Independence Romance Short Stories & Marriage Novels

My husband, Matt Miller, suffers from severe insomnia. He can't stand a little bit of noise while he's asleep. After six years of marriage, I've gotten used to the quiet. I don't watch TV after 9:00 pm. I don't make calls or eat. I even walk on tiptoes. Everything feels worth it when I see him sleeping soundly. Until one day, when I go to his office to deliver some documents, I realize the door isn't tightly shut. His secretary, Faye Davis, is sitting cross-legged on the carpet while eating potato chips. A variety show is playing loudly in the background. Meanwhile, Matt is asleep on the couch. Just as Faye reaches forward to turn down the volume, he raises his hand and strokes her hair, all the while keeping his eyes closed. "It's okay. I sleep better with the noise." I stand outside the door, recalling the bad cold I had last month. Afraid that my coughing would wake him up, I had buried my head into the pillow all night. The next day, he frowned and complained, "You were breathing so loudly last night. I couldn't sleep at all. Keep it down next time." Amid the crunching sounds of potato chips and Matt's steady breathing, I slowly step back. Turns out the cure to his insomnia isn't silence, but a woman. Only that woman isn't me. I guess I won't be bothering him at night 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.”

I'm a family law attorney. My specialty is winning divorce cases for other people. I never imagined that one day, I'd be drafting my own divorce papers. For six years of marriage, Adrian read to me for ten minutes every night. He said it was our little marriage ritual. That was until I came home early from a business trip and heard his voice coming from my female neighbor’s apartment next door. "Vivi, which chapter do you want to hear tonight?" I stood outside her door, still holding the birthday cake I'd bought for him. I turned around, went home, opened my laptop, and went through our marital asset inventory from top to bottom. Later, Adrian knelt outside my law firm, his voice so hoarse it was barely recognizable. He said, "Serena, I was just helping her fall asleep. I never touched her." I set the voice recorder in front of him, and out came words he'd said himself. "She'll never leave me. She's too rational, which actually makes her the easiest to manipulate." I smiled. "Adrian, do you think the judge will find me easy to manipulate too?"

After I fail my mission, the system grants me three days to say goodbye. For the first time, I become the perfect husband in Kristen Snowe's eyes. I stop waiting up for her when she doesn't come home. I stop fighting with her over the money she keeps giving to her childhood friend, Jake Leigh. On the first day, she scoffs at me. "If you'd acted like this from the beginning, I wouldn't feel so sick and tired of you!" On the second day, she starts to get suspicious. "That's it? You're not mad? You're not up to something, are you?" By the third day, she's the one falling apart. "Honey… Why aren't you jealous anymore?" I smile. "Isn't this exactly what you wanted?"

I was always a step behind, while Ryan Walker, my childhood friend, and Claire Morgan, my best friend, were always in a rush. Whenever we ate together, they would finish before I was even halfway through. Then they would start talking about heading to the gaming lounge next door and leave me sitting alone in the restaurant. Once, while we were swimming, my leg cramped halfway across the pool. I called out for help, only to realize they had already gotten out and left. When it was time to submit our college applications, I had not even logged in when they submitted theirs and got up to leave. "Wendy, you take forever. I need to help Claire snag concert tickets, so we're leaving without you. "Claire and I both applied to Eastbridge University. Make sure you apply there too." As soon as Ryan finished speaking, Claire grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door. They left in such a hurry that he never heard me say, "I'm not applying to Eastbridge University. "You won't ever have to wait for me again."

