Tragic Love Romance-Kurzgeschichten & Hypocrisy-Kurzromane

For ten years, I stand by Robert Lopez's side, watching him rise from the trenches of obscurity to the blinding heights of superstardom. But on the night he clinches the Best Actor award, he drops to one knee and proposes to a starlet he's known for less than ten days. Those eyes that are so full of love and devotion, no matter who they're looking at, turn cold and threatening for the first time. "Danielle, I've slept with her, so I need to take responsibility. You're willing to stay by my side without a title or a promise, but she can't. She needs a sense of security." A bitter laugh escapes me. That's when I finally understand that love has nothing to do with time. But hear this, Robert. Just because I've waited for you for ten years doesn't mean I deserve to be treated like trash or that you're the only man for me.

Two years after I die, my husband, Devin Pollard, kidnaps my best friend, Vanessa Harper's, son. He stands before her with the arrogance of a man in power. "Nicole is sick and urgently needs a kidney transplant. Tell me where Shirley is, and you'll get your son back. "She's perfectly healthy even after donating blood to Nicole for three years, so I'm sure giving up a kidney isn't an issue." My brother, Scott Weber, tags along. He gives Vanessa an annoyed look and says, "Shirley always has to make trouble. We wouldn't have sent her to a psychiatric hospital if she hadn't maniacally stabbed Nicole back then. "But now, it's bad enough that she refuses to show remorse, but she also runs away. "Tell her that if she comes back and donates her kidney to Nicole, I'll consider her my sister again." Looking at the way they arrogantly demand my kidney, Vanessa suddenly laughs. "You want Shirley's kidney, don't you? She's been dead for two years, so search through these ashes and see if you can dig up a kidney!"

On the day of my pre-wedding photoshoot, the photographer compliments me, saying I look just like my sister, Jenna Shaw, when I smile. My fiance, Clifton Cooper, immediately asks Jenna to change into a white wedding dress as well, saying she might as well take a few photos for keepsakes. When selecting the photos, the whole family gathers around Jenna's set of pictures and praises them. My mother, Victoria Winn, says Jenna is naturally suited to wearing a wedding dress. My father, Reginald Shaw, says she looks more radiant and poised than me, the bride-to-be. Clifton stares at the screen for a long time, then points to the one where Jenna glances back over her shoulder. "Jenna looks great in this one. Let's put this one at the wedding welcome area." Only when I ask him where my photos will go does he finally seem to remember my existence. "Since you and Jenna look so much alike, the guests won't be able to tell the difference. Besides, Jenna isn't getting married, so it isn't easy for her to get a chance to wear a wedding dress." A laugh suddenly escapes me. Ever since we were little, it's never been easy for Jenna, so I'm supposed to give in to her. Not only do I have to give her whatever she wants, but I'm not allowed to have anything she doesn't have either. Even my wedding has to be about making her dream come true. I pull the only photo of Clifton and me together from the album. In the photo, I stand beside Clifton, smiling with all my might. But looking at it now, all I feel is that I'm looking at a stranger. It turns out spring is never late. It's just that I've been standing in someone else's shadow, waiting for it. Well, this time, I don't want to wait anymore.

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."

I'd lost count of how many times Ethan had turned me down when I asked to stay the night at his place. "Ethan, you're no fun at all." I grumbled. The day before, I'd noticed someone had left a mark by my front door, the kind that flags a woman living alone. It scared me, so I went to Ethan and asked if I could crash at his place for a few days. He said no. "I'll book you a hotel room for tonight." When he saw I was upset, he softened. "I just don't want to give up my own space this soon." "Give me a little time to get used to the idea, okay?" Three years together, and no matter how late our dates ran, he always drove me home. He never once asked me to stay. I wasn't happy about it, but I nodded and let it go. It wasn't that late yet, so I suggested we catch the new movie that had just come out. Ethan checked the time instead and hurried me off to the hotel, a little on edge. Alone in the room, I happened to scroll past the social media of a new coworker. "AC's broken at my place. Thank God I've got someone to run to, or I'd melt." The photo behind the caption showed the TV wall in Ethan's living room. My stomach dropped. I stared at the picture for a long time. By the time I came back to myself, my face was wet with tears. Then I slid off the engagement ring Ethan had given me. A love with something rotten stirred into it wasn't a love I wanted anymore.

