I existed. He called my mother, demanding to know how long I planned to act out. She was disheartened, looking at me, who was barely clinging to life. "Shannon will never cause you trouble again! Happy now?" she snapped.

My name is Alan. I was the most legendary soldier the army had, and I once took down more than three hundred terrorists in a single day. My wife, Sophia Warren, was heir to the Warren Group. We knew each other as children, went to the same school, and married after we graduated. I went into the army and she took over the Warren Group. Five years ago terrorists took my wife, and I disappeared. My wife came to despise me, her family scorned me, and everyone said I was a coward. No one knew that I had gone in alone, killed more than three hundred terrorists, and rescued my wife. I took three bullets doing it and spent three months in a hospital bed. I told her I was away on business. Because my identity was a state secret I could not tell her it had been me. I appeared out of nowhere and vanished just as mysteriously. She took Kane, the SWAT officer who came in afterward to collect the bodies, for the one who had saved her, and she pulled away from me. She dated him, went on holiday with him, and everyone began treating Kane as her husband. She threw Kane an elaborate birthday party. It was my birthday too.

On the day of my wedding, my parents suddenly show up at my house with my fiancé, Yoseph Caldwell. They say they've decided the bride is going to change. "Your sister's terminally ill, and her only wish is to marry Yoseph. You're her younger sister, so be generous and help her out." Yoseph chimes in calmly, "Don't worry. It's just a ceremony. Once she passes, you and I can still get the marriage certificate." When I refuse, my parents tie me up. "We'll let you out once the wedding's over." But not long after they leave, an intruder breaks in and brutally murders me. By the time they finally remember me, all that's left is my rotting corpse.

The day my son gained the lifetime achievement award in research, I died alone on the street. On stage, he thanked his father, a professor, and his biological mother, who had just returned from abroad. He even thanked the nanny at home. But he left me out, his foster mother who had raised him. My husband, Charles Zimmer, learned about my death. He immediately disassociated himself from me. “We’ve long separated. I’ve got nothing to do with her.” I had worked hard to give them a decent life, but they regarded me as a stain that they could never remove. When I opened my eyes again, I returned to the time of my life when my destiny changed. Holding the college admission letter, Charles smiled at me and said, “Yes, I’m divorced. But we can live in the city together if you marry me. I’ll let you discipline the kid if he makes any mistakes. I won’t complain about you.” During my previous life, he had me fooled by false promises. I naively thought that it would be easy to be a stepmother. I helped him care for his son and worked hard to support the family. In the end, they conspired with each other to drive me out and leave me penniless. It was because Charles’ ex-wife, who had abandoned them when he was poor, wanted to come home and remarry him. Since I had gained a second chance, I planned to dump such an ungrateful husband and son.

The Richie Rich who violated my daughter has gotten off unscathed. He sneers and throws a wad of cash in my face. "I'll show you what people mean when they say money makes the world go round!" In that split second, I want to tear him to pieces.

On the day of my wedding, I waited on the stage for six long hours with the wedding ring in my hand. The bride never came. Instead, I was greeted with the sight of my older sister's bloodied corpse. To make things worse, my wife, Winona Graham, was the one who defended the murderer in the court. I demanded answers from Winona like a madman, only to be locked up in an oven that was toggled to 200 degrees Fahrenheit by her. "Are you done, Arthur? It's Annabelle's own fault that she died in the first place! This has nothing to do with Hudson at all! He has just started his life as a young adult, and I won't let you ruin his life! "Just sit here and reflect on yourself! The moment you decide to sign the Letter of Understanding is the moment I'll get someone here to free you from the oven!" After that, I was trapped in the oven for 12 hours, resulting in my death from getting burned alive. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day Winona throws the Letter of Understanding in my face.