During a team-building event, we are playing King's Game, a game where anyone who draws the King card gets to order another player around. The company's new intern, Daniel Zugler, draws the King card. His eyes narrow as he sweeps a glance across everyone present. At last, his gaze lands on my fiancee, Sharon Solt. "Then how about… Sharon, feed me a grape using your mouth." There is an immediate uproar, with people slamming their hands on the table, wolf-whistling, or even holding their phones up in preparation to record the moment. Their loud jeering is almost deafening. I initially think that Sharon will refuse coldly, yet to my surprise, she actually blushes and playfully scolds them, "You guys are seriously too much!" Following that, she plucks a grape from the fruit platter, bites it gently between her teeth, then leans closer to Daniel. Daniel smoothly wraps an arm around her shoulders and brings his lips close to hers, almost brushing against them. However, his eyes aren't focused on her. Instead, he gazes past her to shoot me a provocative look. I immediately jump to my feet, my hand snapping out to seize her wrist. Silence descends upon the room at my action. Yet, Sharon yanks her arm out of my grip. "It's just a game. Why are you making such a huge deal about it? Danny's new here, and this is his first team-building event with us. Are you trying to make things difficult for him and humiliate him?" Subsequently, I don't bother stopping them again, allowing their lips and teeth to clash together. That night, after we return home, the phone she left on the coffee table suddenly vibrates. A WhatsApp message appears on the screen, sent from someone she saved as "Sunshine" in her contacts. "Sharon, the grape was quite sweet. Are you going to feed me again next time?" I lock her phone screen and don't ask any questions. One week later, Sharon goes on a work trip and has to bring an assistant with her. She chooses Daniel, who has zero experience. Still, I say nothing, but I do hand in my resignation letter to the HR department. This time, I won't look back again.

My wife, Eira Primrose, has forgotten to disconnect the car's Bluetooth from her phone when she gets out to answer a call. A man's explicit, suggestive words echo through the vehicle. "Didn't you say you were coming over tonight? I bought some new toys. Are you sure you don't want to come over and try them with me?" I pause for a moment before reaching out and turning it off. The instant silence falls over the car, Eira teases the man on the phone without the slightest change in her expression. Yet, her gaze lingers on my face for a brief moment through the window. After hopping back into the car, she casually reaches over and straightens my collar. "I was actually planning to stay with you tonight. After all, you were just discharged from the hospital. Yet, you heard him too. He has many tricks up his sleeve, and he's super clingy, so do me a favor and drive yourself home, okay?" I nod. "Do you need me to drop you at his place?" Eira freezes for a moment. "Look at you, making progress. You're not causing a scene and giving me headaches like you did the previous eight times. However, you're my husband. Why would I make you do a driver's job?" Then, she leans in and pecks my cheek. The love bites just beneath her collarbone are faintly visible. "Forget it, babe. We're not heading in the same direction." I plaster a smile on my face. That's right. In the 30 seconds she spends answering that phone call, I accept a job offer overseas. For the rest of our lives, we won't be heading in the same direction.

In the ward, Lydia Webb leans bashfully against Hayden's chest as he tenderly feeds her soup. Lydia pouts. "It's all your fault, Hayden. You were so rough that you made me bleed." "I just couldn't help myself," Hayden says, his voice thick with affection. "I'll be gentler next time, okay?" Outside the door, Melissa Smith clutches a lab report so hard her knuckles turn white. Her heart aches as if crushed in a vice. The report states, "Two months pregnant, with healthy fetal development." The man inside is her husband—the very man who swore to love her forever. Ten days ago, Hayden said he had to work overtime and hasn't been home since. She never imagined he spent those ten days indulging in another woman's bed.

In the seventh year of her marriage to Daniel Horton, Quinn White overheard her son ask in a naive voice, "Dad, why can't Aunt Charlotte be my mom?" Quinn froze. Did he mean Charlotte Scott, Daniel's first love? Before she could process whether she had misheard, a speeding car hurtled straight toward her son. Instinctively, Quinn charged forward and pushed her son out of harm's way. The massive impact caused her to lose consciousness. When she woke up, Quinn let out a sigh of relief as she looked at her husband and son standing by the hospital bed, completely unharmed. She was about to reassure them she was fine when her son's painful question echoed in her mind. Spurred by an impulse, she put on a bewildered look. "I'm sorry, but I can't remember anything right now." The two standing before the hospital bed were caught off guard for a second before immediately ringing the bell to call the doctor over. After a thorough examination, the doctor reached a conclusion. "A blood clot formed in the patient's brain following the car accident, which will lead to temporary amnesia." Once the doctor left, Quinn maintained that same bewildered act. "How did I end up in a car accident? Who are you, and what do you have to do with me?" Daniel frowned, opening his mouth to speak, when a gleeful childish voice cut him off. "You're the family nanny!"

