Tragic Love Romance Short Stories & Female Growth Novels

The night my husband came home from another flight smelling of another woman's perfume, one question was taking over social media. "Where have all the homemaker over forty-seven gone? "If life as a homemaker is so wonderful, why doesn't anyone ever speak up about it?" My husband, an international airline captain with over a million followers, signed us up for a livestream. He wanted me to prove that homemaker hadn't vanished. According to him, they were simply loved, protected, and cherished by their husbands. He was certain I'd play along. After all, for 22 years, I'd been the perfect wife. Even when my swollen joints hurt so much I could barely hold a spatula, I still washed his uniforms and made sure dinner was waiting when he got home. Even when he walked through the door carrying another woman's perfume, I would only touch my wedding ring and tell myself the same lie. "He's just having a little fun. In the end, he'll always come back to me." On the day of the livestream, he smiled at the camera and told everyone how happy our marriage was. I was in the kitchen baking, carrying dish after dish to the table. Then the host asked me one simple question. "Would you want your daughter to grow up to be the homemaker as you?" My husband smiled and typed his answer onto the teleprompter for me to read. "Of course." I walked into the frame with the last dish in my hands. I looked straight into the camera. "No," I said. "I wouldn't."

On the day of my wedding anniversary, I was cleaning my house when I found a picture album. As it turned out, my husband had been religiously taking pictures with the girl of his dreams every year on this precise date. He had been doing it since he was forty years old and he was now sixty years old. His hair had progressed from a jet black to a faded white and yet, he kept up the tradition. There was a written message in his handwriting at the back of the picture that read, “Eternal Love.” Since he doesn't love me, I will no longer bother washing his clothes and cooking for him. I will no longer care for his children and grandchildren. I may have foolishly wasted half of my life, but it was not too late to make a change.

Our wedding anniversary also happens to be our son's birthday. A month in advance, I carefully plan a family trip for the three of us—me, my husband, and our son. But right before we're supposed to leave, both of them suddenly disappear on me. I'm left standing alone in the pouring rain, dialing their numbers. On the other end, my son's young voice comes through, sounding cold and impatient. "Dad's having dinner with Ms. Moore. We don't want to go anymore." The call ends, and I'm blocked. Later that night, they intentionally lock me out of the house. I'm left standing in the freezing cold all night long. Soaked from the rain, I come down with a high fever and develop pneumonia. Meanwhile, my husband and son are off vacationing with Sophia Moore, smiling for a happy family photo with just the three of them. And in that moment, I know this marriage has truly come to an end.

"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."

After my husband topped the wealth rankings, he hired his first love as his personal housekeeper at a high salary. “Quincy, you hail from humble beginnings. I don’t want you embarrassing me in high society, so I specifically brought in Vivian to teach you the rules. From now on, everything you do must be reported to her for approval.” From that moment on, in public, I was the glamorous Mrs. Lane. However, behind closed doors, to even enjoy simple marital moments with my husband I had to write a thousand-word application seeking Vivian’s approval. Then, my adoptive father had a heart attack. I dropped to my knees, begging her to transfer me five hundred thousand dollars. She laughed coldly. “What kind of surgery costs half a million? Stop making excuses to pad your family’s finances.” “This isn’t a small sum. Write a 10,000-word application, and this time it’s denied.” Rage coursed through me, my body trembling uncontrollably as I spun toward Tyler and fell to my knees, begging him to save my father’s life. There wasn’t even a flicker of emotion on his face. “Vivian did nothing wrong. I know you’re still clinging to your old poor habits even after getting rich, but my money doesn’t grow on trees.” “This time, your father’s medical treatment will be put on hold as a lesson. Next time, don’t blame me if he’s kicked out of the VIP ward.” In the end, my adoptive father died on the operating table due to the delay in treatment. Completely disheartened, I finally asked Tyler for a divorce.

