Cerita Pendek Tragic Love Romance & Novel Hypocrisy Regret

Six months into the renovation of my wedding home, nobody around me is free to lend a hand. My fiancée, Tamara Jackson, is busy with a company project. My older sister, Melody Shea, claims to always be away on business trips. My good friend, Derek Hill, tells me that he has some family issues to handle. Yet, on the day before I move in, they blindfold me and tell me that an unexpected person is in the house—someone who has done the honors of "warming the house" for me. As soon as the door is opened, I see my childhood friend, Ian Scott, whom I haven't met in years. He pulls me into the house with a smile, my slippers on his feet, and asks, "Are you surprised?" I certainly am, at least up until he adds, "I'm lucky and grateful to have had so much help recently. Tammy helped me pick out a mattress, and Melody helped me transport my luggage. Derek even accompanied me to pick out the curtains." My smile slowly fades away. It turns out that my family and friends weren't busy per se. They were just all busy helping Ian. I open the door to the master bedroom. I find that the bedding I purchased has been swapped out for another color, the desk is covered with Ian's things, and half my wardrobe has been cleaned out. I ask, "If he's staying here, then where am I supposed to stay?" Tamara frowns and replies, "Ian's engagement was just called off, so he's feeling pretty down. You can just stay with Melody for a couple of weeks." Melody also attempts to persuade me by saying, "All of us here grew up together, so let's not be such strangers." Derek tries to smooth things over with a smile. "Ian's had plenty of bad luck recently. It'd be perfect if staying in your wedding home could cause a bit of good luck to rub off on him," he says. After gazing at them for several seconds, I smile too. Then, I walk over to the front door and change the electronic lock's passcode. Tamara's smile falls off, and she asks, "What are you doing?" I reply, "Nothing much. I just suddenly remembered that I'm legally the sole owner of this property."

At the wedding I've spent months planning, my usually stoic fiancé, Anthony Scott, is about to run off with his assistant, Erica Jones. To top it all off, she is wearing a wedding gown. Out of nowhere, his younger brother, Christopher Scott, grabs my hand and plans to pull me straight to City Hall. He disregards my panicking eyes. "Let's get married," he says, as if it's the most normal thing in the world. Then, the stage decorations suddenly collapse, revealing a room full of guests mocking and laughing at me. The two men who once swore to love me forever do all just to make Erica smile. The three of them clink glasses and drink a love toast on stage, completely lost in their own moment. "The wedding you planned was way too outdated. You should thank Erica for turning it into a bachelorette party!" "The real wedding will be this Sunday. Isn't Erica's idea amazing?" Anthony and Christopher were confident that I wouldn't dare leave them. But I quietly pick up my phone and type a message. "Let's set the wedding date for this Sunday, Levi."

Winter came again, and my husband and son broke out in rashes the moment the cold settled in. No doctor identified the allergen. To keep themselves safe, they drew a hard line and moved to a separate house for the season. It did not matter that I slipped and cracked my head open, or that I ended up in the hospital after a car accident. I fought every battle alone. We became strangers who shared a family name, and I became the thing that could kill them. I endured the bitter cold by myself, lonely and aching. I counted the days hoping that spring would bring my family back to me, until I overheard a conversation I was never meant to hear. "Daddy, we only get to see Daphne in winter. Cannot the allergies last a little longer?" Daphne Bullman, my husband's childhood sweetheart. My husband ruffled our son's hair. "All that allergy medicine is not good for you, and Daphne would worry. I will bring you to see her when I can." My son clapped his hands. "Yay! I love the mango candy Daphne gives me in winter, and I get to see her!" Mango. That was the fatal allergen I spent years keeping out of my son's reach. I stood in the freezing wind for a long time before I quietly walked home. Spring returned, and I stopped caring. "Eat whatever you want. If you think I am abusing you, call the police. I do not want custody anyway."

Two years after breaking up with Evan Grey, my lung cancer finally reached its final stage. At the end of my life, I dragged my aching body to Lake Manco, where we promised we'd come together on the 999th day of our love. In the end, I was the only one who went. As the doctor's calls came in endlessly, no doubt urging me to return to chemotherapy, I silenced my phone and buried the pendant Evan gave me by the lake. "Evan, maybe this is the last time I'll think of you…" As soon as the words left my mouth, a drop of blood from my nose fell into the sand. Then, from behind me, I heard the voice I'd missed every day for the past three years, "Miss, could you please take a photo of me and my girlfriend?"