I was lounging at home, scrolling through social media, when a livestream title suddenly caught my eye—"The Other Woman Crash Course." Curious, I entered to see a woman talking animatedly, "My sugar daddy gives me 200,000 every month. I just need to keep him satisfied!" Viewers were doubtful and asked, "I don't believe you. Tell us how you two met." She smiled. "That's alright. You don't get to meet someone like that every day. I met him after doing a bone marrow transplant with his girlfriend three years ago. That's how I met this golden bachelor." I frowned. I had a bone marrow transplant three years ago too. Suddenly, the door opened, and she covered her phone in panic. A man's deep voice came through the microphone, "Baby? What're you doing? You're acting weird." My fingers froze the moment I heard that voice. He sounded so much like my fiance, Leo Harvey. I called him. The very next second, the custom ringtone I had set for Leo's phone rang clearly through the livestream.

On the first April Fool's after my death, my husband, Timothy Ludd, once again tries to make me take the blame for his intern's alleged destruction of evidence and bribery. He storms into my food stall, only to find that it has changed owners. Feeling shocked, he goes to the nursing home where I volunteer after my release from prison to confront me. The nursing home director says, "Quinn Sutton? She's been dead for six months." However, my dear husband refuses to believe it and returns to the welfare home where I have lived for 16 years. "Make sure Quinn comes out to see me. "This has become a huge scandal. The Department of Justice's investigation team will be coming tomorrow. Doesn't she have her pregnancy as leverage? Pregnant women can apply for exemptions. She'll only get a suspended sentence. "I've already pulled all the strings. She's guaranteed to benefit from this deal. She shouldn't push her luck!" The welfare home director's eyes well up with tears. "Quinn is dead. Don't bother looking for her. She's been dead for six months."

In the third year of his remarriage with his childhood friend, Charlotte Davidson, Henry Fowler attends an inconspicuous college reunion, where he stumbles upon a secret about Charlotte. Gavin Redfield, the campus heartthrob, swirls his wine glass in a drunken stupor. Someone asks him, "What's the most thrilling thing you've ever done in your life?" His eyes are glazed over as he answers in a provocative tone, "Becoming the lover of Charlotte, the renowned Ms. Davidson, of course! Her husband is such a moron. He thinks we already broke up! "But in reality, we already have a child together. I get to live in her villa, drive her limited edition supercar, spend her money, and order her maids around!" As soon as he finished speaking, all hell breaks loose. Everyone turns to look at Henry, eager to see him lose his composure. After all, he is Charlotte's legal husband. However, Henry doesn't budge an inch, nor does he make a fuss about it. Even when the waiter is pouring him some wine, he seems unaffected as he thanks the waiter. Not long after the reunion ends, everyone realizes something is off about him…

The day we divorced, I gave up custody of our son. For once, Logan looked up at me. “Coral. “You nearly died on the operating table giving birth to him. “And now you want to abandon him as well?” I slid the signed divorce papers across the table. “That’s right.” Logan stared at me long and hard before letting out a scoff. “So you’re weaponizing the boy to force me to come back to you?” I didn’t offer an explanation. Instead, I placed my access card on the table–the one that had once granted me access to every conference room in the Reed Group. Five years ago, I stayed by his side throughout when the business faced its darkest chapter, edging on bankruptcy. Logan had declared there and then that I was the only lady of the household. Yet now, he believed that social standing was all I cared about. Not at all convinced, Logan refused to sign the petition on my terms. He simply uttered icily, “I have no time for your games.” Days later, my body was laid before him. Reality sank in. There was no turning back for us anymore.

