Independence Romance Short Stories & Regret Novels

My older sister Seraphina had always been the center of attention in New York's Upper East Side. Everyone worshiped her, protected her. At the Montgomery charity gala, my father asked we to choose our future husband in front of every powerful family in New York. Seraphina smiled and generously let me choose first. But this time, I said no. In my past life, I truly thought she cared about me. I followed her suggestion and married Declan Thorne, a man whose immune system had failed after a car crash. He had been confined to a wheelchair for years, and people whispered that he was worthless. I surrendered my place in the family and became his nurse, his support, the only thing keeping him from complete loneliness. But no matter how hard I tried, I could never reach his heart. Then, at Seraphina’s gender reveal party, Declan stood up from his wheelchair in front of everyone. "Brielle,I felt nothing for you. You were just a way for me to get closer to Sera." The silence lasted only a second before the room turned on me. Every whisper, every stare, every hidden laugh made me feel like the biggest fool in New York. That night, I rushed out of the party and drove away before anyone could see me break down. On the bridge, my hands shook so badly that the car spun out of control and crashed through the railing. I made ninety-nine calls before the river swallowed the car completely, and every single one went unanswered. Three days later, they found me trapped beneath the water, already suffocated in the wreckage. Then I opened my eyes, and I was back at the gala where my father had planned to announce our engagements. This time, I picked no one.

In our lakeside town, if a woman wanted to marry the love of her life, she must personally build a wooden rowboat to serve as her wedding vessel. On the exact day of our seventh anniversary, my girlfriend, Sarah Granger, held the launch ceremony for her newly finished boat. The crowd cheered as they witnessed the moment, and my heart pounded furiously against my ribs. However, just as I was about to board the boat, I caught the hushed whispers of her best friends. “Are you really giving this boat to Logan? Aren’t you afraid Austin will throw a fit?" “Yeah, Austin can be pretty sensitive. Be careful not to push him too far.” The next second, Sarah’s casual voice rang out, filled with absolute certainty. “He won’t. Austin is the easiest guy to appease. He’s completely head over heels for me. Besides, around these parts, if a guy isn’t married by twenty-eight, everyone starts looking at him like a pathetic bachelor. He wouldn’t dare make a scene. Think about it: the marriage certificate goes to Austin, and the wedding vessel goes to Logan. It’s totally fair. Plus, it… makes up for my regrets.” So, agreeing to get legally married to me was a regret for her? Easy to appease? Pathetic bachelor? Those words hurt my ears, and I started to choke up, but I didn’t cry. Instead, I pulled out my phone and sent a single text message. [Mom, I’m taking your advice. I’m twenty-eight now, and I’m not waiting around anymore.]

Charlotte Crowe's childhood sweetheart started acting up again, which meant she was ready to divorce me again. By then, I had gone numb. I looked at her calmly and said, "This will be the eighth time." Guilt crossed her face as she looked at me, her eyes full of helplessness and pleading. "Gregory, I don't have a choice. You know Victor talks about killing himself every day. I can't just ignore him. But don't worry. As soon as I calm Victor down, we'll get married again." I said nothing. She had said the same thing to me more times than I could count. We got married eight times and got divorced eight times. Even the courthouse staff knew me by now. Behind my back, they said we practically kept the divorce court in business. With the freshly issued divorce papers in my hand, a staff member behind me asked curiously, "So when are you coming back for your next remarriage?" I gave a faint shake of my head. "There won't be a next time."

On 1st of June, I unexpectedly receive a phone call from my future daughter. With a smile on my face, I ask her, "Sweetheart, are Mommy and Daddy still happy and in love?" She proudly replies, "Of course! Mommy and Daddy have a great relationship. They never fight. He says she is the person he loves the most in his life!" My face flushes with embarrassment. I think to myself that Malcolm Gray really shouldn't be saying things like that in front of a child. Lost in happiness, I continue asking questions. "Then did you take my last name, Rosewood, or Daddy's last name, Gray?" She falls silent for two seconds, like she is confused. Then, she replies, "I have Daddy's last name, but my mommy's last name is Parker. Her name is Summer Parker." I freeze at those words. Summer Parker is the name of my best friend since childhood. Just yesterday, she and Malcolm end up in the hospital after getting into a physical fight because of an argument involving me.

