Tragic Love Romance-Kurzgeschichten & Male POV-Kurzromane

There's a running joke in my circle about the biggest doormats around, and I've topped that list for years. Turns out there's something even sadder than being a doormat: getting your wedding banquet canceled ten times by your fiancée. The first time, Melissa Ferguson had to stay behind and nurse her childhood friend, who'd taken a bad fall. The second time, her childhood friend was starting his first day of work, and Melissa couldn't stop worrying about him. ... The tenth time, her childhood friend got into it with a client at work, and Melissa tore off her veil and bolted out the door without a second thought. The wedding guests openly mocked me and turned the whole thing into a joke again. But I'd already made a decision. I'd go after my own goals from now on. No more wedding. Melissa and I were done. She went her way, and I'd go mine. One day, I walked straight out to the car waiting outside and went to make something of my life.

Yale Xenford was the Divine Son of the Ninth Heaven and carried the responsibility of saving all living beings. When the Heavenly Tribulation descended, my master, Emma Carter, heartlessly pushed me forward to face it on everyone’s behalf. She sent me to die in Yale’s place. The Heavenly Tribulation put me through endless agony. I lost all my cultivation before I managed to survive by the narrowest of margins. After I returned to the Ninth Heaven, my wife, Snow Lockwood, promised me a grand wedding. But on our wedding day, Yale left behind a letter and went to challenge the Demon Queen, Grace Sullivan, to a fight to the death. He lost the battle and fell into her hands. Snow could not bear to see him suffer. She joined forces with Emma and offered me to Grace in exchange for Yale’s freedom. In the end, Grace tore out my heart, and I lost all five of my senses. Only then did the people who had always protected Yale start to deeply regret their actions.

I was an Ageless. Many years ago, because of nothing more than a single loaf of bread, I became indebted to Sheila Johnson in a way I could never escape. The only way to find my way home was to grant 100 of her wishes. Her very first wish was for me to become her lover. To repay that debt, I stayed by her side without ever asking for a name or a promise. I taught her what it meant to love, and I shared countless long nights with her until our lives became inseparable. For the next three years, every wish she made was astonishingly simple. She only wanted to see me smile a little more. Then, during the annual Winter Festival, she released hundreds of glowing lights into the night sky. They drifted ever higher, shimmering across the heavens like a river of fallen stars. As she watched the breathtaking display, she whispered her 96th wish. "May we never part from each other." Yet only a few days later, she ordered every trace of my existence at Johnson Manor erased before casting me out of the estate. As I stood alone in the middle of a raging snowstorm, I heard her casually speaking to her friends as though I had never mattered at all. "Whatever you do, don't let Keith find out that I once confessed my feelings to another man. "You all know Keith has always been the one I loved. If he hadn't been sent to the neighboring kingdom as a hostage when we were still children, I never would have needed someone else to take his place. "Now that the king of the neighboring kingdom is dead, I've already arranged for Keith to fake his death and return safely. This time, I'm going to marry him. I won't let myself have any regrets."

When my wife, Stephany Jones, cries into her pillow again in the middle of the night, I pretend to be sound asleep. Six months ago, the man she has never been able to forget, Chase Barker, gets divorced and returns from overseas. From that moment on, her eyes and her emotions are once again consumed by the love she can never quite let go of. She is a good wife and a good mother. Every asset we own is under my name, and she insists on handing over her entire paycheck for me to manage. All this time, she suppresses her feelings for Chase and never crosses the line that would betray our marriage. But this fragile restraint is shattered the day she secretly sells one of her kidneys behind my back to buy Chase a property. I hand over a divorce agreement, as well as half of our marital assets, to her and say, "There's no need to sell organs just to finance your true love. Half of our assets should be enough to cover your dating expenses."