Before my best friend Scott Hawkins died of cancer, his greatest concern was the online girlfriend he had never met in person. He clutched my hand, tears streaming down his face. "Ian, her depression is severe. I'm afraid losing me might push her over the edge. Can you keep using my account for a while, gradually distance yourself, and end things once she's had time to adjust?" With tears in my eyes, I promised him I would. For the next three years, I pretended to be Scott. I helped her through another depressive episode, supported her as she got her career back on track, and then gradually began distancing myself. Today, I finally decided three years was long enough. She'd had enough time to accept that the relationship was over and move on. So I typed, [We shouldn't talk anymore. It's over,] and hit send. At that exact moment, my fiancée's phone lit up on the coffee table. The breakup message I had just sent appeared on her screen.

At the scene of a massive chain-collision accident, my police officer fiancé was being interviewed by the media. Facing the public’s praise for being “selfless and just”, he calmly stated that prioritizing the rescue of the female officer trainee riding in the same car was merely a police officer's instinct. It wasn’t until the cameras turned away that he tiredly rubbed his temple. He turned his head and asked the colleague beside him in a low voice, “Where is Lea? The core area was in critical danger just now, so I had to prioritize evacuating the injured Willow. Did the other teams manage to get her out?” His colleague looked completely taken aback. “Bro, your fiancé was trapped right there in your passenger seat! When everyone saw you carrying Willow out, we all assumed you were going to turn right back around to save her…” Shawn’s expression instantly twisted into a mix of fury and shock. Yet, he forced his emotions down and said sternly, “If that’s the case… then this is simply her fate as a family member of a police officer. By sacrificing herself to save those in greater need, she died an honorable death.” Meanwhile, I was sprawled in the freezing mud and water over a dozen meters away from the wreckage of the car. Just two minutes ago, the fire had engulfed the passenger seat. In a desperate bid to survive, I had used a shard of broken glass to slice through my seatbelt with my bare hands, crawling out of the sea of fire with a fractured right leg. At that very moment, what kept me awake even more than the excruciating pain of my broken bone was the death of my heart.

When I went to return my engagement ring, the jeweler asked me why. Right in front of her, I slid it onto my finger. It caught at the second knuckle and wouldn't go any farther. "You can see for yourself. This isn't my size." The jeweler went pale and offered to resize it on the spot. I shook my head, my voice eerily calm. "You can fix the ring size. You can't fix the shoe size. And you definitely can't fix the wedding dress." Everything about my wedding to Charles Garth was mine in name only — my name was on the invitation as the bride, and that was as far as it went. Every time I asked him to come try on the dress with me, he'd keep his eyes on his laptop and answer without looking up. "I'm busy. I already know your measurements. I gave them to the boutique myself. "Just show up and be the bride. Everything's already handled." But three days before the wedding, what I got was a ring that wouldn't fit and a dress I couldn't wear. The shoes, the gloves, the garter — every single piece was sized for my best friend. Something I'd been holding onto for a long time finally gave out, and it left a hole in my chest. Charles frowned, still trying to talk me into it. "It's just a ceremony. You two are so close — would it really be so bad if Maia stood in for you at the altar?" I didn't say anything. I didn't refuse, either. I just thought — maybe it wouldn't be so bad to swap out the groom instead.

I had a habit. Whenever I had a meal, watched a movie, or took a cab ride, I would always save an empty seat next to me. I believed that Theo Anderson would suddenly appear in the city I lived in to surprise me. However, throughout our long-distance relationship for the past three years, he never visited me. Not even once. I hence prepared our wedding by myself, and I fell sick because of that. My hands were trembling when I sent him a text message. [I’m having a high fever, and I don’t have any medicine at home.] Half an hour later, he responded. [So? What do you want me to do? Do you want me to grow wings and fly over to your place with medicine? I’m still reviewing a proposal. You should just contact the delivery services.] I could not even lift my fingers because of the fever, so I slowly drifted into unconsciousness. When I woke up, I saw my best friend, Eleanor Reid, with teary eyes. She passed a glass of water and a pill to me. “You’re too patient with him, that’s why he’s bullying you. If it were me, I would’ve already thrown a fit.” Two weeks later, Eleanor also had a high fever, so I immediately wanted to rush over to take care of her. However, she posted a photo online, and there was a man’s hand holding a spoon in the photo. [I’m sick, but thankfully there is a knight in shining armor who flew over 500 miles to take care of me.] I recognized that hand. Theo was wearing a watch that I had bought him after saving up for six months. I suddenly understood that it was not because he was busy that he could not be by my side. It was because he did not want to come over. Since that was the case, I no longer had the need to save an empty seat for him anymore.

