Homewrecker Romance Short Stories & Regret Novels

Ever since my wife, Allison Strong, gives birth to our son, Noel Russell, she becomes unable to speak. The doctors say it is likely a psychological issue. For three whole years, she does not say a single word to me. Even when there's a gas leak in the house, she simply waits for me to discover it myself. When Noel cries from hunger, she never tries to comfort him. After my company goes bankrupt, I don't even have time to grieve. I spend my days delivering packages to support the family while taking my wife to see psychologists and specialists. One day, I am dead tired after working from morning until night. As I back my car into the garage, I fail to notice that Allison has left three-year-old Noel to play behind the vehicle. The moment I feel the car roll over something, my gut tells me something is very wrong. Noel's cries last only a few moments before he falls silent. My legs nearly give out beneath me. Forcing myself to stay upright, I scoop up Noel and rush him to the hospital with my hands trembling uncontrollably. Meanwhile, Allison stands silently somewhere to the side. Just like always, she says nothing. Her expression remains absolutely unfazed. Though she is the one who has given birth to Noel, everything seems completely unrelated to her. I have a mental breakdown. Grabbing her by the shoulders, I shake her desperately and yell, "You saw what was happening, why didn't you warn me? Why did you let him play there? What kind of psychological problem do you have that you can just stand by and watch your own son die? "Are you trying to destroy me, Allison?" I scream hysterically, but she still does not open her mouth or make a sound. Despair engulfs me. Three years of complete silence from her crushes me. Just when I am about to give up, Allison pushes through the crowd and softly speaks her first words in three years. They are quiet, but I hear them clearly. "Clarence..." Clarence Welch is the name of her first love. Only then do I realize that her psychological issue is with Noel and me.

On my birthday, my husband, Adrian Grant, suddenly showed up with my adoptive younger sister, Bella Reed, and her child, Tia Reed. When it was time to head out, he naturally arranged for Bella to sit in the front passenger seat. Then he turned to me and said calmly, "Tia gets carsick easily. The back seat is full of stuff. Since you're healthy, just take the bus." Our friends immediately chimed in, one after another, "You're the older sister. Taking care of your niece is only right." Four cars were heading out, yet not one seat was left for me, the supposed main character of the day. I sat on the bus, swallowing my grievance, and saw Adrian and Bella interacting ambiguously in the group chat. They were even talking about topics I knew nothing about. When I opened the newly sent video, nothing except leftovers remained on the table prepared for me. Adrian even treated the birthday cake I had carefully prepared as dessert, spoon-feeding it to Bella and her daughter. Someone finally couldn’t stand it anymore and asked whether this was appropriate. Adrian, who was carefully wiping Bella’s mouth, didn’t even look up. "We’re all family. Julia won’t be angry." At that point, our seven-year marriage came to its end.

For three years, I played the humble housewife to protect Gabriel’s ego, secretly using my power as the Pearl Group’s heiress to build his empire from the shadows. But at his victory gala, the man I made a King crowns another Queen—the woman who abandoned him when he was broke. "While others were just present," Gabriel sneers, his arm around his ex, "Anna was the fire behind my success." He thinks my silence was weakness. He thinks his contract was earned by merit. He’s about to find out that the humble woman he sidelined owns the very stage he’s standing on. I’m done being your sun, Gabriel. Enjoy the darkness—because by morning, I’m taking the light with me.

On my first night shift at the new hospital, I saw my newlywed husband, Nathan Lloyd. He was supposed to be on a business trip. He was kneeling at the operating room entrance while a pregnant woman in labor was lying on the emergency bed beside him, experiencing heavy bleeding. Nathan gripped my hand, his pleading cries echoing in my ears, "Doctor, I beg you to save her!"

During a family gathering, my daughter drove her rideable toy car straight into me and shattered my leg because she wanted to stand up for her live-in manny, Wilson Smith. As I lay on the ground in agony, she glared at me and said, "You're not my dad! Wilson takes care of me. He's kind to me. Mom and I both like him!" From where I had fallen, I looked up and saw Wilson standing at the center of the crowd, surrounded by smiles and admiration. At that moment, a bitter realization settled over me. I mattered less than a manny to my own family. I soon filed for divorce. Then, I signed up for a community revitalization initiative and spent the next twenty years helping struggling communities build better lives. My family did not need me, but somewhere else in the world, there were people who did.

"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."

Five years into our marriage, everyone s aid I'd married the perfect husband. Noah was gentle, attentive, and endlessly patient, the kind of man romance novels are built around. He pampered me until I hardly had to think about the practical details of life. But the one person he couldn't stand was my best friend, Kayla. Once, Kayla came over for dinner and ordered two extra dishes. "Do you have to be so picky about dinner? Isn't Leah doing enough already?" His expression frosty, he took the apron from my hands, then served the roasted cod and creamy butternut squash Kayla loved. When Kayla got caught in a downpour on her way home from a business trip, she asked me to pick her up at the airport. "Can't she call a cab from the airport? Why does she have to make you drive all that way?" Scowling, he snatched the keys from me, pulled on his coat, and went to get her himself. There were too many moments like that. I told myself he cared too much about me to let my best friend take advantage of me. That was what I believed until the day Kayla and I were installing a wall sconce in the new apartment and I fell from the chair. Noah, who'd just gotten home, rushed straight to Kayla. His voice trembled. "How could you be so careless? Where else does it hurt? Don't move, I'll take you to the hospital." I lifted my right arm, mangled and bloody where the broken glass had cut it. But he'd already scooped Kayla up and rushed into the elevator. I stared around our newly furnished bayside apartment. The space beside the fireplace was still bare, the dining room chandelier not yet installed. There was no point finishing it now.