I see a post on Facebook Marketplace that someone is offering a used baby stroller for free, but it's pick-up only. The villa address listed is in Oak Springs, a wealthy area across the city. I strap my son, Timmy Powell, securely into his baby carrier. Then, we travel two hours by bus and another half-hour on foot under the scorching sun before finally reaching the villa. I'm soaked in sweat by the time I arrive, and Timmy also starts crying loudly from the heat. I'm surprised to find out that the seller is also a stay-at-home dad, just like me, but he exudes a relaxed and wealthy air instead. He glances at my disheveled appearance and speaks in a tone laced with disdain and pity. "Did you come from East Bay? And you're planning to walk home like this? "My driver's about to send my wife to her company. They can give you a ride back. I'll just take it as doing charity for the poor." I thank him for the pleasant surprise and pull open the car door. However, the woman in the back seat gets out with a look of disgust on her face. "I'll sit in the front passenger seat instead," she says. I feel embarrassed at her statement. However, the moment our eyes meet, I freeze on the spot and stare at her. As it turns out, the woman is my wife, Janice Hyde, who works extremely long hours at the office every day. She also hasn't come home for Christmas for three consecutive years, claiming it's for triple pay.

In the seventh year of being a caretaker for my comatose wife, Gwen Anderson, I got a well-paid job request. [Accompany my wife for her pregnancy check. I’m paying ten thousand dollars for a half-day task.] When I arrived at the hospital, I saw Gwen, who was supposedly in a coma, smiling as she talked on the phone. “It’s just a check-up. It’s not my first time being pregnant anyway. Why do you have to hire someone to accompany me? “That’s right. I bought the mansion located in the south of the city. It’s only a few hundred million dollars. Just treat it as your birthday gift for this year! “Why are you bringing Zac up? If he didn’t fake his illness on the day you came back to the country, we wouldn’t have wasted a month! “I pretended to be in a coma for seven years so he would pay off my debt. That is the punishment he deserves.” I was stunned. To pay off the debt, I sold my assets, my company, and even my family heirloom. Just as I was about to step forward, Gwen said cruelly, “Alright, I’ll listen to you. I’m tired of pretending for so many years anyway.” The next second, my phone buzzed. It was a text. [Zac, I’ve woken up.]

While waiting for my next ride request, I pick up a father and his son. As they get into my car, rainwater drips onto the seats. The man, Cory Quick, hands me five 20-dollar bills. "This should cover the car wash." Before I can refuse, Cory has already stuffed the money into the crack between the seats. "You drivers have it tough these days. My wife gives me so much allowance every month, and I can't even spend it all. "She's swamped with work today. Otherwise, she would've picked me up earlier. Isn't that right, Joel?" Cory holds his son, Joel Quick, in his arms, like he's showing off a little. I force a polite smile as I watch them through the rearview mirror. "Your wife treats you really well." Cory shrugs. "She's alright, I guess. Actually, she has a boyfriend, but she's worried he's after her money. That's why she's pretending to be broke. I married her overseas. Oh, right. Her boyfriend is a rideshare driver too." I freeze for a moment. After all, I also have a girlfriend who's drowning in debt after going bankrupt. Before I can even respond, the man holds up his phone and shows it to me. "Look at that. She knows I'm still not home, and she's sent me money again." Beneath the string of zeroes is a voice message. Cory taps on it, and Hannah Judd's voice comes through the phone. "Honey, are you in the car yet? I bought us supper, and I'll be home soon." A chill runs through me, and my hands start trembling on the steering wheel. Just a moment ago, I got a message from Hannah too. "I have a business dinner, so I don't think I'll make it home tonight."

Ten years of marriage, and my wife always insisted she was asexual. She never once let me touch her. Then, during a visit to her parents—who had been pressing us about having a child—she suddenly started throwing up. She announced to everyone that the baby was mine, and told me flatly, "This child will be born as your son, whether you like it or not." So I smiled, encouraged her to keep the baby, and quietly signed the divorce papers.