Married three years. Stood up three years. Today was the last time I bothered showing up. Surprise—he bailed again. Still clinging to hope like a total idiot, I called. One last shot. "A-Aurora, I'm busy. Just wait," he muttered. And then her voice cut in. All breathy and smug: "That old woman can't satisfy you, huh? Paolo, be gentle." Click. Right on cue, Marco Medici—loyal, patient, saint-like Marco—sent his 99th proposal. This time, I didn't leave him hanging. [Want to come over for bollito misto?]

When my family went bankrupt, I was drugged and sent to the bed of my childhood sweetheart, Craig Kennedy. From that night, he brought women home every evening, tossing a divorce agreement in my face. "Beg me, and I won't leave you." He stood above me, watching as I humbled myself to dust, pleading to preserve our marriage. He even ordered me to kneel in his office and massage the feet of his secretary, Lucia Langston. On the day the Moore Group needed ten million to survive, she blocked all my desperate calls for help. I waited 24 hours, watching my family's legacy collapse and my parents take their lives. Craig, with Lucia at his side, entered the house and threw the signed divorce agreement at me again. "You wanted money to save your family, didn't you? Beg me, and as long as I don't divorce you, no one will touch them." But I signed it with calm despair. "Don't bother. We no longer need your help."

When an earthquake strikes, I'm trapped under one end of a collapsed slab. On the other end is the student I've been sponsoring. My husband, Sebastian Chesson, tells the rescue team to save the student first. The rescuers hesitate. "The other victim might not make it if we do." Sebastian replies coldly, "The other one is my wife. I'll sign a waiver—she's not that easy to kill." I survive, but the three-month-old baby in my womb doesn't. Later, a rescuer hands me a card. "Mr. Chesson said this is five million dollars in exchange for your life." Meanwhile, Sebastian and the student's fairytale romance dominates the trending charts, praised by the internet as the epitome of true love. On our tenth wedding anniversary, I return home to find the student lounging on my bed, wearing my pajamas, playfully teasing Sebastian. Just then, a call comes in from Sebastian's student, who's been eyeing me for a long time. His voice is low, flirtatious, and sinful. "Ms. Sinclair, you always remind me to get to bed early… If you really care, why don't you move in and make sure I do?"

Keane Mercer was the captain of the Boston Blades, one of the biggest teams in professional hockey. We'd been together for five years, and I hadn't missed a single one of his games. I could never get seats near the glass. Every game, I settled for the best spot I could find in a corner, lifting my camera to capture every moment he was on the ice. I asked him once. "Could you save me a seat in the friends-and-family section just once? The view is so much better from there." He didn't even look up. "I'm the captain. I can't play favorites. Maybe another time." He never said when "another time" would be. I never asked again. The friends-and-family seat remained empty season after season. Until the semifinals this year. For the first time, someone was sitting there. She was a young woman with a warm, bright smile, standing with the help of a crutch. Every time Keane scored, his eyes found hers. When the final buzzer sounded, he skated straight to the stands, lifted her effortlessly into his arms, and carried her out, shielding her as they disappeared into the crowd. I lowered my camera, packed away my gear, and walked out of the arena alone. Then I reopened the transfer offer I'd deleted and clicked "Accept". If I was never going to have a place in Keane's friends-and-family section, then I was done waiting on the sidelines. It was time to build a life that belonged to me.

My husband kept making me see a psychiatrist. He said I had delusional disorder and kept imagining I was a corporate heiress. He once grabbed me by the throat and screamed that my parents had died in a car accident years ago. To cure my "illness" and stop him from worrying about me, I took my medication on time and tried to forget those "delusions". One day, I was handing out flyers on the street when a Rolls-Royce stopped in front of me. The driver respectfully opened the door. My father, who had only ever appeared in my "delusions", stepped out, pain written across his face. "The one million dollars I transfer to your account every month is supposed to let you see what life is like. Why are you out here putting yourself through this?" One million dollars? I could hear my ears ring. What exactly had my husband been hiding from me when he said he had spent all our savings treating my illness?