Everyone is envious of my flawless husband, Samuel Copeland, who indulges in everything I say. But what they are unaware of is the fact that he has betrayed me thrice. The first time is when he cheated on me with his secretary, Tiffany Finch. He fires her and explains to me repeatedly that it's just a misunderstanding. I choose to believe him. The second time is when I'm at my pregnancy checkup at the hospital, alone. Then, I end up seeing him accompanying Tiffany on her pregnancy checkup when he's supposed to be on a business trip. I have a huge fight with Samuel over it and almost had a miscarriage. Frightened out of his wits, he makes Tiffany get an abortion, then sends her away overnight. He pleads with me for half a year before I agree to return home for our child's sake. The last thing I expect is for him to cheat on me a third time, when he actually brings our child to acknowledge Tiffany as his mother. Angered, I fail to avoid the car that's coming right in my direction. In the end, I die a tragic death in a traffic accident. The next time I open my eyes, I have returned to the day when Samuel accompanies Tiffany on her pregnancy checkup. This time, I am prepared with a divorce agreement as I have decided to let them have their way. Yet, Samuel gives up everything he has, just so that he can beg me to change my mind.

On my wedding night, I was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance after a tampered condom left me in excruciating pain. The surgery took over twenty-four hours, and the story spread like wildfire. My husband, Alexander, let it be known that anyone who managed to photograph me in my post-surgery state would be rewarded with ten million dollars. Overnight, I went from being a billionaire's new wife to the laughingstock of every elite circle in New York. The next day, Alexander's childhood sweetheart Dahlia showed up at my door. That was when I learned the truth: she'd coated the condom with industrial-strength adhesive as part of what she called a "social experiment." She didn't show a shred of remorse. Her tone was flippant and cruel: "It was just an experiment. I mean, how was I supposed to know you'd react like that? Besides, we both know you were never good enough for Alexander. So drop the act." Alexander stood beside her, his gaze cold and dismissive: "If it weren't for the marriage contract, no one would've touched you. You know that, right?" What he didn't know was that the woman he was calling a slut had saved his life more times than he could count.

My sister, Vivian Richmond, is celebrating her birthday with the rest of the family while I lie trapped in an abandoned factory, bleeding heavily. She's hired four thugs to torture me, and they've left me fighting for my life. I crawl toward my phone with what little strength I have left. When I finally reach it, I call my husband, Ethan Monroe. "Ethan, I'm seriously injured. Come save me now… I'm at the factory nearby. It won't take much of your time…" He scoffs at my weak, desperate voice. "Sienna, whining won't get you anywhere. Are you playing the victim now?" he says. "You'll stop at nothing to ruin Vivian's birthday party, huh? Hurry back with a gift and apologize to her, or I won't go easy on you this time." Before I can speak, I hear Vivian calling his name over the line. Ethan has no idea that the moment the call ends, I no longer need his forgiveness. He doesn't know that the foul, rotting corpse that makes even an experienced forensic pathologist like him recoil in disgust belongs to the wife he's hated for years.

All the paparazzi in Glorisia knows that Wanda Foster would rather sleep with an escort from a nightclub than with me, her legally-wedded husband. The daily question they ask is, "When will Mr. Gulliver give his precious first time away?" When faced with the paparazzi's cameras, Wanda turns to look at me arrogantly. "We can just lead different romantic lives on our own. If you don't like how I act, feel free to sleep with someone else too." After that, Wanda turns to leave. That night, the spicy photos of her and her latest beau go viral on the news once again. Just when everyone thinks I will spend yet another sleepless night agonizing over the news, I contact some paparazzi and place a reservation on a spot for sensational news. Then, I strip down and mess up the bedsheets before taking a nude photo of myself from another person's POV. After that, I use an unknown number to text Wanda. "Oh my, James is seriously amazing in bed! Let me know when you're going to divorce him!"

On Valentine's Day, my husband, Jason Smith, gets sent to the hospital after getting into a car crash. He's not alone—his naked adopted sister, Susan Lane, is sent there as well. The police officer explains to me, "Your boyfriend got distracted when he was driving, resulting in him crashing into a car that was in the opposite lane." After that, I retrieve the items that have survived the crash. They consist of a diamond ring, a pair of stockings, a pack of condoms, and an agreement. "I, Jason Smith, promise that I will never see Susan Lane ever again!" Three days later, Jason gets discharged from the hospital. He shows up in front of me with a bouquet. "Happy Valentine's Day, honey! Susan thinks these flowers are rather fresh, and that it's a waste to throw them away. I remember you loving flowers the most. You should get them placed in a vase. Don't let them go to waste." I just shake my head as I stare at the bouquet. The flowers are as rotten as my five-year marriage. That's why it's time to throw everything into the bin once and for all.