Mga Maiikling Kuwento at Nobelang Plot Twists Romance Independence

On the day my twin sister, Alexia Cavanaugh, and I turn 22, I collapse and find out that I have late-stage cancer. Ignoring the doctor's advice to be admitted, I walk out of the hospital. All I want is to spend one final birthday with my family without a single worry. But when I arrive at the party, a server stops me at the door and tells me the venue has been reserved exclusively for Alexia. Outsiders aren't allowed in. Through the glass, I watch as my brother holds a cake and my father places a birthday hat on Alexia's head. Even my boyfriend is there, smiling as Alexia makes a wish. I stand there for half an hour, gripping my phone, before my boyfriend finally answers my call. "I was just at the hospital. I—" He cuts me off. "Ophelia, you've always been healthy. It's Lexi's birthday today. We should talk later." Isn't today my birthday too? My mother died giving birth to me. The doctor later explained that I deprived Alexia of nutrients before birth, which left her frail from the start. And just like that, everyone decided I should always step aside for my twin, who was born five minutes before me. I ball up the report with my cancer diagnosis and toss it in the trash. I'm done letting their favoritism hurt me. I've never received their love anyway, so I choose to leave for good.

I've been with Hansen Fullerton for seven years. One day, he tells me he's sick of me and dumps me for a younger, more vivacious woman. I don't kick up a fuss this time. Instead, I throw away my ring and cut up the wedding gown I've just bought. Then, I take a red-eye flight away from Gold City. His friends place bets on how long it'll take for me to return and beg for reconciliation. Hansen sneers. "She'll be back in less than three days, crying and begging me to take her back." However, more than three days pass without any news from me. Hansen loses his cool and calls me for the first time. "You'd better come back once you've had enough of this, Christine." All he hears is a man's low chuckle on the other end of the line. "You shouldn't have taken this long to pacify a woman, Mr. Fullerton. Look at how someone's already taken her away from you." Hansen snarls, "Tell Christine to answer the phone!" Landon Shore lowers his head to kiss me. "She can't—she's still out of it. I have to kiss her awake first."

While packing Ethan's flight bag, I found a custom solo wings pin. The engraving on the back read: For Lark, to celebrate your first solo. Beneath the box sat the receipt for Skyler's flight school tuition, paid in full by Ethan, along with a photograph. In the photo, she was sitting in the pilot's seat. Ethan's gloved hand rested over hers on the control yoke. Seven years ago, I had sat in that same seat. Back then, I was one step away from my first solo flight, but Ethan talked me out of it again and again, always claiming it was "for my own good." He said flying was dangerous, that someone had to stay home and take care of things. I put down my logbook, pressed the wrinkles out of every one of his captain's uniforms, and spent seven years living by his flight schedule. Only now did I finally understand. It wasn't that he didn't want to take anyone flying. He just didn't want to take me. What made it even more absurd was that the night Skyler first flew through the clouds, I was alone in a hospital, losing our baby. I called him over a dozen times. At three in the morning, he finally called back, his voice flat and indifferent. "I just took Lark through the clouds. Next time something comes up, give me a heads-up." I put the wings pin back exactly where I found it, then pulled the crumpled ultrasound printout from the bottom of the drawer and tucked it inside the logbook that had been gathering dust for seven years. This time, I wasn't going to wait for him to look back. He convinced me to leave the pilot's seat, then turned around and put another woman in the sky. So I would leave him and take back the sky that had always been mine.

Six years into our long-distance relationship, I tell my girlfriend, Claire Whitmore, that I'm too busy with work to spend her birthday with her. Behind her back, I secretly take the property deed with me and board a ten-hour flight to her city. I want to propose to her in front of all our friends and surprise her. While waiting for my ride, I use my work phone to reply to a few messages, then casually scroll through my social media feed. The first post I see is from my childhood friend, Ryan Cole. "I'm going to be a godfather! My goddaughter is 8.5 pounds. I'm so happy!" I open the photo and see Claire and Damian Pierce posing together, a baby between them. My mind goes completely blank. I scroll through Ryan's other posts and discover that they're all about Claire and Damian's life together. Every moment from the past six years has been documented, from when they first met and fell in love to their marriage and the birth of their child. In their wedding group photo, I even spot several of my closest friends. My heart sinks. They all know about this. I'm the only one who's been kept in the dark for six years.