On our seventh wedding anniversary, Harrison Drummond arrives with the woman he's been seeing behind my back. Tears fill Kate McCauley's eyes. Before I even have a chance to speak, she drops to her knees in front of me. "Ms. Kershaw, love isn't about who came first or last. Harrison and I care for each other with all our hearts. Please, let us be together." I turn to look at Harrison. With a heavy heart, he lifts Kate into his arms. The man who's always obsessed with cleanliness now wipes her tears away, not caring about the mess she leaves behind. Without raising his gaze, he says, "Kate has been by my side without any official name or title. I owe her that much. Don't worry, she's not after anything else. Having her here is no more than adding an extra pair of cutlery at the table." With that, he carries Kate into the bedroom and closes the door behind them. He seems to have completely forgotten that today is our wedding anniversary. Does he even remember the other woman who followed him without status seven years ago? I stare at the glowing "Happy Anniversary" sign resting on the table. In that instant, I realize there is no future left for us.

I dated my lawyer boyfriend for five years. He canceled our wedding. Fifty-two times. First time? His intern messed up some paperwork. He ditched me at the beach to fix it. I waited all day. Alone. Second time, we were mid-ceremony when he bolted. Heard that intern was getting heat from another lawyer and left me to face the guests and their stares. After that, every time we tried again, there was always some "emergency" with her. Always. I finally hit my limit. I was done. Packed up and broke it off. But the day I left Ainsley? He totally lost it trying to find me.

I'd been with my CEO boyfriend, Stefan Walsh, for seven years, and we'd finally set a wedding date. But whenever it mattered, he was never there—and somehow, he always had a good excuse. On the day of our civil ceremony, his intern assistant, Caroline Doyle, messed up a contract, so Stefan rushed off to deal with it, leaving me alone at the courthouse all day. On the day of our engagement photo shoot, I'd barely started on my makeup when he took off. Apparently someone at a partner company was giving Caroline a hard time. After that, it didn't matter if we were booking the venue or shopping for the wedding. All she had to do was ask for help. One word from her and he'd walk away. Every single time. Then I saw it with my own eyes: he was trying on his wedding suit beside another woman wearing my dress. "How do I look?" Caroline did a little spin. "Do I look better than Nina?" "Of course. It looks like it was made for you." Stefan clapped, beaming. That was when it finally hit me. I'm done. The wedding's off.

At my engagement party, a female dog was sitting on my fiancee’s seat. Her guy best friend, Ryan Anderson, was holding the leash. “Bro, don’t take it personally. Your fiancee drank too much the night before at her bachelorette party, that’s why I’m letting her sleep in for a bit longer.” Everyone looked at me mockingly as they laughed. I felt as though someone had slapped me. All the guests had arrived, but Lily Smith showed up late. “It’s our engagement party today. Are you asking me to marry a dog?” I asked as I suppressed my anger. Lily grabbed Ryan’s sleeve and glared at me impatiently. “What are you talking about? Ryan saw that I was too tired, so he let me rest for a bit longer. Are you seriously offended? “As my fiance, you should be more understanding, like him!” It felt ridiculous and wrong to me. My heart sank as I stood up. “Fine, since he treats you so well, you should marry him then!”

I spent seven years drafting divorce papers for other people. I never expected that the ninety-ninth agreement would be my own. That night, my husband, Carter, lost a tabletop game during a live stream with his childhood sweetheart, Chloe. The penalty was to give up the thing he treasured most. Chloe smiled at the camera, tapping his wedding ring. "Lend me your marriage for a day." The comment section blew up. Carter looked at me like he was giving orders to an assistant. "Evelyn, you know the drill. "Sign a temporary divorce agreement. I’ll cancel it with you tomorrow morning." Chloe lowered her eyes, her voice trembling. "Forget it. She won't let you. You always choose her over me anyway." I reached into my bag and touched the positive IVF result. Seven years of hormone shots. Four miscarriages. I didn't even have the energy to tell him anymore. As the camera zoomed in on my face, I pushed the papers back across the table. "Carter, this time, I’m putting down a bet, too. “I bet the thing you lose tonight isn't just me.”

One week before the wedding, I accidentally came across a copy of my girlfriend's abortion procedure report. She always insisted she was uninterested in being intimate, yet behind my back, she had secretly aborted another man's baby. Instead of questioning her, I quietly put the report back where I found it. For the next week, I went along with the wedding planning, picking out the outfits and rings. But on the day of the wedding, the bride, waiting endlessly for the groom who never came, lost her mind.