My husband, Caleb Price, and I, Sienna Hart, have been married for many years. Our relationship is going strong, and our son, Tobey, is thoughtful and kind. I've always believed we would spend our whole lives together. What I don't expect is that Caleb would hurt me and Tobey three times because of the same woman. The first time, we agree to celebrate Tobey's birthday, but Caleb forgets his promise because he has to pick up his first love, Lila Monroe, from the airport. When I return home from a business trip, all I find is my heartbroken son. The second time, Caleb secretly takes our son and Lila to the amusement park. He doesn't know that Tobey is allergic to peanuts, and he ends up in the hospital. The third time, Caleb repeatedly promises to pick Tobey up from school alone, but when Caleb hears that Lila is ill, he tells Tobey to go home by himself. On the way home, Tobey is kidnapped. After he's rescued, he spends three days in the hospital in critical condition before pulling through. Each time, Caleb apologizes with utmost sincerity and swears that there won't be a next time. Maybe he's forgotten, but I once told him that I'd only forgive him three times. So, when he finishes apologizing and thinks life will return to the happy days it was before… It doesn't. Yes, I forgive him, but I'm also taking Tobey and leaving him—forever.

After their son died, Shiloh quit every habit Manuel hated. No more blowing up his phone. No more crying when he stayed out all night. No more scenes. Even after a car crash, when the doctor told her to call family, she only said, "I'm an orphan. I don't have anyone."

I suffered critical injuries that left me in a persistent vegetative state when I tried to rescue my wife, Regina Livingston, from her abductors. Regina spares no expense, spending millions of dollars to bring in the best medical experts in the country to treat me. She watches over me every single night, never weary of caring for me. Four years into my coma, I overhear a conversation between Richard Sutherland—a man I don't know—and Regina. "You've done all you can, Regina," he says. "You don't owe him anything anymore." Regina remains silent. Then, a young boy, Franklin Sutherland, suddenly asks, "Mommy, why do you always visit this man? Who is he?" I'm instantly shocked. Regina and I don't have a child together. I'm completely bewildered, and just as I try to figure it out, I suddenly wake up from my coma.

I struggle with all my might, but Dad restrains me, and Mom breaks my limbs. Then, my sister seals me into the concrete. "Concrete is only brought to life with an actual person sealed inside. It looks so much more defined! It's not like you'll die after being sealed in there for a few days. How can you be so insensible?" The pain of having my limbs broken and my oxygen being cut off leads to me dying within that block of concrete. My body rots and festers inside, but my soul sticks around to watch how my parents dote on their adoptive child. They seem to be happy without me. Finally, I lose all hope in them. But when the liquid from my body seeps out of the concrete, they all lose their minds.

On our seventh wedding anniversary, my husband, Nate Anderson, told me that he had offended a mob boss. On the same night, he sent our daughter, Poppy Anderson, and I to go into hiding in the desert. Halfway through the journey, I recalled that I had forgotten to pack my daughter’s asthma medication. Hence, I quickly went back. However, I saw Nate celebrating with his friends in our mansion. “Nate, aren’t you worried that Lila and Poppy are going to starve in the remote area that you’ve sent them to?” Nate said indifferently, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve repackaged the unsold dog food from Emma’s shop and sent it to them. They won’t starve.” Emma leaned her head against Nate’s chest. “Baby, you’re so smart. Do you think our child will be more like you or me?” Nate looked at her lovingly and kissed her. “Regardless of who our child resembles, I’ll love him or her the most.” His friend could not stand it anymore. “Since you don’t love Lila, why did you marry her and have Poppy with her?” Nate lit a cigarette. He looked a little cross. “I only slept with Lila because I was afraid that Emma would think I was inexperienced, but I didn’t expect her to get pregnant after that one time. “I only married her out of responsibility. I feel bad for Emma. She was with me for so many years, but our relationship had no label. “If Lila finds out that Emma’s pregnant, she’ll definitely make a scene. I have no choice but to simply make up a lie and send her away.” I stood on the other side of the door, feeling chilled to the bone. Three years later, Nate video-called me with a big smile. “Lila, it’s all over. Are you and Poppy doing well? I’ll come get you.” I looked at the man, who was hugging me tightly in his sleep. “We’re doing good! My new husband keeps me very satisfied, and Poppy has started to call him ‘Daddy.’”