It was my and my wife Camille’s ninth wedding anniversary. I had rushed home with a fertility specialist in tow, hoping to surprise her. However, when I pushed the front door open, the house was already full of laughter. I walked in, heart pounding, to find Camille holding a little boy by the hand. Her voice was soft and warm. "Today is Miles's first day of school celebration. I want nothing but the best for my baby." Camille heard me come in and turned around. She walked toward me, snatched a pot of hot soup off the table, and flung it straight at me. "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm married! I have a family! Stop trying to get me to have your kids, you freak!" I fought through the pain in my arm and grabbed her, desperate for an explanation. She wrenched free and slapped me hard across the face, then grabbed everything within reach and hurled it all at me. "If you don't get out of here, I'm calling the cops, you psycho!" Then she winked at me, took the boy by the hand, and walked over to the elderly couple nearby. "Mom, Dad, don't worry about him. He's nobody." I stood there, watching the happy family in front of me. I looked down and forced the ring off my finger, the one I had worn for nine years, and tossed the blood-streaked band at Camille. "Camille, deception always comes at a cost."

When I was being falsely accused of harassment, Sage was right there at a concert with Simon, a guy in the year below her. I begged her to testify for me, but Simon lost his mind and broke down. Feeling sorry for him, she shoved me aside and sneered, “Where did you filthy lunatic come from? I don’t even know you.” Left with no way to prove my innocence, I was beaten up by the crowd, twitching on the ground until I finally passed out. When I woke up, I threw away the matching couple's ring I had with Sage and dialed my mother's number. “Mom, about the arranged marriage with the Benedict family, I agree to it.”

At the top of a high-altitude stunt platform at Highspan Adventure Park, Vanessa Blythe suddenly unclipped the primary safety line behind me. Before I could react, she shoved me from the edge. I crashed onto the emergency airbag below, and pain tore through my entire body. When the staff hauled me back up, her childhood friend Mason Lowell was holding up his phone, laughing until he could barely breathe. The screen replayed my humiliating fall again and again. "Vanessa, did you see his face?" The moment he laughed, Vanessa finally relaxed. Mason was autistic, but for some reason, watching me suffer always delighted him. So during the ten years Vanessa and I were together, scenes like this happened countless times. When I lost my job, Vanessa hung a banner and celebrated with him. When I was hospitalized after a crash, she stood outside my room with him and laughed. Every year on his birthday, she made me dress as a clown to entertain him. She knew that undoing a safety line at that height could kill me. But if it made Mason happy, Vanessa never hesitated to put me in danger. Blood from my split forehead blurred my vision. As I wiped it away, I suddenly wanted to walk away from the ten years I'd spent refusing to give up.

While taking photos at a scenic spot, I move around three or four times to find the best angle. I point the camera at my girlfriend, Ruby Sutton, and loudly repeat three times, "Look here!" But she seems not to hear me, staring at something in the distance instead. Then, my friend, Joel Ziegler, clumsily takes out his phone and calls out to her. "Look at the camera!" Ruby quickly poses and gives the camera a loving smile. A young couple sees the photo on Joel's phone and starts teasing them. "Wow, your girlfriend must really love you. You can see it in her eyes in the photo!" Joel's ears turn bright red, and Ruby clears her throat awkwardly. I look down at my camera and see that I only captured a third of her face. It looks like a photo taken by paparazzi. Since we were kids, they'd habitually ignored me, assuming I had no opinions of my own. When we were teenagers, they'd always excitedly choose where to go, taking it for granted that I would come along. Now that we're grown up, the two of them decide to study medicine, expecting me to agree and enrolling me in a medical program. Later, they become the "ER's top duo" at the hospital. Yet no matter how hard I work, I can only become a nurse. When I look up, the two of them are already walking side by side toward the next spot to take photos. They probably assume I will follow. Instead, I turn around and walk in the opposite direction. All this time, I have always been the one trailing behind them. But there comes a day when I no longer want to keep up.

After work, I bought three movie tickets, but it wasn't until two minutes before the movie started that my girlfriend and my childhood friend arrived. My girlfriend, Sally Clarkson, transferred me the money for it as usual, saying, "That's for Alex's ticket." I paused, feeling a little repulsed as I stared at the transfer notification on my phone screen. Sally would pay for Alex Zims' medical bills when he got sick and pick up the tab when I bought him food. Before I could ask her why she was always paying everything for Alex, Alex handed me a cup of coffee while handily whipping out his payment app QR code. "That's ten bucks, Jim." I was stumped and turned to Sally, but she was staring at her phone like she didn't hear a thing. And seeing that I was silent, Alex quietly withdrew his hand, and that was when Sally looked up at me again. Frowning, she snapped, "Just pay for it! Are you really going to go cheap on ten bucks?!" My brain zoned out for a second, but I soon laughed. In the end, it wasn't as if she didn't hear us—she just didn't care about me.

