Bittersweet Romance Short Stories & Independence Novels

Five years into our marriage, I still hadn't gotten pregnant. The doctor said my fallopian tubes were blocked and that conceiving would be difficult. Even so, my husband, Lucas Enright, loved me with all his heart. Then, on our anniversary, he called and promised me a surprise I'd never forget. But when the estate gates swung open, a pregnant young woman stood outside. The smile froze on my face. Lucas didn't notice. He kissed the top of my head, beaming. "Freya, once we have this baby, the elders in my family will finally stop pressuring you about not having kids." When he saw how pale I was and noticed me trembling, he quickly pulled me into his arms. "Isabella is nothing more than a surrogate. Once she gives birth, we'll send her on her way. "If you don't like having her around, I'll put her in the guest room. You won't even have to see her." I swallowed my hurt and told myself he'd simply gone too far. Surely he still cared about me. But later that night, I walked past the guest room carrying a glass of warm milk on a tray. Through the half-open door, I saw the man who claimed to love me with all his heart tenderly kissing Isabella's pregnant belly. "Baby, grow strong and healthy. In a few more months, we'll get to meet you. "Mommy and Daddy can't wait for you to get here!" In that moment, I realized I was the real outsider in this house, and I always had been!

At six in the evening, Allen Bennett prepared a perfect dinner, with each dish carefully chosen to match Sarah Foster's preferences. By seven, he had run her bath, adding lavender essential oils and rose petals to the warm water, filling the bathroom with a calming fragrance. By eight, he placed her comfortable slippers by the entrance, awaiting her return. At nine, the front door finally opened. Sarah walked in, and Allen immediately went to greet her. With practiced grace, he helped her out of her coat and placed her slippers before her feet, then hung the coat in the entryway closet. Turning to her with a gentle smile, he asked, "Would you prefer to have your bath first or would you like to eat?"

The day we moved into the run-down apartment, I started seeing comments floating in the air. They said my husband, Ethan Grant, was the male lead in a tragic romance novel. And I was his first wife, the one who died young. The woman he'd once loved deeply and could never get over. The comments told me what would happen after I died: Ethan would spend years unable to move on. His grief would last until a woman named Chloe appeared. She was gentle and cheerful, like a ray of sunshine breaking through the darkness in his life. Chloe would be the one to finally help Ethan move on from my death and find happiness again. I stared blankly at the words floating before my eyes. Maybe I should let him go.

"Your application for the exchange program has been approved, Isla. You're the only person who got through, so congratulations!" Isla Stokerton feels at peace when she hears the good news from her professor, Richard Langham. "Thanks, Mr. Langham. I'll make sure to achieve great things and not disappoint you."

"Are you sure you want to change the bride's name to Jasmine Shaw, Quinn?" Quinn Sullivan's voice was resolute. "Yes, I'm sure. Do as I say." She sat in silence for a long time after hanging up. She recalled what she saw after her engagement party. Her fiancé had his arms wrapped around another woman in a swaying car. He whispered sweet nothings into her ear, looking like he couldn't bear to leave. Quinn didn't understand. She and Nicholas York had gone through so much to get to marriage. How could he cheat on her? Well, it didn't matter. She was willing to give him her blessings since he was in love with another woman. He could marry someone else, then. She would give him the wedding of his dreams.

My uncle’s rival, Emmett Meyer, saved me twice. The first time, I was drowning after a shipwreck—until he cut through the waves on a speedboat and dragged me ashore. The second time was after someone had slipped drugs into my drink. That night, I seduced him, a hardened man ten years my senior. In the dim glow of a private room, he guided my hand downward and growled, “I want you so bad, Babe.” He took me ruthlessly, ignoring my sobs and pleas. From then on, Emmett—the untamable “Prince of Silverbridge”—abandoned his reckless ways and devoted himself to me. Or so I believed. Then one day, he coaxed me into his Rolls-Royce and captured our tryst on camera. I flushed with embarrassment and secret delight. Later, as I hurried after him to return some documents he had left behind, I heard the sneers whispered in the hallway: “You’re so wild, Emmett. Everyone heard your girl moaning.” “Damn, the car rocked so hard I thought you’d break it.” “Hey, if Franklin Reed ever finds out that his precious niece has been your plaything for three years… think he’ll have a heart attack?”

When I discover that Shawn Felton has kept a mistress for the past three years and even intends to throw her a wedding, I decide to leave him. I'm going home to marry the man my family has picked for me. On the first day, I give the ring Shawn got me to his mistress. On the second day, I throw away everything and anything that has to do with me. On the third day, I put on a wedding dress and marry Shawn's nemesis. From now on, Shawn and I will have nothing to do with each other. Shawn is unfazed originally. He thinks I'm just throwing a tantrum. He only panics when he sees the news of me marrying someone else.

I was a two-hundred-pound girl. But on the night of graduation, I slept with Nova, captain of the Ashbury Ravens hockey team. The next morning, laughter drifted down the hotel hallway from his teammates. "Nova slipped his room key to Sienna last night, right?" "What, you think he'd give it to the Zamboni? That tub of lard. One look at her gives you nightmares for three days." "Did you guys see her reporter's notebook? It's covered in Nova's name. She's actually got a crush on Nova. Disgusting." So the room key that had slipped into my notebook wasn't meant for me. And the name he murmured against me in the dark wasn't mine either. My eyes burned with humiliation. I got dressed, walked out alone, and disappeared for six years. Six years later, my mother, Diane Quinn, was three months behind on her dialysis bills, and the sports website I worked for was on its last legs. My editor, Claire Bennett, slapped a file on my desk. "Nova. Newly crowned MVP. Not one interview in six years. Land him, or you're out."