An hour before the college application deadline, I jolt awake in my hotel room in Chanont. My girlfriend, Evelyn Keate, and my adopted brother, Marvin Needham, are nowhere to be seen. I immediately call them, reminding them to get their applications in before the deadline. To my surprise, they burst out laughing. "We're already back home, and we got our applications in last night. You still haven't submitted yours?" I can hear my parents criticizing me in the background. My mom said, "He's always like this. He's so careless that he doesn't even take his own future seriously." "Marvin has always been so much easier," my dad remarked. Laughter and chatter fill the other end of the line, while I begin to shake with panic. I almost miss the deadline. After receiving our exam results, the three of us agree to apply to the same college. Marvin can't make up his mind, so Evelyn patiently indulges him and says, "There's no rush. We'll take our time and help you pick." However, she casually brushes me off. "Just go with whatever we choose and enjoy yourself in Chanont for the next few days." Just then, my phone buzzes. Evelyn sends me the application code for Solridge University. "Hurry up, or you'll miss the deadline." I stare at the application page, my eyes stinging with tears. My score is much higher than theirs, and I can get into a better college. It turns out that the compromise I'm making doesn't matter to anyone at all. With one second left before the deadline, I click the submit button and apply to Harburt University, the school farthest from home. The three of us are one too many, so I choose to walk away.

On the day of the divorce hearing, the judge went through the usual questions. “You’ve only been married for three years. Are you certain your marriage has broken down beyond repair?” I forced a bitter smile. I took off my wedding ring and placed it on the table. “We were married for three years, yet we were never together for all three years. “Your Honor, is there anything left between us?” We dated for five years before marriage. My name was pinned at the top of his WhatsApp. I was his emergency contact. I was even the beneficiary of his insurance policy. I thought I had married the right man. But on our wedding day, he received a phone call, and his face instantly turned pale. I asked him what happened. He only said his mother was sick. He left everything behind and immediately booked a flight back to his hometown. For the next three years, he sent me photos of his three meals every day, but his mother never appeared in any of those photos. I felt sorry for him. I even offered to quit my job and go back with him to take care of her. He had refused and said softly, “I can’t bear to let you do that.” A month ago, I saw a cancer influencer’s account online. Orion Young appeared in one of her vlogs. The caption was heartwarming. [He’s there when I wake up. He’s there for every meal. His hands are always there for me to hold.] What did that make me? For 1,095 days, I had only myself. He had been lying to me. The judge struck the gavel for the final time and asked, “Have you made your decision?” I nodded firmly. The court officially ended the marriage. I looked at the divorce judgment in my hands, and my tears finally fell. I thought, “Orion, I’m setting you free. I’m setting both of us free.”

To win Samuel Zane’s heart, I lost everything. My family was ruined, and I was forced onto an operating table so he could take my heart and save his adopted sister, Xenia Zane, whose organs were failing. At the critical moment, William Zane disguised himself as a doctor and rescued me. We left the country and started a new life overseas. I used all my points to change my target from Samuel to William. “Host, I need to remind you that if you fail again after changing your target, you will be reincarnated as an animal and never become human again.” I looked at William as he knelt before me with a ring in his hand. I said firmly, “I do.” But when I gave birth to our daughter, I saw two figures standing outside my hospital room. William handed our daughter to Samuel and said, “Samuel, you’re rushing this. We need to wait until her organs are fully developed before we can take them.” Samuel’s expression remained cold. “Thanks to your plan, we were able to grow a healthy, young heart for Xenia. Don’t worry. We can just use an organ maturation agent.” “But…” “William, don’t tell me you’ve fallen for that woman.” “Of course not!” I heard him deny it immediately. “I endured everything for Xenia.” The moment he finished speaking, the system’s robotic voice rang in my mind. “Host, your mission has failed. In one month, you will be reincarnated as an animal.”

I have claustrophobia, yet Luther Jansen abandons me in a stopped elevator so he can bring some flu medicine to his assistant. I ask for a divorce after that. He signs the papers without hesitation and laughs about it with his friends. "She's just throwing a tantrum—her parents are dead, so there's no way she'll leave me. "Besides, there's a 30-day cooling-off period for divorces, right? I'll generously let this matter slide once she regrets this, and she'll be back." The following day, he shares an intimate photo of himself with his assistant. "I want to record every moment of your shyness." I count the days until I'm free. Then, I calmly pack my stuff and make a call. "Can you buy me a flight ticket to Nanderton, Uncle David?"

The day before our wedding, Luke Murray got wasted. On the ride home, he looked right at me and slurred, "Cassie, don't bring the kid to the ceremony. Arya can't know I'm the dad." I hit the brakes. Hard. He smacked into the seatback, halfway sobering up. When he finally realized it was me, he just... froze. Then he said real slow, "Guess you heard. Wedding's off—for now. Cassie doesn't want marriage, but the kid's mine, so I gotta step up. She's your bestie, right? You probably feel bad she's doing this alone. So once he's in school, I'll come back and marry you." I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "...That's fine. I don't mind." He didn't say a word when we got home—just grabbed his suitcase and left. I wiped the last tear off my face, sat on the bed, and just stared at nothing. Then my phone lit up. My childhood friend's voice cracked on the other end. "Arya, don't marry him. Please." I didn't say anything for a sec. "Okay."