I'd just come off a night shift when the college kid Laura Marano had cheated with planted himself in front of me and begged. "Kyle, please. Let Laura have my baby. She said you're the only one she'll listen to. "I'm not asking for anything else. I never once told her to leave you. "This is my first child. You're a doctor. Doctors are supposed to have a healer's heart. Please, just give our baby a chance to live." While he pleaded, Laura rushed over, breathless. "The affair was on me," she said, guilt written across her face. "So whether this baby stays or goes, that call is yours to make." It was the same scene I'd lived through once before, back when I still believed in loving one person for a lifetime. I hadn't been able to stomach it back then: the girlfriend I'd loved for five years, cheating on me. I'd cut things off clean and never looked back. That decision was what opened my eyes to how the world really worked. The other man who'd stolen my place ended up living like a king, drowning in money. Meanwhile, I'd worked myself half to death in the operating room and still couldn't scrape together enough to treat my mother's illness. I'd come to agree with a bitter little saying: love, in the end, always turns out the same. So this time around, I told Laura something different. "Get rid of the baby. The wedding's still on."

I have a habit. Whenever I eat, watch a movie, or ride the bus, I will always save an empty seat next to me. I believe that Cindy Newman will one day show up in my city and surprise me. But we've been in a long-distance relationship for three years, and not once has she ever visited me. In the end, I have no choice but to handle all the wedding preparations on my own. I try on countless suits to find the one. I look everywhere for the perfect venue. The exhaustion ultimately catches up to me. With trembling fingers, I text Cindy, "I'm running a 102-degree fever. No meds at home." It takes her 30 minutes to reply to me, "So? What do you want me to do? Learn how to fly and deliver you meds? I'm busy going over a proposal. Just order it online and have it delivered to your place." My high fever is so intense that I can barely lift a finger. Amid the haziness, I pass out. When I wake up, I see my best friend, Eugene Grant, by my side. He sighs and feeds me warm water and a tablet. "She's just taking advantage of the fact you're too kind to say anything. If I were you, I would've blown up already." Two weeks later, Eugene also comes down with a high fever. I've planned to rush over and take care of him, but I see his latest post online. The photo shows only a woman's hand holding a spoon. The caption reads, "The weather is getting colder, and I've unfortunately come down with a cold. Thank goodness for a superwoman who travels over 500 miles to deliver me soup." I know what I'm seeing. It's Cindy's hand. On Cindy's wrist is the bracelet I've spent six months saving up to buy for her. At long last, it dawns on me that the empty seat remains empty not because she can't make it, but because she simply doesn't want to. In that case, I'll stop saving a seat for a person who will never come.

I have a poor sense of direction. I can go to the same place ten times and still not know how to get there. So, Aimee Thornton spends an entire week putting all the streets around school into a hand-drawn map for me. There are no directions on the map, only places named "The Convenience Store With the Yellow Dog at the Door" and "The Old Man Who Sells Terrible Tacos". She ruffles my hair and muses, "How is this one going to survive without me?" But everything changes when our friend, Dean Sullivan, comes home from abroad. During our trip, Aimee tells me to get out of the car and check if we've skidded. My feet have just touched the ground when the car speeds off. She texts me the next second. "There's a rest area about three miles ahead. Dean and I will wait for you there. Dean has a point. You'll never get over your poor sense of direction if I don't give you a push." I end up trekking through the torrential downpour for an hour, desperate and panicking. Aimee suddenly sends me a hand-drawn map with an arrow, and she's added a cute smiley face beside it. "Follow the map, and you'll be there in 20 minutes." Alas, I walk until my calves ache, only for the road to narrow and cut off in a dead end. I call Aimee, but Dean's lighthearted laughter greets me instead. "Hey, man, congratulations on taking the wrong way! "I made a bet with Aimee that you wouldn't notice the arrow she'd drawn on the map was deliberately pointing in the opposite direction. As it turns out, I know you better than she does. "And that means I'm the only one she gets to hang out with for the rest of the trip, since having you tag along will be too much trouble." I hear Aimee's indulgent laugh going off beside him. "A bet's a bet. Whatever you say goes, Dean." The price of codependency is too much for me—so much so that I'll be lost if Aimee decides to up and leave me. I wipe my tears dry. I want to find my way alone this time.