The night my husband came home from another flight smelling of another woman's perfume, one question was taking over social media. "Where have all the homemaker over forty-seven gone? "If life as a homemaker is so wonderful, why doesn't anyone ever speak up about it?" My husband, an international airline captain with over a million followers, signed us up for a livestream. He wanted me to prove that homemaker hadn't vanished. According to him, they were simply loved, protected, and cherished by their husbands. He was certain I'd play along. After all, for 22 years, I'd been the perfect wife. Even when my swollen joints hurt so much I could barely hold a spatula, I still washed his uniforms and made sure dinner was waiting when he got home. Even when he walked through the door carrying another woman's perfume, I would only touch my wedding ring and tell myself the same lie. "He's just having a little fun. In the end, he'll always come back to me." On the day of the livestream, he smiled at the camera and told everyone how happy our marriage was. I was in the kitchen baking, carrying dish after dish to the table. Then the host asked me one simple question. "Would you want your daughter to grow up to be the homemaker as you?" My husband smiled and typed his answer onto the teleprompter for me to read. "Of course." I walked into the frame with the last dish in my hands. I looked straight into the camera. "No," I said. "I wouldn't."

The Dempsey family has two adopted sons. I'm one of them, and the other is Julius Haysworth. On the day Elena Dempsey and Julius get engaged, a car accident leaves her crippled. Julius tearfully breaks off the engagement, while I marry Elena to repay the Dempseys for taking me in. For the next ten years, I wait on her hand and foot, support her rehabilitation, and help her walk again. I even give up my chance to attend college for her. Yet, on the very day Elena regains her mobility and takes over the family business, she announces that she wants to bring Julius home. A wealthy woman has scammed him out of every penny, and Elena now wants to divorce me for him. I confront her in fury, destroy everything in our home, and even beg her to reconsider, but Elena refuses to change her mind. Even my adoptive parents believe that a man without a college education is no longer good enough for the now-successful Elena. I'm so furious that I spit out a mouthful of blood and jump from the top floor of the Dempsey residence. When I open my eyes again, I'm back on the day Elena will choose between Julius and me as her future husband.

Today was my younger son, Luke's, eighteenth birthday. My ex-husband, Major General Arthur Ashford, let himself into my house without knocking. He headed straight for the liquor cabinet like he still owned the place. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and looked at me with open contempt. "Allison, how have you enjoyed the last eight years? Stuck here in Briarwood because of a family court order. "All because I broke a couple of glasses and put my hands on you a few times, you just had to file for divorce." "And what did that get you? The judge stopped you from taking the kids out of the city and made sure I got regular visitation." He swirled the whiskey in his glass, spilling a little onto the carpet. It was the same cocky look he wore the night he came home drunk and beat me with his belt. "You really thought you could get away from me? As long as I say no, you'll spend the rest of your life under my control. "After Luke cuts his cake, I am filing for emergency guardianship. You will never take my son away from me." I looked at his smug face, gripping the edge of my sleeve, and said nothing. Then he lifted his glass, ready to start barking orders at everyone. My daughter, Kate, rose from her chair and set a thick stack of papers onto the table in front of him. "General Ashford, you should read these. "As of midnight, Luke is legally an adult. Every travel restriction the family court placed on Mom is gone. "And this is the filing receipt for the name change petition for the two of us, which I filed with the Supreme Court." Arthur gave the papers a dismissive glance. Then his smile disappeared. Printed across the top in bold letters were the words: Petitions of Kate Ashford and Luke Ashford to Change Their Surname to Pierce.

