قصص وروايات قصيرة من فئة Romance وتضم Homewrecker

The year my son, Charlie Pattison, turned seven, my husband, Jim Pattison, stopped hiding it. He brought a poor mother and her son into our world without a shred of shame. Word got around fast, and no shortage of people came sniffing for gossip, eager to watch me fall apart. I swallowed my pride and said nothing. Then that woman's son slapped Charlie at school. That was the last straw. I told Charlie to hit him back. That night, Jim—who hadn't set foot in our house in a month—showed up out of nowhere. Charlie burst into tears of joy and threw his arms open to run to him. What he got in return was a slap across the face.

My girlfriend, Aria Zimmer, only agreed to marry me after I transferred one million dollars to her. My parents took the train from our hometown to discuss the marriage arrangements. We had to wait for three hours at the restaurant before Aria finally answered the phone. “What’s the rush? My mom’s facial treatment isn’t finished yet. You small-town folks always make such a big deal out of everything.” I felt so dejected that I even forgot to hang up. That was when I heard her mother, Jesicca, speak on the other end of the line. “Good job, sweetie. That’s exactly how you keep him in line. Otherwise, once you’re married, he’ll forget who’s the boss. Besides, he has already given you every penny he has, and you’re pregnant. He can’t run away now.” Through the blaring speakerphone, my parents lowered their heads in embarrassment. Out of nowhere, a desperate child’s voice echoed in my mind. “Dad, don’t marry her! And don’t let her give birth to me!” I shuddered and looked around frantically. “I’m your future daughter. I’ve returned to the past. Back then, you gave in and married Mom. Her mom hated that I was a girl, so she locked me outside in the middle of winter until I froze to death. Grandpa tried to stand up for me, but they broke his legs too. Dad, run!” After the child’s voice faded, I broke out in a cold sweat. At that moment, my father’s eyes welled up in tears as he tremblingly took my arm and said, “Philip, let’s just go home. We may not have much, but we can’t let ourselves be treated like this.” I took my parents’ hands and said resolutely, “Okay. Mom, Dad, let’s go home tomorrow. I’m calling off the wedding.”

My daughter, Ruby Pratt, has leukemia. She needs a bone marrow transplant—and fast. Out of everyone in the family, my husband, Dan Pratt, was the only match. I begged him for an entire month before he finally agreed to go through with the donation. But on the morning of the surgery, he went completely off the grid. I stood outside the hospital all day, waiting. No calls. No texts. Not even a shadow. That night, his childhood friend, Valerie Kinder, posted on Instagram. In the photo, Dan was holding Valerie's hand with one arm and carrying her young son with the other—on a beach in Lulabo City. The caption read: [Soaking up the sun! Dan cleared his whole schedule to join us on a month-long trek and we finally made it to the coast! My little boy said Uncle Dan made his ocean dream come true. Pure joy!] My heart splintered. While I was drowning in worry over my daughter, he was off playing happy family with them. I wiped my tears and typed a comment beneath her post: [Not 'Uncle.' From now on, he's your son's father.] That night, I finally got a call from him. "Babe, don't be like this," Dan said. "You're not being fair. "Valerie's son has been bullied at school for not having a dad. I couldn't stand seeing him hurt, so I took them on this trip. It was supposed to help him heal. "I'll catch the first flight back tomorrow and head straight to the hospital to donate the marrow. I promise." I hung up with a bitter smile. The next morning, Dan rushed into the hospital room. But all he found on the bed was a death certificate.

My wife's nephew, Oliver, got kidnapped. The ransom was $500,000. Then my wife froze every card I had. I called her 999 times. Not one call went through. Oliver was tortured for three days. By the time they found him, he was covered in wounds. Dead. I pulled every favor I had and finally found Zara. In a hotel bed. With her so-called brother. "I'm wrecked about Poppy too, but she's gone. We can't bring her back. Holden needs heart surgery, and Poppy's a match. Send the body to the hospital." So Zara thought the kidnapped kid was our daughter. I was so pissed I laughed. Then I sent the body straight to the OR.