For three years, a Carthen University genius tutors me online. When the SAT is finally over, I finally confess my feelings to him during the last moments of our final voice call. I whisper, "Actually, I really like—" Before I can finish, a sharp beep cuts me off. He hung up. Heartbroken, I pack my bags and head to Bellridge University alone. Once classes start, rumors fly about a brilliant upperclassman looking for a heartless freshman across Carthen University and Bellridge University. Wait a minute. Why does his voice sound exactly like my genius tutor?

On the 999th day of our relationship, Declan Fletcher took a photo of the half-empty cup of my coffee and posted it in the group chat, deducting 20 points from my score. There were only three people in the chat group—me, him, and my cousin Rachel Black. He circled the 28-dollar bill, his tone sounding like he was judging a thief who stole money. Declan: [Sonia Golding, I've said before, splitting the bills 50-50 doesn't mean you get to take advantage of me. If you really want to marry a regular guy, you'd better stop spending money like a gold digger. Declan was my boyfriend for three years. He was also the poor kid I thought was struggling with family debt, a seriously ill mother, and who could not even afford a new shirt. That was why I paid half of the rent, half of the water and electricity bills, and even secretly covered half of the caretaker fee for his mother's hospitalization. He set up a relationship point system for me. One minute late: -5 points. Ordering an expensive dish: -10 points. Expecting a gift on a holiday: -30 points. I spent three years racking up points just to go from 'not marriage material' to 'worth considering'. However, he never once counted the cost when it came to Rachel. If Rachel wanted expensive food, he would treat her. If she wanted to visit an island for Independence Day, he would book two first-class tickets that very night. It was not until today that his driver accidentally delivered a prenuptial agreement to me instead of him that I realized Declan was not penniless. He owned three properties and two companies. The handbags he bought for Rachel cost enough to cover my rent for three years. It turned out that splitting the bill 50-50 was not his principle but a calculated move to filter out the women who genuinely cared. That evening, he transferred 28 dollars to me for drinks. The remark read: [Cover any unnecessary expenses yourself.] I accepted the money and sent him a breakup bill in return. Sonia: [I've lost out over these past three years. I'm done with you.]

I was the A-list celebrity in the country, the youngest actor ever to win all three major acting awards, and the man Monroe family's heiress treasured above everyone else. Zara Monroe had not only founded a talent agency dedicated to promoting me alone, but had even set aside her status as the heiress of the Monroe family to work as my personal assistant for love. Everyone in the industry knew that crossing me meant crossing the Monroe family. Yet no one could have imagined that in the latest S-tier film production, the male lead I had been all but guaranteed to play would be snatched away by an obscure actor barely known beyond the industry's bottom tier. People across the industry all placing bets on how long it would take before Zara had this newcomer, Kyson Bentley, blacklisted across the entire industry. But instead of a public takedown, they got an official announcement from Monroe Media. [Welcome to our company's second signed artist, @Kyson Bentley! Mr. Bentley will be partnering with Monroe Media from here on out. His future is full of promise.] The entire industry was shaken. Everyone mocked me for having fallen out of favor. The award-winning actor himself was now expected to play second fiddle to a newcomer. On set, I watched Kyson deliver a painfully amateurish performance. My face cold, I followed the and slapped him using a camera angle that made it look as though I had hit him. But Kyson clutched his cheek and fell to the ground, accusing me of using the scene to get revenge on him. Zara ordered her people to pin me down and made the production team add a hundred more slapping scenes to my schedule. By the time they were done, I had been slapped until I lost my hearing in my right ear. My face was so swollen that I was barely recognizable.

At my wedding rehearsal, the officiant asked for the third time for us to exchange rings. My best friend, Stacy Campbell, stood beside me as the maid of honor, looking impish. "The treasure hunt game's started. Guess where the ring's hidden?" My fiance, Jeremy Dean, let out a helpless laugh and started guessing hiding spots. I was the only one staring at the empty box, sweat breaking out across my forehead. It was starting again. This so-called treasure hunt game. When we were kids, Stacy hid my scarf in the boiler room while Jeremy kept watch for her. I searched for four hours and finally dug the scorched corner of it out of a pile of ash. Right before the SATs, my admission ticket got hidden in a doghouse. I got down on my knees to dig through it while Stacy filmed the whole thing and posted it to our class group chat, laughing at how frantic and pathetic I looked. I used to think if I just endured it, I'd eventually grow numb to it. But looking at it now, they only ever got worse. My voice shook. "Can we not do this anymore?" Jeremy frowned. "Connie, it's just a game." Stacy pouted. "Exactly. You always do this. You're such a killjoy." The two of them laughed like no one else was in the room, chatting about what to eat for dinner without a single word about where the ring actually was. Watching the two of them, so at ease with each other, I took off my veil. I didn't want to find the ring anymore. And I didn't need to get married anymore, either.

