Tragic Love Romance 단편 소설 & Independence 소설

I marry Mason Longbright, my savior, at 24. For five years, Mason's erectile dysfunction and bipolar disorder keep us from ever sleeping together. He can't satisfy me when I want him, so he uses toys on me instead. But during his manic episodes, his touch turns into torment, leaving me bruised and broken. On my birthday night, I catch Mason in bed with another woman. Skin against skin, Mason drives into Amy Becker with a rough, ravenous urgency, his desire consuming her like a starving beast. Our friends and family are shocked, but no one is more devastated than I am. And when Mason keeps choosing Amy over me at home, I finally decide to let him go. I always thought his condition kept him from loving me, but it turns out he simply can't get it up with me at all. I book a plane ticket and instruct my lawyer to deliver the divorce papers. I am determined to leave him. To my surprise, Mason comes looking for me and falls to his knees, begging for forgiveness. But this time, I choose to treat myself better.

Right after I had my uterine scraping procedure, Ian called. "Construction on Tina's new home officially starts today. I'm going over to keep an eye on things, so don't wait for me for dinner. "You're on your period today. Don't wander around outside for too long. Go home and get some rest." I touched my flat stomach and couldn't speak for a long time. All this time, Ian and Tina had been the design firm's poster children. One was a specialist in hard finishes, while the other was a prodigy in soft furnishings. Even our marital home had been designed by the two of them working together. But every time we discussed the plans, Ian would pull out another set of blueprints he had painstakingly refined and patiently explain to Tina the entire hardscape design he had created specifically for her new home. Every detail was a perfect replica of the dream house he and I had once imagined together. "Tina lives alone, and the house is small. Designing it for her is no big deal. "Besides, you're not pregnant yet. Once we have a baby, we can renovate the entire house, including the nursery, all at once. It'll save us trouble." For the sake of 'saving us trouble,' I had waited three years in a house where not even the walls had been painted. All I got in return were Ian's repeated excuses and empty promises. He didn't even know I was pregnant. He had mistaken the symptoms of my threatened miscarriage for a normal period. Tina's flirty voice came through the phone. "Ian, don't slack off! Come help me double-check the measurements we left for the bathroom cabinets!" The call ended abruptly. I took a deep breath as I listened to the harsh beeping tone. After waiting three years for this unfinished house, I suddenly didn't want to wait anymore.

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.

Just because I point out a mistake in the intern, Lester Hale's proposal that can cost the company millions of dollars, he feels embarrassed and goes straight to Sandra Wendell, the CEO, threatening to quit. The next second, she storms into my office and starts grilling me. "Couldn't you have spoken to him privately? Lester's young, and his ego's fragile. Why did you have to humiliate him in front of everyone? Don't forget, his dad's a major shareholder. I'm giving you two options now. "One, I'll promote Lester, give him a raise, and you'll become his assistant. That way, I'll agree to officially announce our relationship. Two, keep acting like this, and we break up." When I remain silent, she smirks triumphantly. "I knew you'd never pass up a chance to go public with our relationship. Now, you can clear your office for Lester. Later—" But I calmly cut her off, "Sorry, but I choose the second option, and I'm resigning. I wish you and Lester a happily ever after."

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.

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.

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.

On my twentieth birthday, my parents placed a stack of photos in front of me—eligible bachelors from elite families all over the country—and told me to pick one for an arranged marriage. I told my dad to leave it to fate and draw lots. In my past life, I had chosen without hesitation the man I’d long admired: Lucas Whitmore, the most eligible bachelor of Astor Hill's elites. But after we got married, I found out the truth. His first love—the girl he had always held dear, Claire Monroe—was devastated by our marriage. One night, heartbroken, she went out drinking and was assaulted by a group of thugs. Claire attempted suicide three times after that. And Lucas blamed it all on me. He handed over my family’s fortune to Claire, draining every last cent from the Meyers. In the end, Lucas even helped her cut the brake lines on our car. My parents and I died in that crash. Now that I’d been given a second chance at life, the name I drew was Liam Morgan—the reclusive heir from Orchard Valley, known for shunning the world and dedicating himself to Buddhism. But when I showed up arm-in-arm with Liam at our engagement party, Lucas lost his mind.