On the day my daughter, Dakota Bradshaw, gets into a car accident, I rush over to save her, only to get crippled instead. Both my wife, Delilah Rowland, and Dakota don't mind the fact that I'm being a burden to them. Instead, they put in a lot of effort to take good care of me. But one day, a fire breaks out at home. Yet, Delilah personally closes my room door. Since I'm crippled, I end up falling to the floor in my state of panic. That's when I notice Dakota's shoes through the gap under the door. "Dakota, save me!" I call for help at the top of my lungs. But only the sounds of the crackling flames respond to me. I have no idea how much time has passed when I catch wisps of a conversation hazily. "Mom, the firefighters are here. What should we do?" Dakota's voice is very low. Delilah replies calmly, "Tell the police that your father started the fire when he was cooking. We just reached the corridor at that time, so the doorknob was already warped from the fire." Dakota simply says one word. "Okay."

At the company dinner, my coworkers started a game: everyone texted their lover saying they’d fallen ill. Whoever’s man replied first won. No surprise, I came in dead last again. Both my calls and my texts went completely unanswered. “Claire, don’t feel bad. Mr. Blackwood is so busy, it’s completely normal he hasn’t seen your message.” A coworker smiled and tried to comfort me, but the truth was, I’d gotten used to it long ago. Forget a cold or a fever. Even the day I was diagnosed with cancer, I called him nineteen times, and he didn’t pick up once. When I stayed quiet, everyone turned to look at Vivian in the corner, and one coworker teased her with a grin. “Vivian, didn’t you say your boyfriend was super clingy? How come he still hasn’t replied?” Vivian clutched her phone, her face full of unease. “I’ll pass. What if he’s in a meeting? I don’t want to bother him.” The mood had gone stiff, and looking at her pale fingertips, I suddenly smiled. “It’s fine. It’s just a game.” Before she could refuse again, I leaned over and hit the speaker-dial for her. The call I’d expected no one to answer was picked up in an instant. The huge private room fell dead silent. Because the voice coming through the phone belonged to Adrian Blackwood, my forever-busy boyfriend of seven years. “Babe, don’t forget our date tonight.” “Seven o’clock. I’ll see you at The Laurent.”

Before my wife went into labor, a nurse handed me a stack of consent forms. Buried among them was an optional prenatal paternity screening offered through St. Briar Medical Center's new genetic-services program. I'd barely started signing when my mother-in-law, Margaret, charged at me and slapped me across the face. "You monster! My daughter is risking her life to give you a child, and you want a DNA test?" Before I could explain, the hospital-room door flew open. Vanessa pressed a pair of medical scissors against her neck, her eyes bloodshot. "Daniel, I've given you seven years of my life. You know who this baby's father is. Why would you humiliate me like this?" When I saw the thin line of blood on her throat, my heart broke, and I dropped to my knees. I tore up the testing form and ordered my attorney to draft an unconditional agreement transferring assets to the baby. To comfort her, I drove across Aldercrest searching for her favorite honey-lavender shortbread. But when I returned to the hospital room, I heard laughter inside. "Vanessa, thank God we reacted quickly. If he'd signed that testing form, everything would've been over." "Why worry? Daniel's an idiot. I only have to cry, and he believes me." Then a familiar male voice said, "Once the birth certificate gives the child the Raleigh name, everything Daniel owns will belong to the three of us." The words froze me outside the door. I turned away and called my attorney. "Cancel the agreement. Then hire an investigator and uncover everything." At the baby's welcome reception, I would personally present Vanessa with the gift she deserved.

After my girlfriend's father hit someone with a car, he took his own life because he didn't want to get arrested. But in doing so, he left behind a huge debt he had racked up. In order to help my girlfriend pay off the compensation, I work around the clock as a food deliveryman. Every day, I sleep less than four hours just to squeeze in more work. But when I finish delivering a new order, I notice a man clad in a bathrobe standing in front of me at a hotel suite's doorway. He's completely covered in hickeys. A young woman dressed in a sexy nightgown hugs him from behind. "I'm absolutely famished right now because of how long you've been tormenting me in bed earlier, darling! Hurry up and grab the takeout!" I can only stare at the woman, completely shell-shocked. That's when the bag of takeout slips off my fingers and crashes onto the floor. The woman takes a step backward. Her brows drawn into a frown, she exclaims, "How are my boyfriend and I supposed to enjoy the food now that it's all dirty?" After that, she kicks the takeout at me right away, spilling grease all over my clothes. I remain rooted to the spot, still stunned. This woman… is Irene Swensen, my girlfriend who's about to get engaged to me.