After I was rescued from a staged kidnapping, my wife, Vanessa, moved out of our bedroom on her own. No matter how I explained, she insisted I had been attacked because I had cheated. Even when I tried to touch her, she screamed and threw up on me. Friends and relatives looked at me with more and more pity. Everyone told me, "Vanessa's a good woman. Stop tormenting her." Even my son snapped, "You're so filthy. Why do you have to force Mom?" From then on, I was branded a cheater and a lunatic. I spent the rest of my life in misery and despair, and in my old age, I ended that wretched life by throwing myself into a lake. Only after I died did I learn that the kidnapping had been staged by Vanessa herself. She used my guilt to make me take care of our son and her father. Meanwhile, she kept herself "pure" for the man she'd never gotten over and lived a carefree life with him. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day I was rescued.

On the day I left for a business trip, my son, Billy Smith, livestreamed his suicide attempt from our home. While I took my time shopping at the mall, my younger sister, Lori Chaney, and my husband, Greg Smith, were beside themselves with panic. By the time I got the call from Lori, I dropped everything at work and rushed home. However, I reached home to see Billy sobbing into the camera. “Mom, whenever Dad isn’t home, you bring Mr. Scott into the house. After that, you’d force me to keep it a secret. When I refused to play along, you abused me in every way you could! I also found the medical report in your nightstand. You have AIDS, but you never told Dad. I’m ashamed to have a disgusting woman like you as my mother!” Billy then jumped from the building and landed on the rescue airbag without a scratch. I, however, became the target of public outrage. I tried to clear my name, but no one believed me. After all, who would risk his own life just to frame his mother? Greg even brought me a glass of poisoned milk and forced me to drink it. He then told everyone that I had committed suicide out of shame. When I opened my eyes again, I realized I had been sent back in time to the day Billy threatened to kill himself.

During an avalanche, I risk my life to save my girlfriend, Naomi Sutton. I end up losing a leg and an eye. On the day I'm discharged from the hospital, she tells me, "I've done my part by taking care of you this whole time. There's no way I'll spend the rest of my life with a cripple. You understand why I need to do this, right, Caleb?" I've already resigned myself to a life of constant darkness when Zoey Rivers shows up. She doesn't mind that I'm disabled. She gently heals all of my wounds. Following our decision to get married, I start going through our belongings to prepare for our upcoming move to our new marital home. Unexpectedly, I stumble across Zoey's backup phone in the house. I find a secondary social media account that Zoey has been using to track the moving journey of her sister's battle against a crippling illness. The latest update reads, "I'm about to get married. Once it's official, I'll get him to donate a kidney to my sister at once, and she'll be saved." Posted with the caption is a photo of Zoey with a woman lying on a hospital bed—Naomi. At that very moment, the door opens behind me. "What's the matter, Caleb? Since you're at home, why didn't you answer me when I called for you?"

After my wife’s attempt to start a business failed, we lost everything. So I started working three jobs just to lighten her burden. When I was up on the thirtieth floor of a high-rise cleaning windows, there was a family celebrating a birthday inside. I looked inside enviously but unsuspectingly found my wife pushing out a cake made out of money to the older woman whose birthday was being celebrated. Through the window, I heard some conversation going on inside. “This is such a hard place to reserve, but Miss Pascal rented the whole floor out for her mother-in-law’s birthday!” “The tips she’s giving out tonight must be worth millions!” Suspended in midair, I nearly forgot how to breathe. What no one knew was that Miss Pascal’s real mother-in-law had just died in the hospital not long ago.

