Cerita Pendek Melodramatic Romance & Novel Hypocrisy Family Emotions

"Ms. Clarke, you have successfully purchased a Final Memories recording package. We have arranged hidden cameras to record you anytime and anywhere. From this moment on, no matter where you go or what you do, everything will be secretly filmed until the day you pass away." The staff member handed the contract to Lila Clarke and asked her to confirm everything one last time. Without hesitation, she signed her name. The reason she ordered Final Memories was because she had been diagnosed with cancer. She had no more than one month left to live.

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.

On my sixth year of serving in a war zone, my request to return to headquarters was denied again. The reason was simple. Hospital policy didn't allow close family members to work in the same department. Since Natalie Hart and I were married, my return would be considered a conflict of interest. I refused to accept that. So, I quietly snuck back to Hartwell to demand an explanation. However, I heard a conversation that made me stop short right outside the administration office. "You've blocked Liam Hayes's transfer for five years all because of Noah Bennett," the department director snapped. "Liam ages out next year. This is his last chance to return." Natalie's face remained unreadable. "There's only one transfer slot this year. Noah gets it. Liam can go home and be a stay-at-home husband if he has to. Noah is different. He has ambition." The director slammed a hand on the desk. "And Liam doesn't? His dream was always to work at headquarters." His voice sharpened. "You were the one who had him sent to a war zone in the first place. Now you're blocking his only chance to come back. Noah barely passed his evaluations. He would've been removed years ago if you hadn't kept him under your wing. "Do you honestly think you can protect him forever?" For the first time, anger flashed across Natalie's face. "Liam went there as my husband. How much could he have suffered?" Her tone grew icy. "Noah has no connections. If he were sent out there, it would ruin him. I'll take responsibility for Noah's training. I won't let anyone harm him." Outside the door, my eyes burned. I pulled out my phone and called my lawyer. "Draft the divorce papers. As fast as possible." I wasted five years all for a woman who had stopped loving me long ago. I no longer wanted to waste any more time on her. I no longer wanted to love her anymore.

After giving my son, Cameron Spencer, one of my corneas, he had a memory distortion and confused me for his father's childhood sweetheart, Joanna Lister. Such dreadful news caused me to be in so much pain that I refused to wake up. However, during the time that I was semiconscious, I heard my son and my husband's conversation. "Dad, does this mean Joanna will keep me company in the future?" "Yes, it does. You've put on a great act, son!" My attending surgeon couldn't stand their heartlessness and said, "Mr. Spencer, your son’s eyes are fine, but you lied to Mrs. Spencer in order for her to donate her cornea for Ms. Lister. If Mrs. Spencer finds out, I'm afraid..." "There's nothing to be afraid of. She loves Cameron and me so much and she's an orphan as well. There's nowhere she could go after leaving us. Joanna's all alone in this city and she's almost gone blind. We can't waste any more time!" I lay on the bed as my hopeless tears soaked the pillow. All they cared about was Joanna. But what they didn't know was that I was dying due to the operation.

At my mom's funeral, my lecturer wife, Vivian Carter, decides to have a rendezvous with her student, Noah Myers, with ten packs of condoms in her bag. Once they are done with their passionate lovemaking, Noah uploads a photo to his social media feed. It features a red-faced Vivian lying on his bed. Meanwhile, the clothes of mourning that she's worn to the funeral are strewn all over the floor. The caption reads, "The only who's not loved is the actual homewrecker here. My relationship has finally borne fruit!" His feed goes wild with comments. Everyone mocks me for being a shameless simp for Vivian, and that I've been ruining Noah's relationship with her this whole time. My mentor, Avery Sanders, is sick with worry. But I, on the other hand, merely brew myself a cup of coffee. Then, I say lightly, "Since he likes uploading his intimate photos that much, I might as well upload photos of his and Vivian's bastard child as well as their paternity tests. Here's the caption—I, the legal husband, am now defending my pride as a married man. "Now, I'd like to see if Noah and Vivian are capable of bearing the consequences of pissing off my prestigious and wealthy family!"

On the day of the Red Alert storm, the underground parking garage flooded over three feet deep. I was trapped right under a ventilation duct, holding my daughter, Daisy, as she suffered a severe asthma attack. When my husband, Theo, drove a rescue boat into the garage, I burst into tears and begged him to save our child first. Instead, he pulled up right next to his first love, Sophia, and leaned down to grab her wet shoe. “Her health is fragile. If her shoes stay soaked, she’ll catch a fever.” I begged him to just take one look at Daisy, her lips already turning blue from lack of oxygen. However, Theo just sneered. “Let her catch some fresh air to clear her head. Tell her not to act all dramatic like you.” Sophia climbed into the boat, wiped her feet with a dry towel, and gave me a gentle smile. “Charlotte, Daisy will be fine.” As the water rose to my chest, I had no choice but to haul myself up the ventilation pipe with Daisy in my arms. Right there against my chest, she slowly suffocated to death. In the middle of the night, Sophia posted a photo of that dry towel on social media. Her caption read: [Being cherished feels even warmer than hot water in a storm.] At that exact moment, a voice message from Theo popped up on my phone. “If you’re done throwing a fit, bring Daisy back home. Don’t ruin our wedding photoshoot tomorrow.” I dressed my daughter in a white burial gown, carefully tucking her freezing little hands into her sleeves. Then I took Theo’s toothbrush, his shirts, and his slippers, throwing them into the dumpster downstairs. Outside the window, the rain finally stopped, and dawn broke. My seven-year relationship with Theo, along with Daisy’s last breath, was left behind in the mud of last night, never to be recovered again.

When my best friend died, his wife, Mia Lewis, was eight months pregnant. Mia said she didn't want her baby growing up without a father. I owed my best friend my life. He saved me, literally pulled me from death's door. So I stepped up, marrying Mia and raising their son as my own. Mia loved her career, so I quit mine. Traded my job for diapers and school runs. For seven whole years, I cooked, cleaned, folded laundry, and handled the housework. Rain or shine, sickness or health, I was there—every single day. Mia, though? She stayed cold, distant. Her warmth only surfaced in the bedroom—and even then, it was a flicker, never a flame. Just soft sighs and breathy murmurs, like she was playing a role she couldn't wait to finish. Afterward, she would quietly check the condom, as if she couldn't trust me. Then came New Year's Eve. A snap. A tear. A broken condom. Her fury struck like a thunderclap. She locked me out on the balcony, left me standing in the freezing rain, soaked to the bone as the wind howled like a wounded beast. Teeth chattering, I shivered as I watched the door like a dog, waiting to be let in. Then I saw him. Our boy, Ethan Bailey. Six years old. My son, at least in name. He came running with an umbrella in his hand. For a second, my heart leapt. 'Maybe, just maybe…' But he didn't even look at me. Just walked past in silence and handed the umbrella to the nanny heading out. Right then and there, something inside me cracked. I knew it was time 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.