After three years in a psychiatric hospital, I finally escape. Three years ago, I watched my fiance, Ethan Cregger, die in a car accident right in front of me. Already born with a heart condition, I spiraled under the weight of grief. Then everything else fell apart. My family lost everything. Dad seemed to age overnight. Mom cried until there were no tears left. Adrian Mercer, my childhood friend, gave up the money he'd saved to study abroad just to pay for my treatment. Even my younger sister, Mia Bennett, worked three jobs and begged me through tears not to give up on life. Not wanting to burden them any further, I voluntarily admitted myself to a psychiatric hospital. Three years later, I finally make my way back to our old family estate, now supposedly sold, for one reason. I want the bottle of wine Ethan and I buried together years ago. But through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I see a dead man—Ethan. He is alive and well, with his arm wrapped around my sister. My parents look happier and healthier than ever. Adrian is placing a birthday hat on the young boy standing between them. Everyone claps and sings, gathered around the cake like one big, happy family. And suddenly, I understand. Ethan never died. He simply built a new life with my sister. While I spent three years trapped in the past, everyone I love moved on without me. They created an entire lie just for me. Fine. If they've already decided there's no place for me in their lives, then I don't want them anymore.

Braving a downpour, I delivered a lavish food order, anticipating the hefty commission and a $100 tip. Laughter suddenly echoed from the villa. Someone started, "He really believes your car crash left you paralyzed? He's hustling deliveries to support you and even pawned his dad's heirloom?" Another said, "What if he discovers you're actually a billionaire heiress, just playing poor? He'd probably break down in tears." Jessica Stark toyed with her wine glass. "Guys like him are wired to serve, especially since he always outshone Mark in our school days. This is his comeuppance." I stood in the relentless rain, a bitter chuckle escaping my lips. Turned out, her two-year charade of paralysis was merely to avenge her childhood sweetheart. Her broken legs, deceased parents, and helpless tears were all meticulously crafted lies. Disillusioned, I dialed my estranged tycoon mother. "You win. I'll go through with the arranged marriage."

Lily Harper was my husband Victor Carter's first love. The day she got divorced, Victor dressed up and headed out with the newest toy on the market for her son. That was the day I started teaching our son, Arthur, to call him "Mr. Carter." He skipped Arthur's first-day-of-school assembly to take Lily's son, Leo, to an amusement park. I told Arthur, "Mr. Carter has a lot of work to do." When Lily called to say her place felt empty, Victor walked out on us on Christmas Day. I comforted my heartbroken son. "Let Mr. Carter go do his work. Mommy will always be here with you." Later, the two boys got into a fight at school, and the teacher called us in. Victor stood across from Arthur and me, right beside Lily. Arthur clenched his fists. "Mr. Carter, your precious Leo hit me first." When we got home, Victor realized how badly he'd hurt Arthur and decided to throw him a huge birthday party. In the middle of the party, Lily called again, crying because Leo had a fever. Victor put his phone down and gave Arthur an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, I..." Arthur looked back at him, his face blank. "It's okay, Mr. Carter. I have Mom. That's enough."

During the family gathering, my fiance's mom takes out their heirloom brooch, intending to give it to the next lady of the Sullivan household. The guests all clap and offer their blessings. "Karli, you've been dating Douglas for six years. Now, you guys are finally going to settle down for real." But there isn't even a trace of a smile on Douglas Sullivan's face. He takes away the brooch calmly and pins it on his adopted sister, Isabelle Sullivan. After that, he pinches my face and says, "Belle likes it. Let her have it." When he sees the thick disappointment in my eyes, he explains in a gentle voice, "In the future, Belle will marry someone else. Everything that belongs to the Sullivan family will then become yours. It's just a brooch. There's no need to be so hung up on it." Surprised, Isabelle clutches the brooch on her chest fondly. Then, she gives Douglas a light peck on the cheek. She says, "Thank you, Dougie. You're the best to me!" A bitter smile plays on my lips as I look at the two of them behaving intimately right in front of me. It's been six years, and Douglas still hasn't made good on his promise to marry me. I've told my parents that I agree to go through with the arranged marriage and will return in three days to honor it.