On my fifth wedding anniversary with Rebecca Leavitt, I sign an organ donation consent form. My entire family opposed my decision. Mom sobs as she slaps herself across the face. "This is all my fault. I'm useless. I couldn't make enough to pay for your heart transplant…" Dad took an overnight train from our hometown. The moment he stepped inside, he knelt down in front of me. "I'll sell my kidney on the black market. Please don't do this!" he pleads. My younger sister, Winona Zander, tore the consent form to pieces, scattering the scraps across my face. "Will, just hold on for another six months. My scholarship will come through soon!" Only Rebecca said nothing. She sits calmly on the couch, painting her nails with the polish she just bought, its crimson shade resembling blood. "Do whatever you want," she said, blowing lightly on her nails. "The doctor said your heart wouldn't last more than three months anyway."

As soon as I leave the hospital after my abortion, I send my husband, Rykel Heffer, a message. "I terminated the pregnancy." I get an instant reply. "Okay." I stare at that single word and suddenly find it almost funny. For years, whenever I gave him a heads-up before heading into a high-risk assignment, the only reply I got was "okay". And whenever I reminded him that if he was unable to reach me for 24 hours, he should come looking for me, I also got a simple "okay". When I was trapped under the rubble after a building collapsed and lost contact for 72 hours, I sent Rykel 309 desperate messages, consumed by fear. He replied with 309 "okay"s. Only now do I realize that every reply I have ever received has been an automated response. Since Rykel never reads my messages, naturally, he has no idea that half a month ago, I told him I would be taking an overseas assignment and terminating the pregnancy today. His attention and affection have always belonged to the woman who fills his social media feed—Joey Mugbrey. "It's our thousand-day anniversary, and it's Joey's birthday too!" The post is accompanied by a screenshot of their chat history. Above the countless messages is a 1,000-day streak, celebrating their thousand days together. I tap "Like" on his post and leave a comment. "A wonderful day indeed." Today marks the anniversary of the day I narrowly escaped death in that collapse years ago. More importantly, it is the day I decide to leave Rykel for good.

In the fifth year of our bland marriage, I receive a message that my husband has booked a hotel room with a woman. Within the next second, seductive pictures of me show up in the work group chat. In the pictures, I seduced my husband but failed. My colleagues in the group chat mock me by saying, "She gave Mr. Reed an ultimatum and forced him to marry her. He was forced to break up with the woman he loves." "Mr. Reed put up with her for five years. It only makes sense that he could no longer resist and decide to reunite with his lover." My sick father dies out of shock, yet my husband does not show up to his funeral. That night, I inform Belinda that I wish to divorce her son. "Back then, you told me that I'm Caleb's blessing in life. You said that he'd have endless success if we were to marry. "As long as I married Caleb for five years, you promised to pay for my father's medical fees. Now that the time is up, you should let me go too."

Word on the street in the city of Hereshire was that Roy Chester had a penchant for eighteen-year-old girls. Yet, Willow Croyton was twenty-one when they started dating, and she stuck by him for nearly three years. She was a well-known simp to Roy, her only merit being her docility and good behavior. Later, when Willow left, Roy was spotted multiple times near her apartment block, his eyes teary. 

I agreed to leave the firm with Adrian Cross, my childhood friend, after he claimed he was being bullied out of his job. But the day before we were supposed to resign, he changed his mind for Mia Foster, a new intern. One of his colleagues laughed. “Impressive. You pretended to be bullied at work for months just to trick Evelyn into leaving.” “But you two grew up together. You’re really going to send her to a new firm alone?” Adrian rolled the bourbon around his glass. “She’ll still be working in the same city. How far away can she possibly go?” “Besides, isn’t she always saying she’s independent and the department can’t function without her? This works out perfectly.” I stood outside the office for a long time that day. In the end, I turned around and walked away. I withdrew my application from the firm we had planned to join together. Instead, I accepted the offer my parents had arranged for me at Bennett Global’s London headquarters. Everyone had forgotten one thing. Adrian was the one who begged me to stay.