The night before Prince Dorian's consort-selection reception, I had a terrible dream. I dreamed I got exactly what I wanted. I became his wife, and I wasted my entire life on it. While I hemorrhaged through the birth and our baby died before it drew a breath, Dorian was at a lodge across the city, drinking to celebrate with another woman. What they were celebrating was my labor. My child hadn't been unlucky. Dorian had drugged me. He'd promised that woman she would be the only one to ever bear his children. Later I learned the truth, and I found her, and I found the son she'd given him in secret. Dorian went wild. He broke my arms and legs and kept me locked away for the rest of my life. He entered the boy into my household records and installed him openly as his heir. On the day I died, Dorian finally turned up. Decades of marriage, and it was the most he had ever said to me. "Celeste was born too low for my mother to accept her. That's the only reason you got the title. "You were useful, though. Celeste could never enter the house, but our son can inherit it under your name. "Go quietly. If there's a next life, keep your distance. Stop throwing yourself in my path." I woke with a jolt, refusing to believe it. Then, at the selection reception, I walked straight into Dorian on purpose and lifted the handkerchief from his sleeve. A pair of swans was embroidered on it, and beneath them, small and neat, the name Celeste Beaumont. The blood drained out of my face. I grabbed the girl I'd hated since childhood and headed for the door. "I'm not marrying him. And neither are you."

After her miscarriage, Elise Emery became exactly the wife Colsen Locke had always wanted. She quit telling him about her day. Quit calling when he stayed out all night. Even when an old man falsely accused her of hitting him with her car, she didn't call anyone. Didn't ask for bail. She just spent seven days in custody. At dusk on the seventh day, the precinct's iron gate clanged open. Elise had barely made it down the steps when a black Maybach screeched to a stop in front of her. The door swung open. Colsen stepped out in a custom suit, tall and lean, all broad shoulders and cold control. Same polished look. Same unreadable face.

During a summer road trip, a sudden car crash occurred on the highway. My boyfriend and my sister lunged forward without hesitation, sheltering me behind their bodies. My body emerged uninjured, but shattered glass pierced through my eyes, leaving me permanently blind. Overwhelmed with guilt, they cared for my every need, vowing to serve as my eyes for the rest of their lives. Though I lost my sight, I still felt deeply blessed. As our wedding day drew near, I was unexpectedly bound with a vision restoration system. "Host's vision has been restored. If no one detects your recovery within three days, your eyesight will be restored. If anyone finds out, you will die instantly." Overjoyed, I accepted the terms. But right after I finished trying on my wedding gown, as my boyfriend was driving me home and stopped at a red light, he suddenly leaned back. My sister leaned forward naturally from the back seat, and the two of them locked lips.

When I handed in my resignation, my supervisor said, "Mr. Foster promised to marry you once you made director. You're only one promotion away, so why quit now?" I looked down at my pant legs, the hems still soaked from the puddles outside. "Because of an umbrella." My mind went back to yesterday. Rain was pouring down, and I was stranded at the office entrance without an umbrella. Mark Foster's new assistant, Rachel Lynch, was stuck there too. Mark came downstairs carrying a single umbrella. He didn't hesitate before offering to share it with Rachel. After all, no one would read anything into the two of them being seen together. He looked at me and said flatly, "Erin, because we're together, sharing an umbrella would only get people talking. It's not worth it." I stood frozen for a long moment, watching them walk away beneath the same umbrella. Then I ran straight into the rain. In the ten years Mark and I had been together, he had fallen back on the same excuse more times than I could count. "Since we're together, we have to be careful about how things look." That was why I always came and went alone, while every promotion passed me by. Now, even sharing an umbrella with him was apparently too much to ask. By the time my resignation was official, the rain had eased to a drizzle. This time, I opened my own umbrella and walked away, calm and unhurried. I didn't need his anymore. It was never meant to shelter me anyway.