My older sister, Nina Farro, is famous in Balthor's elite circle for being indifferent and refined. But I'm the only person who knows she's just pretending. The moment she finds out she's going to be married to Tristan Conte, the heir of a powerful family in Balthor, she locks herself in the chapel of the Farro residence and refuses to leave. "I don't care how impressive the family background is or how much power they hold. All I want is a peaceful and ordinary life." She sets three conditions for Tristan. First, he has to build a chapel for her in the Conte residence where she can pray in peace. Second, Tristan has to abstain from alcohol and meat for two months before their wedding. Third, Tristan has to agree to live separately from her for three years after marriage and not touch her, as proof of his sincerity. Tristan bursts out laughing in disbelief. "Am I at the right place? Is this the Farro residence or a convent?" "Mr. Farro, if you don't want the business deal in Yak City, plenty of people are ready to take it. We'll see how much longer the Farro family can keep its books balanced." My father, Saul Farro, is quick to apologize, while his wife, Celeste Silvi, puts on a smile and says everything she can to appease Tristan. Alas, no matter what they say, Nina refuses to budge. She insists that Tristan agree to her conditions before she agrees to the marriage alliance with the Conte family. "You can't force something that isn't meant to be. Mr. Conte, if you have no real intention of committing to this marriage, then please see yourself out." When it looks like Tristan is about to storm out and call off the marriage arrangement, I take a deep breath from the corner I was hiding in and dash out to stop him. "Mr. Conte, if Nina won't marry you, I will!"

When the earthquake occurs, Kenneth Scott's childhood sweetheart, Gigi Lynch, and I are trapped under the debris at the same time. When I see the rescue equipment that Kenneth has tossed into the debris, I decide to give up on saving myself. So, I let Gigi have the opportunity to get rescued. In my previous lifetime, I successfully got rescued by Kenenth. But Gigi ended up getting crushed to death by the crumbling debris. Needless to say, she died a terrible death. After Gigi died, Kenneth hugged me and cried throughout the night. I thought he was crying tears of relief. That was, until he drugged me and had me delivered to the surgical table. When I woke up, I realized that my face had gone under the knife, making me look exactly like Gigi. I scratched at my face like a lunatic, only for Kenneth to grasp my wrists firmly. "Gigi traded her life to save yours! It's your duty to live this life for her from now on!" But later on, Kenneth was never satisfied with me. He kept criticizing me, saying that my gaze wasn't right, and my voice wasn't the same as Gigi's. All in all, I could never become her. After that, I got pregnant. Kenneth responded by bringing me miscarriage-inducing medication. I sank to my knees and begged Kenneth to spare the baby. In fact, I kept groveling to him till my forehead started bleeding. But Kenneth merely replied icily, "Impostors like you don't have the right to give birth to my child." Then, he gripped me by my chin and forced the bowl of boiling medicine down my throat. I felt as though my throat was being scalded. At the same time, blood kept oozing from my lower region. When my vision went blurry, Kenneth pushed me into a newly-dug pit. "Gigi is too lonely in the afterlife. Why don't you keep her company?" Mounds of dirt kept falling onto me. While I fought for air, I heard Kenneth's cruel laughter drifting from the surface. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the moment I'm about to get rescued.

I have a secret. If I touch anyone, I will be able to see the face of the person they love the most. Ever since Dominic Hatterson has moved to the house next door when he was seven years old, I'm the one he loves the most. When he holds hands with me as an 18-year-old, I remain the person he loves the most. When he proposes to me at the age of 22, I'm still the person he loves the most. On the morning of our third year anniversary, I tidy his collar for him. The moment my fingertips touch his Adam's apple, I close my eyes out of reflex. Yet, that's when I see two faces. One belongs to me. The other belongs to a woman I've never seen before. That night, Dominic's phone lights up. "Thank you for spending the day with me, Dom." It's been 21 years since Dominic and I met. I've touched him over 100 thousand times already. And yet, this is my first time finding a mistake.