The day my attending physician gave me the critical illness notice, my wife Jane Hesler secretly mortgaged the house to the bank without telling me. The money she borrowed was not for my medical treatment, but was transferred to her first love, Anthony Shane — all because he said he needed funds for his business. I called her. "The house is for our daughter. You can't touch it." Her voice on the other end of the line was full of anger. "If you'd been able to come up with the money, would I have had to mortgage the house? Anthony's business needs funding; what's wrong with me contributing some money as a partner? Let me tell you something. I can live a thriving life without you." After hanging up, the doctor asked me with a grave expression, "Are you sure you don't want further treatment?” I nodded, putting on a bitter smile. "Yes."

It was the fourth anniversary of our relationship. Heather Hilmann took her friend Liam Sherr and me went to have barbecue together. The waiter recognized them and smiled, asking, "Still the usuals?" Heather nodded. It was a table by the window for two, and Liam sat on the inside. The ribeye had slightly charred edges, and the dipping sauce had no onions. She gave the first piece and the last piece to Liam. I sat near the aisle, and there was not even a dipping‑sauce dish in front of me. When they paid the bill, the waiter checked the membership records and reminded them with a smile, "Ms. Hilmann and Mr. Sherr, tonight was your 100th visit. You can take your customized grill pan home." A line of words was engraved on the back of the grill pan: [Heather and Liam, Together Forever.] The date was three years ago. I then remembered that Heather had been at the hospital celebrating my birthday that day. It turned out that the two hours she had been away were not for a company meeting. Liam touched the engraving and asked her with a smile, "After you and Ian Jeffrey get married, will we still have our monthly get‑together?"

After seven years together, Joan Quinton and I finally walked into the studio for our pre-wedding photos. Derek Blake—my old college roommate and the guy who'd introduced us—tagged along. The second he put on his custom best-man suit, Joan's eyes lit up. She immediately wanted a few pictures with him. I was standing in the middle in my wedding suit when Derek rubbed his nose and laughed. "Dude, I look like a bodyguard." Joan instantly pulled me aside and gave him the center spot. The camera flashed. The two of them looked way too natural together. Like they were the ones getting married. While we picked out photos, Joan tapped the shot of all three of us. "Let's blow this one up for the reception." I looked at her. "Why would another guy be front and center in a photo at our wedding?" She shoved the mouse away. "You're a grown man. Why are you being so petty? If Derek hadn't introduced us, would we even be together?" "It's just a photo. I'm still marrying you, aren't I?" I stared at myself on the screen. Even in my best suit, I looked like I didn't belong. Just because you're standing somewhere doesn't mean it's your place. And just like that, I was done fighting to be front and center.

The news said a massive hurricane would make landfall in Maisonet Bay by six that evening. By four o'clock, coworkers were already packing up to leave. The subways and buses had stopped running. Anyone with a car offered to give the carless a ride home. When someone asked if I needed one, I smiled and turned them down. "Thanks, but I'm good. My girlfriend's picking me up." They laughed and teased me about how nice it must be to have someone. At five, the wind outside picked up. I called Melanie Hayman, but she didn't answer. Our last messages were from an hour ago, when she'd said she was "almost there." I figured traffic must be bad and left it at that. By five thirty, the rain was coming down in sheets. I was the only one left in the office. The bulb overhead flickered, then went out with a pop. I dialed Melanie's number again in the dark. This time someone picked up, but it wasn't her voice. "Ryan?" I froze. "Where's Melanie?" "Mel's driving. She can't really talk right now."