I went alone to my favorite singer’s concert. During the song selection segment, I was really excited and hoped that I would be lucky enough to be picked. But in the next second, I saw my husband, who was supposed to be on a business trip, appear on the screen. Next to him was Mia Louise, his first love. “I’d like to pick Back To The Past. I want to go back three years when I hadn’t broken up with Mia.” The entire stadium cheered and celebrated their love. I was the only one in tears. During the next song selection segment, I saw my teary face show up on the screen. “I’d like to pick Back To The Past as well. I want to return to the time when I never said yes to Samuel Gardner’s proposal.”

When I was four months pregnant, my fiance, who was a doctor, left me hanging when we were supposed to get married. This was not the first time; this was the sixteenth time. The first time, his nurse fainted at the sight of blood during an operation, and I waited for him for an entire day at the city hall. The second time, his nurse called, and he left me behind on a viaduct to buy daily necessities for her. Whenever we were about to get married, his nurse would call him for all sorts of problems. The final time was when he told me he was sick. Despite the rain, I rushed to the hospital, only to find that it was his nurse who was sick. He stayed by her side to care for her while he lied to me without batting an eye. At that moment, I began to hate him. I aborted our baby and left. But he chased after me and even traveled out of the country just to apologize.

I'd been married to my lawyer husband for eight years. In all that time, he never once acknowledged me as his wife in public. He wouldn't even let our daughter call him "Dad." Again and again, he missed out on her childhood because of his childhood sweetheart. Even when she hurt our daughter, he still forgave her. I was worn out and empty. So I decided to leave. I took our daughter and vanished from his world. But he refused the divorce. He started searching for us like a madman, turning the whole world upside down. Only this time, neither my daughter nor I will be looking back.

My son, Scott Gould, suddenly tells me that he has leukemia. Then, he goes on to say that his biggest wish is to see Ivanna Newman in a wedding dress. My husband, Theodore Gould, agrees with Scott. "I'll hold a wedding with Ivanna. Once Scott is done with his treatment, we'll get remarried." I gladly agree to the request and divorce Theodore. Not long after, I learn from Scott's social media that he's attending the wedding of Theodore and his childhood sweetheart, Ivanna. The caption he writes says, "I'm so happy for Dad. I can't help but shed tears for true love." I smile and turn off my phone. Holding the hand of the person next to me, I board a plane to Wismuth.

On our anniversary, Gus King overslept again. When he woke up, I was curling my lashes in front of the mirror. He looked apologetic. “I’m still adjusting to the time difference. Please try to understand.” For the past month, he and a junior labmate had been traveling around the world collecting marine samples. I calmly put away my mascara. “It’s fine. I made plans with a friend instead. This makeup is too nice to let go to waste.” He relaxed, though his expression turned a little strange. After all, in the past, I would have thrown a fit and cried at him. Gus hugged me from behind and smiled. “You’re getting so mature, sweetheart. By the way, I saw the new photos you posted. Where did you go?” “Oh, Seaview City,” I said casually. “While you were away in the North Isles.” He froze. I’d spent the whole first year of our relationship begging Gus to take me to Seaview City to see the ocean. He always said he’d take me when he had time. For our second, third, and fourth anniversaries, he kept telling me to be more understanding, then headed off with his junior labmate to their next destination. In the fifth year of our relationship, I suddenly stopped waiting. It turned out that traveling alone was pretty fun too.

One month before my wedding to my boyfriend, he announced he wanted to have a child with his "first love." I refused, but he brought it up every single day. Two weeks before the ceremony, I received a prenatal checkup report. That’s when I discovered his so-called "first love" was already nearly a month pregnant. It turned out he’d never intended to seek my consent at all. In that moment, years of affection evaporated like smoke. So, I canceled the wedding, destroyed every trace of our memories, and on what should have been our wedding day, I walked into a closed-off research lab. From then on, he meant nothing to me.