The fifth year of my marriage to Silas marked a turning point I would never forget. Our son, Yael, was kidnapped. The ransom was set at ten million dollars, an insignificant amount for Silas, yet his response chilled me to the core. “No rush. A Gardner needs to experience some hardships to grow.” Ten million meant nothing to him, but Yael’s life meant everything to me. I dropped to my knees, tears streaming down my face, and begged him relentlessly, pleading for Yael to be brought home as soon as possible. Silas, however, remained unmoved. Three days later, Yael was returned to us, but the cheerful boy I knew was gone. He had been so traumatized that he could not speak. Far from showing concern, Silas coldly remarked, “Yuna said Yael keeps telling everyone at school she’s a fatherless child. Let’s see how he spreads lies now.” His words cut through me like a knife. I picked Yael up in my arms and whispered softly in his ear, “Don’t be afraid, Yael. Mommy will take you away from here.”

Ten years ago, I lost my sight saving Ivan Hardman. Now, a decade later, Ivan lets his mistress live under the same roof as me. Every night, he coaxes me to sleep in the first half, only to spend the rest tangled up with her. Even my son secretly calls her "Mom." What they don't know is, I've regained my sight. And I'm planning my escape.

I lost my dear son, Henry, to a traffic accident. He had been on his way to one of his part-time jobs. Despite working a lot, my son was still a top scorer on the SATs. “Mom, I don’t want treatment,” he begged with his last breath. “I just want Dad.” In my despair, I called Matthew Foster, my husband, more than one hundred times, but he never answered. We had been married for eighteen years, but one day, he spent all of our savings in order to pay for the treatment of his deceased comrade’s son. That got us into a debt worth one million dollars. To help him pay for it, both Henry I and worked hard to earn money. My son went as far as working five part-time jobs a day! That accident cracked his head open and tore his stomach. He was in urgent need of money for treatment. Since Matthew was not responding, I had to leave Henry’s side to rush to his workplace, where I ended up hearing that he was throwing a party for someone else’s son because he had gotten into a prestigious school. “Mr. Foster gave Zack a seaside mansion, a luxury car, and a limitless black card in hopes that he will succeed in his future studies and have a smooth and healthy life.” As I watched my “poor” husband hug his comrade’s widow and son, I called him for the 101st time. “Henry wants to see you one last time.” “I’m busy right now, Wendy. Be good with Henry and wait a little while longer.” When Matthew hung up impatiently, I put down my phone in silence. I whispered, “Matthew, Henry can no longer wait for you.” At that moment, I decided that I was not going to wait for him anymore either.

My childhood sweetheart, Claire Lawson, and my older sister, Vanessa Bennett, both fall for Ethan Reed, the new scholarship student. Claire breaks off our engagement. "Marry a spoiled rich kid like you? No thanks." Meanwhile, Vanessa breaks the promise she made to Mom on her deathbed. "Ethan's had such a hard life. Is it really too much to ask that I give him half the love I've always given you?" On my birthday, Claire chooses to spend it with Ethan instead of me. And on the anniversary of Mom's death, Vanessa would rather spend the day with Ethan and his mother, Karen Myers, than visit Mom's grave. That's when it finally hits me. Maybe I'm just not meant to have people I can call family. And if I have to beg someone to love me, what's the point? So, when Claire and Vanessa travel to Belmont with Ethan to watch him receive an international design award, I set fire to the house that holds all our memories, fake my own death, and leave Jinton behind for good. But the moment news of my death reaches Belmont, the two women who've long since grown tired of me rush back to Jinton overnight. They collapse to their knees outside the charred remains of the house, sobbing uncontrollably as though their entire world has fallen apart.