Josie Jackson, who had been cold to me for ten years, suddenly changed her attitude. Not only did she take me on a worldwide trip, but she also personally cooked a lavish dinner for me. I thought our relationship had finally improved, but little did I know, she had put an excessive amount of sleeping pills in the food. I was taken to the hospital, where I was forcibly castrated without any anesthesia. By the time I regained consciousness, I saw Josie and her so-called brother close together. "Josie, you're so good to me! I only mentioned being envious of Andrew's health. I can't believe you actually emasculated him all for me." Josie's expression remained calm. Her eyes were filled with nothing but affection for Alex Carter. "This is what he deserves. If it weren't for him back then, you wouldn't have been in that accident and ended up with a physical disability. "I'm only returning what he took from you." Ten years ago, during an earthquake, I gave up saving Alex and chose to save her instead. So she took all the pain Alex suffered out on me. Since I felt guilty, I endured her torment for ten years. This time, I finally gave up. After finding out I didn't have much time left, I called my mother. "I agree to the heart transplant for Robert."

An hour into my daughter's college-sendoff dinner, Marissa Langley still hadn't arrived. Every one of the hundred-plus calls we made was rejected. Every message she sent back was the same automatic reply: "On my way." My daughter stood up and sat back down five times, head lowered as she twisted the hem of her dress, not knowing how she was supposed to read the line in her speech that said, "Thank you to my parents." When I finally couldn't take it anymore and left the room— I saw Marissa in the banquet hall next door. She was standing shoulder to shoulder with her first love, Adrian Pierce. In front of them was Adrian Pierce's son, whose GPA fell more than a full point and a half short of my daughter's. "Thank you, Mom and Dad, for raising me!" The boy bowed to them. Marissa held Adrian's arm, smiled softly, and gave a gentle nod. Amid the thunderous applause, I stood there watching them for a long time. Suddenly, I felt more tired than I had ever felt in my life. So I turned around and went back to my daughter's table. "She isn't coming, sweetheart. Go onstage and say what you want to say." I reached out, patted my daughter's shoulder, and said softly, "And the thing you asked Dad about before— "I've thought it through. We'll do it your way."

It started with a sudden downpour. I turned around to buy an umbrella. By the time I got back, Winston Sterling had already draped his overcoat across Sera Thorne’s shoulders. He pulled me under the umbrella, his tone gentle, as if soothing a spoiled child. "Sera can't handle the cold. Just let her have it this once, Nat. Be a good girl. Don't make a fuss." I looked down at my own shoulder, which was already completely soaked through. I didn't say a word. We had been building our startup for five years. Everyone always said Winston and Sera were the dual heart and soul of Sterling Tech. One wrote the code, while the other pitched the product. Meanwhile, I was the one managing the budgets, chasing down clients, advancing money for our office rent, and pulling all-nighters to grind out business proposals. Yet, all I ever got from him was a single, offhand sentence. "Nat, you're always the reasonable one." But I finally understood. It was always the reasonable one who got pushed out into the rain, time and time again. When the car door opened, Winston practiced an all-too-familiar routine, adjusting the passenger seat cushion for Sera. That was a lumbar support cushion I had bought for myself after injuring my waist. I threw the newly purchased umbrella straight into the trash can. Then, I pulled up my phone and clicked send on the equity exit agreement I had prepared long ago. Three minutes later, his reply came back as a brief, three-word text. "Don't be silly." What he didn't know was that at that exact same moment, I had also opened another email.

I was selling some furniture that was collecting dust on a used-goods site when a girl messaged me about discounts. "Can I get it for a bit cheaper? I'm still in college, and I moved out of my dorm because I got into a fight with my roomies. My boyfriend found me a new place. He's rich and said he'd marry me after I graduate, but I don't want to burden him so much. Please, just twenty dollars off? I can pick it up myself!" I was reminded of my college days with Jonathan Mueller. We used to take shared bike rides for two hours just to save five dollars. I was only an ordinary employee now, but I still had more spare cash than a college student. My kindness took over, and I agreed to the discount. That night, two figures appeared at the entrance of my neighborhood. The girl looked proud of herself. "I spent less than a hundred and got a barely-used washing machine! Brilliant, right?" The man looked at her with unmistakable affection in his eyes. "Yes, darling. You're the best. But I'm making money for you. You don't have to save for me. I'm the CEO of Mueller Group. I can support you. Don't haggle next time." The man raised his head, still smiling. When our eyes met, I froze. That man was Jonathan Mueller—the same man who had told me he was on a three-month business trip to earn three times the travel expenses..