Elle's toxic first love had only one birthday wish: for us to get a divorce. The first time I refused, she aborted our three-month-old baby. The second time I wouldn't budge, she pressed a box cutter to her wrist and asked me to choose: divorce, or widowhood. And today was the third time. Even the clerk at the courthouse knew me by now. When she handed over the divorce certificate, she teased me with a smile, "Remarrying again in a month, same as always?" Elle expected me to fall apart the way I always did, to beg her to stay. She'd already started frowning, bracing herself to explain. I just took the divorce certificate from her hand and said, calmly, "We're not remarrying." Elle froze where she stood, staring at me without moving.

My wife, Florence Jipson, told me that our son, Bart Lyons, had been in a severe car accident. His eyes were crushed in the crash, and he had completely lost his vision. I rushed from my company to the hospital. I begged the doctors to use my eye for Bart’s transplant. After the surgery was completed, I was wheeled out of the operating room. Then, I heard the sound of everyone bursting into loud laughter. “God, Benedict is such an idiot. He falls for the same nonsense every single time and never learns.” “Flo, if you told him to go kill himself next time, he’d probably do it too, wouldn’t he? He’s such a well-trained little puppy.” Florence stood in the crowd, holding hands with her assistant, Solomon Sowden. She was laughing just as wildly. “What can I say? Sol loves this kind of drama. So, I had to play along and tell him Bart got hurt. “I really thought Ben would be smart enough to catch on this time. I never expected him to actually be willing to donate his own eye.” Even the eight-year-old Bart nodded in agreement. “Having such a silly dad is so embarrassing.” I was utterly disheartened when I heard Florence and Bart’s mocking remarks. It turned out that even family members who had lived together for more than ten years could become strangers in an instant. I finally chose to let go.

In my third year of being a stay-at-home dad, I come across a post online. "I want to divorce my husband, who stays home and takes care of our child full-time. I want custody, but our kid is completely attached to him. What should I do?" One commenter gives advice. "If your husband has been the primary caregiver the whole time, the court will probably award him custody to keep the child's living situation stable. "But since he's a stay-at-home parent, cut off his allowance and put pressure on him. If he won't compromise, take an overseas assignment for a couple of years. Don't contact him. Don't send him money. "Those early childhood caretaking years are the hardest anyway. You'll be avoiding the hassle. Then, when you come back, you'll be in a much stronger financial position than your husband, and winning custody will be easy." The original poster thanks the commenter for the suggestion. I curse those two people for being selfish and cruel. That night, when my wife comes home from work, she suddenly says, "Honey, the company's been struggling lately. I won't be able to give you money for this month's living expenses."

Three years into my marriage to Vivian Rhodes, I've suffered three separate accidents. In the first year, my art studio mysteriously catches fire, and a falling easel crushes both of my hands. In the second year, I am involved in a car accident that damages my reproductive system, leaving me infertile. In the third year, I am attacked and suffer a severe head injury. When I wake up, I develop serious vision problems. The doctor tells me that my corneas are severely damaged and infected. To save my life, they have to remove one of my eyes. Devastated, I chase the doctors and nurses out of my room and flee from the hospital. But then I overhear my wife talking to her best friend, Hailey Dawson. "Vivian, you ruined Julian's hands and made him infertile for Andrew. Now you're working with the doctor to deceive him and take his eye. If Julian finds out, he'll hate you." Vivian's expression darkens, but her voice remains firm. "If Julian can still paint, Andy will never win any award. And I promise Andy that all my love and everything I own will go to Cece. So I can only have one child. Only by making Julian blind can I bring Cece home without arousing suspicion. She looks so much like me." So the happy marriage I think I have is nothing but a carefully constructed lie. All three "accidents" over the past three years are her doing. I can no longer accept a marriage that has cost me my life.