My biased mother brought my sister, Irene Baxter, to help me with my child. But one day, I forgot to bring a contract to work. When I returned home, I saw two bodies entwined. To cover up their secret, my husband, Sam Hodgson, and Irene pushed me off the tenth floor. It was only after my death that I realized I had been nothing more than a tool for carrying on the family name. "It's better that she's dead. Now my sweet girl can be a mom without having to go through childbirth." "Sleeping with her was revolting; she was like a block of wood. Irene is so much better." Even Irene had regrets. "Still, we shouldn't have pushed her down. She was smashed beyond recognition—otherwise, we might’ve been able to sell her corpse for a pretty penny." When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day they pushed me off the building. This time, I wouldn't let any of them off the hook.

After my husband got into a car accident, he started acting strange and unpredictable. I went to countless doctors, and every one of them told me the same thing—he couldn't be provoked, and I had to go along with whatever he wanted. When he said he didn't want me in the master bedroom, I moved my things into the guest room next door. When he said his childhood sweetheart had cancer and he wanted to spend her last days with her, I even brought her into our home. One night, when I went downstairs to get some medicine for my stomach, I heard Harvey's voice, his tone oh so tender. "Katie, you have to live on. If you don't, I'll die too." Katie's breathy, trembling voice followed. "Are you sure Jenna's willing to donate her bone marrow to me?" "Of course. Even if she had to die for me, she'd do it willingly." I froze in place. Tears streamed down my face. That's right. Five years ago, I had donated one of my kidneys to him. Back then, I loved him so much that I really would have died for him. But now, all I wanted was to leave.

The first month of school, I found out the whole school was calling me a leech behind my back. That vicious nickname was coined by my childhood friend Sebastian's new influencer friend, Chloe. Because as far as they were concerned, I always rode to school in Sebastian's car, spent his Venmo, and lived near the old Rivers family estate. But that wasn't the truth. I brought my ruined homework to Sebastian and asked why he let them smear me. He just laughed. "It's a high school joke. Chloe just likes to joke around. Don't be so sensitive." "Besides, you're always riding in my car, following me around. People thinking that... well, it's kind of normal." I froze. Cold went through my whole body. So this. Over a decade of quiet company and quiet protection. In his eyes, I was just a leech. I didn't explain anymore. I applied for early graduation. Off to Columbia University. But when he found out I was leaving, Sebastian went insane, searching everywhere for me. "Maya, where are you going?!"

I'd been married to Cecil Smith for eight years. He was the youngest wedding planner in the country, yet our own wedding had been thrown together in a rush. I'd asked him about it many times. Each time, he'd take my hand and say the same thing. "Nora, once I make it into the Best of Weddings Hall of Fame, I'll give you a wedding the whole city will talk about. "I'll make sure everyone knows you're the wife I'd do anything for." He said it like he meant it, so I believed him. I gladly stayed up late rewriting proposals with him and worked alongside him on-site. When he needed cash to keep the business going, I sold the house my mother had left me. My coworkers would see how worn out I was and smile at me with a hint of mockery. "Mrs. Smith is so lucky. With a husband like Mr. Smith, who knows how spectacular that wedding is going to be." "Once the photos are up, we're all going to be very jealous of you." Then, on the day Cecil finally made the Hall of Fame, everyone crowded around a phone and gasped. He'd posted a photo on Instagram from a snow-covered mountain. It showed two passports and a wedding gown. Everyone assumed he'd finally taken me abroad for our bridal photo shoot. That was when I walked into the office with my suitcase. They stared for a few seconds. Then the questions came, their voices oddly hesitant. "Mrs. Smith, what are you still doing here?" "Don't tell me you weren't the woman Mr. Smith took with him."

For our second anniversary, Nolan Cole and I went whale watching in Monterey, but when we checked in, the hotel manager told us our room had been set up the way Nolan's ex-girlfriend liked it. He had dated Zoe Hart for eight years, and she cast a constant shadow over our relationship. That day, Nolan gave me a sheepish look. "They've gotten used to setting it up that way. They probably just assumed. Don't overthink it." My hands curled into fists. We had an early whale-watching trip the next morning, so I tried three times to wake Nolan. He just patted my head and smiled. "It's all the same. You get on a boat, find a spot, and take some pictures. Zoe and I already did it, so go by yourself." So I had no choice but to board alone. The waves were unusually rough that day. I got so seasick I could barely see straight, and I never saw a whale breach. When Nolan picked me up, one of the crew members seemed to recognize him. The man waved his hands excitedly and dug out two photos. In one, Nolan had Zoe wrapped in his arms against the cold. In the other, he and Zoe were kissing in front of a pod of leaping whales. Furious, I pushed him away and went back to the hotel alone. On the third day, I said I wanted to drive south down Highway One. Nolan sighed and said flatly, "Zoe and I have done that drive plenty of times. I've seen it all before, and I don't want to do it again." Suddenly, it all felt completely pointless. He'd already done everything with Zoe. That was where I decided our relationship would end.