My girlfriend, Selena Jenkins, and I are committed to a strict 50-50 relationship. We are three years into our relationship, and we split everything down to a single bottle of water. Then, out of nowhere, I get a call from a kidnapper. "We have your girlfriend. Have 150 thousand dollars ready, or she dies!" I calmly launch our app, SplitMate. According to the algorithm, this unexpected incident falls under "shared risk", meaning she is responsible for 50% of the cost. However, after factoring in the personal insurance policy I took out on her behalf, she only needs to pay 35,550 dollars. I send the calculation results to the kidnapper. "This is her share. Please contact her family for the payment. I'm only responsible for my own portion." The line goes silent. A few minutes later, I receive a livestream link. The livestream shows Selena tied to a chair, smiling at her phone. The live chat in front of her is blowing up. "Holy shit! This guy's a monster. This is the craziest livestream I've seen all year!" Later on, she follows the 50-50 rule to a T, but I'm no longer on board with it.

I broke up with Nicole Hayes, my girlfriend of ten years. It was not her or I who initiated it, but her male nurse at the hospital. Nicole suffered from severe congenital anemia. For ten years, I donated blood to her for nothing in return. During our eleventh year together, just when we were about to get married, I overheard the male nurse in charge of her transfusions say, “Wow, Miss Hayes! Don’t tell me you decided to marry this guy just because he’s been donating blood to you. “You probably don’t know this, but the hospital has a donor compensation policy. Each donation comes with a thousand-dollar stipend. “Over the last ten years, this guy must have made at least $200,000 off you, yet he still has the nerve to guilt-trip you into marrying him? How shameless!” Under Nicole’s shifting expression, he added with a smile, “Maybe I should be the one donating blood to you instead. I also have a rare blood type, but I don’t want money, and I’m not asking to marry you. I’m just kind-hearted and can’t stand people who emotionally manipulate patients.” Seeing the obvious change in her expression, I let out a soft laugh and said, “In that case, let’s do that.” Over the past ten years, I had donated blood to Nicole twice every month. To recover, I forced myself to eat pork liver until I felt like vomiting, and at one point, I became so thin that I was nothing but skin and bones. I thought Nicole understood everything I had done for her. I never expected that a few words from a stranger would make her truly believe I had been profiting from my suffering. Even more unexpectedly, she also came to think that marrying me was nothing more than emotional coercion. If that was how she saw it, fine! I would give her what she wanted. Still, she had better pray that nurse would keep his promise of donating blood to her.

My boyfriend, Aiden Ramsey, loses a game of Truth or Dare during a party. Someone dares him to say ten good things about my best friend, Natalia Williams. Aiden doesn't hesitate at all when he answers, "She's pretty, bubbly, has a great figure, knows how to play coy, loves to smile, has a high EQ, is independent, and has a good sense of aesthetics. Also, she's very good at making other people happy." Natalia picks Aiden again in the next round. She smiles and says, "Tell us about Sylvia's good qualities." Aiden is stunned for a few seconds as he looks at me. In the end, he finally answers, "She's understanding." Someone smiles and tries to smooth over the situation by asking, "What else?" Aiden frowns, seeming to be deep in thought. However, he's unable to come up with another good thing about me. A wave of exhaustion suddenly washes over me as the awkward silence stretches on. Aiden and I have been dating for seven years. We're going to get married soon. However, even after mulling over his thoughts for such a long time, the only good thing that he can say about me is that I'm understanding. I decide that I'm not going to be understanding anymore.