After his eighteenth failed attempt to divorce me, Jesse Pellam suddenly stopped bringing it up. Before that, every single attempt had ended in complete humiliation and chaos. I had harmed myself, threatened to jump from a building, and plastered the company lobby with intimate photos of him and his female assistant, Gianna Seyfert. At a press conference, I had even publicly stripped Gianna, leaving her with PTSD. Jesse had every reason to despise me; however, he never mentioned divorcing me again. He came home on time every day and gave me full access to his phone. He checked in with me every hour to update me on his whereabouts. Even during his business trips, we stayed connected through video calls around the clock. But I still could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. Every day, I pressed him for an answer, asking why he no longer wanted a divorce. “Haven’t I done enough?” he asked. Yes, he was better than ever, almost too good to be true. It was not until he caught me following him again that he finally admitted the truth. With exhaustion evident in his eyes, he said, “I received a phone call from my future self, ten years from now. He told me that if I divorced you, I would regret it.”

Lucas Harlow and I have been together for seven years, and we plan to get married next year. When I accompany him to his hometown to meet his parents, we happen to arrive just in time for his cousin Spencer Harlow's wedding. Following a local tradition, the older relatives cheerfully urge Lucas to sleep in the newlyweds' bed the night before the ceremony for good luck. Lucas' mother, Beatrice Collins, takes my hand and explains with a smile, "Katherine, I hope this doesn't make you uncomfortable. It's an old custom around here. "Before the wedding, a man who's still a virgin blesses the couple's bed by sleeping in it. It's supposed to bring the newlyweds good luck and a happy marriage." I lower my head in embarrassment, for Lucas and I are saving ourselves for our wedding night. No matter how difficult the wait has been for him over the past seven years, he's always respected that boundary and insisted on doing right by me. When I finally look up, my cheeks still burning, I see that Lucas has gone pale. Flustered and visibly uncomfortable, he frantically waves everyone off and adamantly refuses to go anywhere near the bed. "I can't do it. You're going to have to find someone else…" As I watch my boyfriend avoid everyone's gaze, my heart drops.

Before my wedding, I was diagnosed with a progressive autobiographical memory disorder. The neurologist said I'd gradually forget everyone, including myself. When I got back to the Winslow estate, my parents had moved the entire wedding fund meant for me into the room of their adopted daughter, Marissa. "Elise, you're the older sister. You need to give way to Marissa. Stop bullying her and making us dread the sight of you." I lowered my head and agreed, then cried in my room all night. The next morning, I couldn't remember why my pillow was wet. That afternoon, I saw my fiance, Graham Ellsworth. He was wiping tears off Marissa's face and looking at me with disgust. "Elise, I was only being affectionate with Marissa. Was that enough for you to threaten to end our engagement? You're unbelievably petty." His words made me cry. But at dinner the next day, when Graham spoke to me with the same cold contempt, I stared at him in confusion. "Sir, who are you?" I was forgetting faster. Then, one evening, Graham offered to take me for a drive outside the city. He stopped on an isolated county road. "The tire's caught against something. Get out and see whether a rock is blocking it." I did as he said and stepped out of the car. Graham drove off and called through the open window, "Since you can't stop tormenting Marissa, stay here and think about it." The car disappeared. I stood beside the road with nothing in my head. I wanted to go home, but I didn't remember where home was, or what my parents were called. By the time the Winslows panicked and Graham had searched every road beyond Stonewick, they finally understood. I really had disappeared.