In the five years of their marriage, Kimberly bore a son for Daniel, believing their life together would last. Then Siena returned to the country. Kimberly finally realized she was nothing but an outsider the whole time. Daniel repeatedly chose Siena over her, and even her son grew attached to Siena. Fortunately, their marriage was just a contract, and in seven days, she would be free to leave.

My fiancé Damian Crowley and I'd been together for six years. But the night before my wedding, he demanded that I let my twin sister, Chloe Lambert, take my place as the bride. "Chloe doesn't have much time left. This is her only dream. Think of it as granting your sister's last wish." My own parents jabbed their fingers in my face and yelled at me too. They said I owed Chloe my life. It was only a wedding, they said, and I should stop being so selfish. Three years ago, I'd slipped and fallen into the water, and Chloe had supposedly risked her life to save me. She'd been in fragile health ever since. From then on, my family blamed me for everything. I walked on eggshells around them and gave Chloe whatever she wanted to repay that debt. I told myself I owed her, so I gave in to every demand, no matter how unreasonable. Now they wanted me to give up my wedding too. I looked at Chloe hiding behind my fiancé, barely able to keep the triumph off her face. My fingers closed around the contents of my bag: a falsified medical record with an official hospital stamp and proof of what had really happened three years ago. I smiled coldly and nodded. This time, I wouldn't just give them what they wanted. I'd give them a wedding the whole city would talk about.

My fiancé proposes to my stepsister Thalia Yates in front of everyone at our engagement party. Furious, I pack my stuff and leave home. That's when Jude Pearson, heir to an international medical group, entered my life. He's a surgeon rumored to have zero interest in women. Yet he pursued me passionately for six months. Eventually, I accepted his proposal. For seven years after our wedding, he's been gentle and considerate, always putting my needs first. Then, I overhear his phone conversation with his mother, Helena Roberts. "Jude, it's been seven years, but you still have no kids. It's time for a divorce." "Since I couldn't marry Thalia, it doesn't matter who I married instead. I'll keep playing this role forever. As long as I'm around, she'll never be able to intrude upon Thalia's happiness." That's when the truth hits me—Jude has given up the family business to become a surgeon just to treat Thalia's heart condition. Our years of marriage are actually his way of protecting Thalia from afar. If that's the case, then I'll disappear from their world and let my absence be their happy ending.

Three days after giving birth, my husband leaves me alone at home to care for the baby, saying that he needs to leave on an urgent business trip. Three days later, I've just arrived at the hospital when I see a family photo his childhood sweetheart has shared on her social media. It's captioned, "This was taken during a trip. We're a happy family of three." I'm surprised to see my husband grinning in the photo and comment on it with a question mark. He immediately calls me to reprimand me. "Do you know how hard it is for her as a single mother? She doesn't have a man to care for her. All I did was take a photo with her. Do you have to be so petty?" That evening, his childhood sweetheart shares a photo of some monetary gifts. "He insisted on giving me this after taking the family photo." I know my husband gave that to her to pacify her. This time, however, I'm ready to leave him.

After celebrating our tenth anniversary, my wife suddenly drops her ring into my palm. "Don't you feel like our life has gotten pretty boring? Maybe we should just get a divorce."

I was in a temporary shock from an allergic reaction. The two guys I had grown up with didn't even look my way. One of them was busy helping Vivian Byrd carry a pile of gifts, while the other was snapping pictures of her at some popular social media spot. It was a stranger passing by who called an ambulance and got me to the hospital, saving my life. The next day, Vivian called, her tone almost smug. "Trish, Zeke and Hendrick were so exhausted after shopping with me yesterday. I heard you threw a tantrum and ended up in the hospital. Should I come visit you?" I simply replied, "No need." Zeke Benson and Hendrick Peay were my childhood friends. They once treated me like I was everything to them—promising to pluck the moon and stars from the sky and to protect me forever. But ever since Vivian came into the picture, their world no longer revolved around me. I thought for a moment and then dialed my mother's number. "Mom, I'll accept the marriage arrangement."

A once-in-a-century blizzard slammed into Grace Harbor without warning, and we lost contact with the plane my fiancé, Cedric Vaughn, was flying. I radioed the crew from the control tower 99 times. Not a word came back. The airline put together a rescue team. I was about to sign up when a coworker stopped me. "An avalanche just hit the area where the plane went down, Cassandra. You can't go out there. It's too dangerous. Cedric would never want you risking your life for him!" I pushed his hand away. My voice came out hoarse. "But he's my fiancé. We're getting married in one week!" I went into the danger zone with the search-and-rescue team. During the rescue, a piece of wreckage went clean through my shoulder. Even then, giving up never once crossed my mind. I dug for 18 hours before I finally dragged the badly injured pilot out of the wreckage. It wasn't until I wiped the blood and grime off his face that I realized it wasn't Cedric. The rescue team leader kept his eyes on the ground, unable to look at me. "The truth is, Cedric secretly got another pilot to cover his flight three days ago. He went on an island getaway with Elena instead!" I didn't want to believe it. With shaking hands, I called him. It rang and rang. No one picked up. A second later, a notification popped up on my phone. Elena Marsh had posted on Instagram. In the photo, she was wearing a skimpy red bikini on a beach at sunset, kissing Cedric with his arms wrapped around her. Then I saw the caption. "Cedric says what we have is true love. "He's only marrying that 200-pound pig for her money. His heart belongs to me." I looked down at my torn, bloody hands and deleted his number. A plane that drifts off course can still turn back. But if Cedric's heart had picked a new destination, I knew what I had to do. I was done keeping the tower lights on for him.