A week before our wedding, my fiance, Michael Gordon, secretly accepts a classified government job. He departs in a hurry, only leaving me with a simple, "Wait for me." Hope and expectation fill me as I hear that. Yet, for the next three years, he spends his monthly visitation day with someone else. Even when my mother falls terribly sick and I'm in desperate need of money; even when I cry heartrendingly just for a chance to meet with him or make a phone call, the only response I receive is the guard's exasperated message. "Mr. Gordon has already used up his visitation day. Please wait for the next month." Dejected, I get ready to leave. However, in the next second, Michael's childhood sweetheart, Liliana Zink, easily gains entry. "Mr. Gordon specifically instructed us to bring you straight to his office. He really does treat you very well. It's been a year since your breakup, yet he still worries about you being in a bad mood and spends his visitation days with you." As I move to rush inside again, the guard hastily stops me. "Don't even think about it. As if Mr. Gordon could possibly have any money. All his allowance goes to Ms. Zink." That night, I can't even afford to get Mom any painkillers. This is all my fault for being so useless. Nevertheless, I don't want to wait any longer. At last, Michael completes the project and returns, but I'm already married to someone else.

Whenever people from Meyruelle praised the 'beauty of the century', everyone would burst into laughter at once, scoffing. "Not only is she gorgeous, but she has the patience of a saint! She’s even raised two children for her husband’s mistress!" So when I finally asked for a divorce, not a single person took me seriously. David Thompson didn't even blink, casually tossing a check in front of me. "Stop making a scene and go buy yourself a couple of bags." My oldest son didn't even look up from his video game. "Stop bothering Dad. If you're going to get the hell out, just do it. Stop faking it." My youngest son called his biological mother directly. "That old witch looks like she's finally leaving. Mom, get ready!" Even the house staff shook their heads, warning me to stop playing hard to get. However, facing everyone's mockery, I didn't feel any sadness or anger. I simply dialed the phone number I knew by heart. "Muriel, our ten-year agreement is up. The debt I owed you for saving my sister's life is officially paid off."

My husband can't find his way anywhere. He can't read a map, and turn-by-turn directions only confuse him more. He got lost on our wedding day and turned up so late the ceremony had to be pushed back three days. He got lost on our anniversary while a table of food I'd cooked went cold. Eight months pregnant, I fell in the bathroom and called him for help. He sounded frantic on the phone, and then he got lost on the road home, the one he'd driven for five years. By the time he reached the hospital, our son had already been taken to the funeral home and cremated. I couldn't climb out of it, and everyone around me took his side. "That thick head of his can't hold a road. He wasn't late on purpose. Don't start a fight over it. You'll have another baby." I nodded, numb. Then, on the way to my son's funeral, I found out my husband had sent the driver away and taken a long detour to his assistant's house without a single wrong turn. "Grace, the service won't start for a while. I'll run Paige to the airport first. She's got to get back home." Before I could say no, we were already at her door. His assistant slid into the front passenger seat like it belonged to her, and every word out of her mouth landed somewhere tender. "See how well I've trained you? You forget the way to my place and I'll pull your pants down and deal with you." It was only when she noticed me in the back seat that she stuck out her tongue, embarrassed. "Sorry, Ms. Ellison. I was joking." I swallowed it and said nothing. And after Owen dropped her off, he lost the route to the cemetery again, and my son's service started half an hour late. Holding that small urn against me, I stopped hoping. So there was someone he could make an exception for. It just wasn't me, and it wasn't our son.

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."

On the day my wife, Rachel Carter, receives her Ph.D., I rush back from overseas. But when I approach her with a carefully chosen gift, she slaps me in front of everyone. "I'm a married woman with a family of my own. Stop trying to make me your lover!" I watch as she turns away from me and makes her way over to a family of four. "Honey, Mom, Dad, don't mind him. This man is crazy. Let's go," she says gently. Refusing to give up, I catch up to her and grab her arm. "What happened, Rach?" I ask. "Who's this scary man, Mommy?" a child asks. "Why does he keep bothering you?" Rachel yanks her hand away and pulls out her phone. "I've already called the police. Stop harassing me, you piece of trash!" As I stare at her retreating figure, a wave of exhaustion suddenly washes over me. I pull out my phone and make a call. "Notify headquarters, William. Cancel all plans to relocate our global headquarters back to Jekovia." After I hang up, I toss the gift into a nearby trash can and walk away without looking back.