When Naomi Sullivan married me, she was already ten million dollars in debt. I spent the last five years working three jobs to help her pay off her "debts" while providing for her as well as our son, Shane Lewis. Not once did I ever complain about anything. All along, I firmly believed that my efforts would pay off, and we would eventually lead a good life together. Last week, our company finally secured a massive investment. Naomi and I hugged as we celebrated the occasion. I thought that the hard times were finally over. Today, I ended up seeing Naomi featured in the financial news. Dressed in a formal gown, she was hailed as the sole heiress to a multi-billion-dollar empire. She was shown engaged in an animated conversation with her "investor", Jared Lewis. The news headline read, "Naomi Sullivan Completes Five-Year Adversity Trial, Proves Her Ability to Build from Scratch to the Board of Directors". I trudge home in a daze. When I get there, the five-year-old Shane is playing with the latest limited-edition toy robot. He looks at me with a frosty, distant expression that bears an uncanny resemblance to his mother's. "Mommy told me everything. You failed the trial, Daddy. You care too much about money."

After dating Asher Bennett for ten years, he finally proposes to me. He puts a blindfold on me, claiming that he wants to give me a surprise. But the moment I step into the room, I feel a bucket of cold water being splashed onto me. "When are you going to wake up from your fantasies, Claire Sutton? Why would I even marry you in the first place?" With trembling hands, I take off the blindfold, only to see Asher sitting on the couch while drinking some alcohol languidly. "See? I told you she'd come! Whoever's the loser of this bet, you'd better pay for the drinks!" Upon noticing my silence, Asher says mockingly, "Hey, Claire! You're not getting any younger, you know! So, you might as well just marry some random dude at this point to avoid growing old all by your lonesome!" The moment his words fall, his friends all laugh at me while looking at me in disdain. But when I follow Asher's instructions and marry another man, why is it that he regrets letting me go?

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.

In my third year at the front as a military doctor, a bomb dropped from an aircraft struck our makeshift medical station. I ran desperately toward the military vehicle outside, trying to find my fiancé, Robert. Then I saw him barreling toward the medical station through the incoming fire. Tears immediately filled my eyes. But when he was barely fifteen feet away, he suddenly swerved and drove straight past me. He was heading toward Nora. He threw open the door, reached out, and pulled Nora from the ground into the vehicle before wrapping his arms tightly around her. He looked straight through me, even though I had been standing directly in his path only moments earlier. Someone shouted hoarsely, “Run! The second shell is coming—” The warning was swallowed by the explosion. Robert turned his head. Our eyes met. For the first time, I saw genuine fear in his eyes. The next moment, the shock wave hurled me through the air. When I slammed into the ground, the last thing I saw was a single tear sliding down the face of Lieutenant Robert, the hardened soldier known for never showing weakness. Yet his first instinct was still to step on the accelerator and drive Nora toward safety. As blood ran into my eyes and blurred my vision, memories from the past three years flashed through my mind. If I lived to see tomorrow’s sunrise, Robert could go his way, and I would go mine. Our paths would never cross again.

On our seventh wedding anniversary, my wife, Blair, the daughter of the city's richest man, straddled my lap, her kiss deep and intoxicating as she toyed with my lower lip. The same night, we just announced our pregnancy to the world. Just then, Blair's best friend, Chloe, asked in French, her tone suggestive: "Blair, you're absolutely glowing. But tell me honestly, how does it feel to get railed by another man while carrying a baby?" Blair let out a soft laugh, a familiar sound that sent a chill down my spine. She replied, also in French: "It feels absolutely incredible, Chloe. He's like a wild wolf. Just yesterday, he had his head buried between my thighs, using his mouth to bring me to tears before taking me so deep I forgot my own name." Her fingers were still toying with my collar, but her gaze was already distant. "But remember, keep this from Kevin. If he finds out what I've been doing behind his back while pregnant, it will be a disaster." The socialite sisters gathered around them shared knowing chuckles, raising their glasses and promising to keep the secret. The warmth in my veins turned to ice. My fervent passion to welcome a new life was instantly reduced to a pathetic joke. They had all forgotten that I spent my childhood in southern France. I understood every single syllable. I forced myself to remain calm, my face fixed in the perfect smile expected of a blissful husband about to welcome his first child, but the hand holding my champagne glass was trembling. I didn't fly into a rage. I didn't smash everything in sight. Instead, I took out my phone, found the invitation I had received a few days prior for the Aegis Agency, a highly classified organization on the other side of the world, and clicked "Accept." In three days, I would vanish from Blair's world.