My mistress tries to take Scarlett Astin's place as my wife, so I kill her, burn her body to ashes, and bury her in the middle of nowhere. Five years later, I become a general manager. Scarlett gives birth to twins, a boy and a girl, and we settle into a happy life together. I gradually forget about the past. Then, after Scarlett is discharged from the hospital, she suddenly says, "Don't forget to invite Madeline Brown to the twins' sip and see. She's an old friend of yours, right? She took such good care of me during my hospital stay." A chill ran through me, and the hair on my arms stood on end. Madeline Brown is the name of my dead mistress.

At the company's annual banquet, my wife, Amelia Sanford, publicly announces that she is gifting her assistant, Zayden Craig, a private jet worth 20 million dollars. Zayden wraps his arm around her waist gleefully. "Thank you, Ms. Sanford. I will definitely repay your kindness." I do not argue or make a scene. I simply turn and leave. But Amelia comes after me to give me a scolding. "Why are you jealous? What is wrong with me giving my top assistant a plane? You are incapable of doing anything right, and you still have the nerve to make a fuss?" I smile bitterly and don't bother to explain. I am the one doing all the work, but all the credit goes to Zayden while she pretends not to see it. It is time to walk away from this rotten relationship.

Delaney Sterling and I have been childhood sweethearts for ten years, but she disappears on the eve of our wedding. When I find her again, she has lost her memories and is with another man. It isn't until after she regains her memories that she finally remembers I am her true love, and the man is nothing more than a liar taking advantage of her amnesia. She disgustedly gives the man a sum of money and deletes all his contact information in front of me. Later on, we go ahead with the wedding we'd once planned. Five years of marriage pass in bliss. I've almost forgotten that brief episode until I accidentally damage our marriage certificate and have to get it reissued at the courthouse. The staff tells me, "Mr. Carrington, the official seal on your marriage certificate is forged." The words strike me like a blow, leaving me dizzy. "That's impossible. My wife, Delaney Sterling, and I registered our marriage three years ago. Please check again." "The system shows that Ms. Delaney Sterling is indeed married, but you are unmarried." "Then who is she married to?" "Tristan Prescott." It is the very man who once deceived Delaney.

Seven years into our marriage, my husband had repeatedly postponed the trip he had promised our daughter. The first time, his childhood friend lost her job, and he insisted on taking her away to distract her. The second time, she went through a breakup, and he worried she might do something reckless. This time, I booked the tickets six months in advance. Just last night, I asked him, "You're not going to leave me for her again, are you?" He pulled our daughter into an affectionate hug. "Absolutely not." But when I arrived at the airport, my husband was there, hand in hand with his childhood friend, who had just finalized her divorce. "She hasn't been doing well lately. I want to bring her along." I held my temper and told him she was a grown woman. He couldn't keep babysitting her. He didn't see a problem with it. "Just for the next few days, at least. "Oh, and Sophie's afraid of the dark. She can't sleep alone. You and Stella can share a room. I'll stay with her." Our daughter tugged at his sleeve, her voice barely above a whisper. "Daddy, didn't you promise to watch the stars with me?" He shoved her away, impatient. "You're five years old. Start acting your age." Stella stumbled but didn't cry. She looked up at me and asked if the trip was canceled again. At that moment, I suddenly didn't want to fight anymore.

On the fourth day after our son died, I decided to end my military marriage. Before that, I spent three days taking care of what remained of him. On the first day, I tricked my wife into signing the cremation papers. On the second day, I went to my son's school and collected the textbooks he never had the chance to use. On the third day, I prepared a table full of his favorite dishes and begged my wife to come home so we could celebrate his birthday one last time. She agreed. Then she turned around, claimed she had a mission, and spent the entire night setting off fireworks with her childhood sweetheart. That night, I sat beside my son's memorial photo and ate alone. The next day, she came home looking guilty and handed me a brand new backpack. She said it was a gift for our son to use at school. She did not know that our child would never live to see his first day of school.