I spend eight long years helping my cellist husband climb out of a dark, self-destructive spiral and reach the stage of Viremont Philharmonic Hall. During his hardest year, he can barely keep his grip on the bow. Time and again, I break into his locked room, staying by his side through every breakdown and every moment he loses control. He writes his first complete piece for me, naming it "Love of My Life". He swears that as long as I want to hear it, he'll play it for me for the rest of his life. Then his fame skyrockets. With global tours filling his schedule, he can barely spare ten minutes a week for me. Every time those precious ten minutes arrive, I ask him to play "Love of My Life" again. Yet he just closes his eyes, exhausted. "I'm wiped out from performing. I don't want to bring work home with me." My heart aches for him, so I never ask again. Then comes Saturday, when I'm unexpectedly sent to Viremont for an interview. After the concert, I hear that familiar melody drifting through the otherwise empty concert hall. The audience is long gone, save for his female assistant asleep in the front row. There sits my husband in the spotlight, playing "Love of My Life" on loop just to put her to sleep. When someone urges him to take a break, he looks down at her and murmurs, "It's fine. She likes it." He plays for three straight hours that night. It turns out he isn't tired, nor does he mind bringing his work home. He just doesn't want to play it for me anymore. I don't march in to confront him. I simply turn around and walk out. That night, I accept a three-year overseas transfer to Noveria. After submitting the application, I slip off the wedding ring I have worn for eight years. At the same time, a text pops up from him. "Show's over. Let's roll this week's ten minutes into next week." I delete our chat without replying. If "Love of My Life" has a new audience, it's time for me to take my exit.

On Christmas night, my husband, Finnick Carson, can't spend the holidays with me because he's on a business trip. In order to make it up to me, he's specifically ordered a Christmas feast from a fancy restaurant and has it delivered to our home. But when I open the box containing the feast, I'm shell-shocked by what I see. Not only an array of seafood—that I'm allergic to—is arranged in containers, but there's also a kid's meal set included in the feast. When the deliveryman sees the food, he apologizes to me and tells me that he's mixed up the two meals that Finnick has ordered. This leaves me feeling uneasy. Why would my husband order two meals? So, I decide to find my way to the delivery address that the other meal is meant for. Shockingly enough, I see Finnick standing in a villa's backyard while picking candies from a Christmas tree with a mother and a son. The little boy then rushes into his arms happily. "Daddy, I'd like an amusement park for my birthday gift this year!" Finnick pinches his cheek gently. "Okay. I'll give your mommy a set of jewelry, too." The woman cuddles with him happily. "You're so nice to us, honey!" Having recorded the entire scene quietly, I send it to my lawyer. "Help me expedite my divorce so that my husband can reunite with his family as soon as possible."

Lily Harper was my husband Victor Carter's first love. The day she got divorced, Victor dressed up and headed out with the newest toy on the market for her son. That was the day I started teaching our son, Arthur, to call him "Mr. Carter." He skipped Arthur's first-day-of-school assembly to take Lily's son, Leo, to an amusement park. I told Arthur, "Mr. Carter has a lot of work to do." When Lily called to say her place felt empty, Victor walked out on us on Christmas Day. I comforted my heartbroken son. "Let Mr. Carter go do his work. Mommy will always be here with you." Later, the two boys got into a fight at school, and the teacher called us in. Victor stood across from Arthur and me, right beside Lily. Arthur clenched his fists. "Mr. Carter, your precious Leo hit me first." When we got home, Victor realized how badly he'd hurt Arthur and decided to throw him a huge birthday party. In the middle of the party, Lily called again, crying because Leo had a fever. Victor put his phone down and gave Arthur an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, I..." Arthur looked back at him, his face blank. "It's okay, Mr. Carter. I have Mom. That's enough."

The first time I was supposed to meet my boyfriend, Grady Cabrera's parents, he stopped me at the door. The reason? His childhood friend, Mallory Pierce, had just drawn a tarot card. According to the reading, I was cursed with bad luck today and shouldn't step foot inside the Cabrera family home. Before I could say a word, Grady reached for the gifts in my hands. "Wait in the car for a while. Once dinner's over, I'll drive you home." I didn't let go. "I've spent over a month getting ready to meet your parents, and you're not even going to let me inside?" His expression hardened. "Brenda, this is for your own good." Before I could protest, he shoved me back into the car and shut the door. Mallory smiled at me through the window. "Don't overthink it, Brenda. I'll go in and keep Linda Cabrera company for you." Grady stood beside her. From beginning to end, he never looked back. Because of a single tarot card drawn by his childhood friend, I—the woman who was supposed to be meeting his parents—had somehow become the one person who wasn't welcome in the house. In that case, maybe there was no point in joining this family at all.