We were having a gathering before graduation. My girlfriend and best friend were getting congratulated by the whole class. They had gained guaranteed spots into the campus' top course's postgraduate program. I was sitting in a corner, staring at the Hertford University offer that would ensure I went straight to my doctorate. I hesitated on making a decision for three days just for my girlfriend. Howard Herbson, my best friend, turned to me. He had a look of pity and condescension in his eyes as he said, "How about your job hunt? Don't worry. Not getting into the postgrad program isn't the end of the world. The lab's requirements are ridiculous. "It's going to be near impossible for you to progress there even if you work yourself to the bone." Beatrice Shaw, my girlfriend, handed Howard a glass of water. Then, she chimed in matter-of-factly, "Yeah. Research just isn't for everyone. You should get a nine-to-five. When Howard and I are swamped with us, you can help us out and do our errands." They exchanged a smile and kept me out of their so-called intellectual circle. These two thought they were better than everyone else just because they got a spot in this campus' postgrad program. How droll. So, I went back to that offer and accepted it. These people were so vastly beneath me that it was really about time for me to stop playing their games at their level, especially when I was obviously not welcome.

Everyone knew that whenever a daughter of the Holloway shipping dynasty got married, her family would launch a magnificent fleet of a hundred flower-decked ships to escort her to her wedding. The main ship carrying the bride was always decorated by her parents themselves. The more lavish the flowers, jewels, and ornaments, the more cherished the daughter was considered—and the more respect she'd receive from her husband's family. My bridal ship had been waiting for me for eight years. But over the course of eighteen wedding dates, every ceremony was ruined. Either my foster sister, Chloe Holloway, would "accidentally" smash a hole through the hull and leave it taking on water, or the sails would mysteriously snap just as the procession was about to depart. Before long, everyone believed I was nothing but a curse. After eighteen failed wedding dates, I decided to spend the night guarding the bridal ship myself. Instead, someone knocked me unconscious and threw me into the river. By the time I was pulled from the water and rushed to the wedding drenched from head to toe, the lead ship had already set sail. Chloe stood proudly at the bow while my parents raised the sails with their own hands, carrying her across the river to my fiance, Julian Sterling. The moment they saw me, my childhood friend, Mason Rowe, and my best friend, Natalie Hayes, blocked the entrance, refusing to let me through. Neither of them looked the least bit guilty. "We all planned the bride swap together," they admitted openly. "Make as much of a scene as you want. It won't change anything. "Chloe's parents died saving us. We owe it to her to fulfill her dream of getting married. Just be the bigger person." My brother, Ethan Holloway, looked at me with icy indifference. "Mom and Dad said that if you don't cause trouble today, we'll finally tell everyone you're not cursed. But if you insist on making a scene, don't expect to remain a member of this family. "And Julian made himself perfectly clear. If you ruin today's wedding, someone else will permanently be Mrs. Sterling." I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms, refusing to let them see me cry. What Julian didn't know was that someone else had been waiting for me all along. He was never my only choice. And as for this family, I didn't want them anymore.

The first time Silvia Robinson undergoes ECT, she is all alone. Even Gregory Fisher, her fiance who loves her so much, is nowhere to be seen. After the doctor gives her a muscle relaxant, she starts to get drowsy. She is in a daze when she recalls what happened that evening. She has waited three hours in line for a special cake, which she is planning to surprise Gregory with. However, she comes home to see Gregory kissing her younger sister, Ella Robinson. The two are deep in a kiss as they hold each other tightly in an inseparable embrace. The cake in Silvia's hands drops to the floor, smashed beyond recognition as Silvia delivers a slap across Gregory's face. Then, she finds herself being pushed down the stairs by Ella. As she rolls down the stairs, Silvia feels like she has already seen this coming. Anyone close to her will eventually be taken away by her sister.

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.