Before the wedding, I received a deduction alert from our joint account. Amount: $1,314. Merchant: Love hotel. Note: One last fling before the wedding. The cardholder was Ethan Greyson. The one who’d used it was his childhood friend, Sophie. I stared at my phone, my fingers ice cold. Sophie was sitting in the bridesmaids’ dressing room touching up her lipstick, wearing Ethan’s suit jacket over her shoulders. She saw the notification and came over with a smile. “Amber, don’t get the wrong idea. “I forgot my wallet, so I used your husband’s joint account to get a room to rest. “He said you’d be sharing finances anyway, so he let me charge it this once.” I looked at Ethan. His first instinct wasn’t to explain, but to turn off my phone. “Sophie just went through a breakup. She’s in a bad place. “Don’t humiliate her over a little money right before the wedding.” Before, she’d charged things to his supplementary card, and he’d say she was short on cash. She’d book couple’s suites using his membership, and he’d say the hotel was safer. She’d send him suggestive selfies at midnight asking how she looked, and he’d say friends joke around like that. And now, she was spending our marital assets to sleep in a room he’d booked. Ethan coaxed me in a low voice, “After the wedding, I’ll transfer the money back to you. “From now on, I won’t let Sophie spend your money. “The apartment, the hotel rooms, me. All yours. Forever.” I looked at him and suddenly found those words laughable. So he did know these things were supposed to have boundaries. I didn’t argue anymore. Because there would be no forever.

I've bought Mom a premium membership card at Juniper Group, which includes an all-inclusive medical screening every year. This year, her back has been giving her trouble, so she comes to Heston a bit earlier than usual. But when we walk up to the front desk at Juniper Hospital, the receptionist tells us that the coverage has already been redeemed. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but this card was swiped three months ago at our pet center," she explains. "Your coverage is completely maxed out." Mom stares at her, frozen for a few seconds as if she has misheard. Then, she quietly says, "That's fine. I'll just pay out of pocket." It costs 398 dollars for the basic package, and it doesn't even include a bone density scan. When I get home that evening, she has made pasta for dinner. The hospital receipt sits on the table. I ask her how the checkup went, and she shrugs it off. "It went well. There just seems to be a glitch in their system." Later, I find out that the person who used the card is my boyfriend, Brandon Kaiser. He's taken it to Juniper Pet Center to cover a top-of-the-line vet exam for Goldie, the cat belonging to his childhood sweetheart, Alana Sutton. When I confront him and ask why he didn't bother to tell me, he just leans against the kitchen island, sipping a club soda. He doesn't even look up. "Your mom wasn't even in town yet," he mutters. "The cat needed urgent care, so I just used it." "That card belonged to my mom," I say. He gives a careless shrug. "Big deal. I'll just buy you a replacement later, alright? Just then, Mom walks out of the kitchen with a plate of crisp, freshly sliced apples and sets them down right next to my hand. She's heard every single word of our conversation. Yet, she doesn't say a word. She just turns right back around and heads into the kitchen to finish the dishes. As I look down at that plate of apples, a wave of clarity washes over me. I don't want him to replace the card anymore.

The year Chelsea Shelton, a Hawthorne Bay heiress, hated me more than ever, she brought home one guy after another. And after she was done with them, she made me pay them off. I'd cursed, fought, even landed in the hospital after throwing hands with escorts. Eventually, I stopped caring and signed one million-dollar check after another. All so she'd keep paying Dad's medical bills. Then Dad went into cardiac arrest again. He was critical. Hands shaking, I called Chelsea. She told the hospital to kick him out of the ICU. "Rowyn Reynaud, that's not how you beg. I don't like it." I tore home through the rain and begged her to let him stay. She made me stand outside all night and listen to her hook up with another guy. By morning, I signed another check and handed it over. Before I could ask her to spare Dad, a fist cracked across my face. Chelsea's college-age boy toy glared at me, pissed. "Chelsea, does this freeloader seriously think I'm some escort? We love each other. Who the hell does he think he is, throwing money at me?" Chelsea frowned. "Rowyn, apologize. Or do you want Frederick dead?" But the hospital had just texted me. Dad was already gone. Sometime during the night, he'd bitten through his oxygen line and ended his life. With the last of his strength, he'd left me one final note in blood. [Rowyn, I can't keep being a burden to you.]