Coming home from a late shift on a winter night, my fingers were stiff with cold. The first thing I did was head for the bathroom. Ethan stopped me, a bowl of late-night leftovers in his hand. “What took you so long? Rena’s in the bath. Just wait a bit.” I glanced at the clock. It was already eleven thirty. “I have to be up at six. Could you ask her to finish earlier next time?” He frowned. “It’s just a bath. Do you really have to make an issue of it?” When we’d been apartment hunting, I suggested getting a place with two bathrooms. Ethan insisted on this one because it was close to his and Serena’s office. Their commute was ten minutes. Mine meant three transfers and nearly four hours round trip. Back then he’d said, “I’ll drive you to and from work. You won’t have to cram onto the subway.” Six months later, not once. The bathroom door opened and Serena walked out in my bathrobe. “Sorry, Quinn, I didn’t know you’d still need to shower this late. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have soaked so long.” Ethan immediately grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her, then bent down to towel off her wet hair. “Don’t worry about it. You don’t owe her an apology. She’s just tired from work. On edge.” A sudden wave of weariness washed over me. I set down the towel I’d been drying my hands with and slipped off my engagement ring. “Right. On edge.” “So this place is all yours.”

I once thought that my and Sebastian Ford's love would last a lifetime. Yet, the man who claims to love me does everything possible to hurt me. He takes wedding photos with another woman and goes on vacation with her. They even sleep in the same room. When making love to me, he speaks to a friend in a foreign language. He tells the friend he will marry another woman but keep me bound to him with a fake marriage certificate.

Starla Xander was orphaned at a young age. With both her parents gone, it was her uncle, Xavier Lloyd, who rescued her from that hopeless home. For over a decade, he had cherished her, shielding her from the world, treating her like the most precious gem in his life. And so, inevitably, she fell in love with him. She truly believed he loved her too. She thought that one day, they would get married and build a future together. But when Starla finally confessed her feelings, Xavier reacted as if she had crossed an unforgivable line. “Starla, I’m your uncle. Get rid of those disgusting thoughts!” And that wasn’t even the cruelest part. He chose the most brutal way to reject her. On the twelfth anniversary of the day they met, he stood before her with a beautiful woman by his side. He met Starla’s eyes and said, “Meet her. She’s your future aunt-in-law.” As she watched them standing together—so effortlessly close—something inside her shattered. She let out a soft, bitter laugh. “I understand now.” Without another word, she turned away, pulled out her phone, and called her research mentor. “Professor Zimmer, I’ve made my decision. I agree to the cryogenic preservation procedure.”

At the Davenport family dinner, I arrive wearing the same dress Tucker Davenport's true love once wore. His face darkens immediately. He glares at me coldly and orders that my dress be burned on the spot. "Damn it, Willow, can't you show a little self-awareness? Shelby might be too naive to notice, but there's no way I'm letting you appear like this in front of her." The intense heat rushes toward me as the flames consume the fabric. A sharp, burning pain shoots between my legs, crashing over me like a tidal wave. The pain drags me under, but I suddenly jolt awake, barely able to gasp a plea for mercy. Tucker doesn't spare me a glance. He simply turns away to help Shelby cut the cake. Days later, he finally remembers I exist. "As long as you behave and don't bother Shelby again, you'll still be Mrs. Davenport." I stare at the burns on my legs as my tears dry up. I refuse to beg any longer. I'm done being Mrs. Davenport.