Our wedding anniversary also happens to be our son's birthday. A month in advance, I carefully plan a family trip for the three of us—me, my husband, and our son. But right before we're supposed to leave, both of them suddenly disappear on me. I'm left standing alone in the pouring rain, dialing their numbers. On the other end, my son's young voice comes through, sounding cold and impatient. "Dad's having dinner with Ms. Moore. We don't want to go anymore." The call ends, and I'm blocked. Later that night, they intentionally lock me out of the house. I'm left standing in the freezing cold all night long. Soaked from the rain, I come down with a high fever and develop pneumonia. Meanwhile, my husband and son are off vacationing with Sophia Moore, smiling for a happy family photo with just the three of them. And in that moment, I know this marriage has truly come to an end.

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."

Five years after having a son with a feared mob boss, she wept until her eyes turned red by my hospital bed. Taking advantage of her business trip, I went to see my personal doctor to beg him to keep my terminal illness a secret. Instead, I overheard a conversation outside the door between her, our son, and her right-hand man: "You don't get it. He's just like Oscar when he was younger. Being with him feels like falling in love with Oscar all over again." "Yeah! He's way gentler than Dad. I like Daddy Theo way better!" It turned out that her "business trip" was straight into my personal doctor's bed. If that's the life she wants, she can keep it. I don't want this mother and son anymore.

The day I found out that my pilot husband, George, had given our wedding band to his widowed childhood sweetheart as a talisman, I changed his contact name to Captain Tanner. When I was suffering from a severe stomach bleed, George got a call from Tammy, saying that her son had woken up from his sleep, missing his late father. Without another word, George walked out on me. He promised to be there for my follow-up appointment, but he was quick to change his flight for Tammy because she was afraid of the thunderstorm while at the airport. I snapped a photo of my medical evaluation and texted, “Have a safe flight, Captain Tanner.” It was the same old reply. “Quit acting up. Tammy and her son have had it tough enough.” Later, he booked our favorite restaurant to slip the ring back onto my finger in celebration of our seventh wedding anniversary. Before we could get inside the establishment, the call from Tammy came in. “George, I’m scared. Can you pick me up? Liam said that you’re the only father he’s got…” George took one look at me and opened his mouth to explain. I handed the ring box to the server. “Please dispose of this for me.” I then turned to him. “Captain Tanner, your passengers are waiting.”

For eight years, Damian Caruso kept me as his secret wife. I handled his family's lawsuits, protected his empire, and raised the son he refused to acknowledge in public. Ethan wasn't even allowed to call him Dad when anyone else was around. I told myself Damian had his reasons. Until our son's seventh birthday. Damian promised he would come home. Ethan waited beside an untouched birthday cake until nearly midnight. Damian never showed. Because Sofia Bellini—the childhood friend everyone already treated as Damian's real woman—had the same birthday. And Damian had chosen hers. That night, I stopped waiting. I signed the divorce papers. The next morning, Damian was in such a hurry to rescue Sofia that he signed the documents I placed in front of him without even reading them. He didn't realize he had just given me permission to take Ethan out of New York. Then he moved Sofia into our home—and asked his wife and son to leave so she wouldn't discover we existed. Ethan looked at the father he had spent seven years trying to love and called him "Mr. Caruso." Damian finally looked shaken. But it was already too late. On the day we left, he told me he had to fly abroad to handle a divorce case for a client. I said nothing. Because that divorce case was mine. He was flying across the ocean to finalize the end of our marriage—and he still thought I was just taking our son out of town for a few days.

In the second year of our marriage, which Brett Mason had secured through relentless means, he brought home his latest conquest—a stunning blonde. As the door swung shut, he ran his fingers through her silky hair, flashing me a smug, triumphant grin. "Wanna join us? You might learn a thing or two about not being such a dead fish." I could still recall how he once adored my hair, claiming that just stroking it would melt away his deepest worries. It turned out any woman could serve that purpose. In that instant, a profound sense of release washed over me. I retrieved the divorce agreement I'd stashed away in a drawer and handed it to him. "Sign it, and I'll make room for her." My days were numbered, and I had no intention of wasting what little time remained entangled in his resentment.

"Anna, are you sure you want to recommend Riley for the Kentran Top-Secret Research Project? It lasts a decade, and you two will be separated for a long time," the person in charge of the project looked at me with shock and doubt in his eyes. Riley and I were known to be the model couple in the company. The story of how he had almost drained all his blood to save me was still something our colleagues talked about here. I looked at the footage from the security camera on my phone, where Riley and Nelly were sleeping together. I nodded resolutely. "Of course. I want the separation." Since Riley had chosen to betray me, he had to pay the price of losing me.