Tragic Love Romance 단편 소설 & Marriage 소설

The night Lydia Harper's divorce was finalized, Graham Bennett set our divorce papers down next to our daughter's birthday cake. He said, "It'd look pathetic for her to walk out of a marriage alone. I have to go through one with her." Maisie was flushed with fever, and she still hung onto his sleeve and begged him. "Dad, tomorrow's my birthday. Please don't make Mom go." He pulled his arm back. "Be good. Dad's just putting on a show with Ms. Harper for a few days. We'll remarry soon enough." For seven years, every time Lydia made a scene, he came home and tore up my life all over again. Then last night I stumbled onto her second account. "Tomorrow I'm wearing the dress. He'll show up with his divorce papers so I'm not standing there alone." I looked at that line and suddenly didn't want to fight anymore. This time, let him go stand there for her. My daughter and I aren't waiting.

Amara Larkspur and I have been dating for seven years. But she claims that she's sick of me, so she quickly finds herself a younger lover. I don't kick up a fuss at all. All I do is throw away the engagement ring and take down the decorations of the proposal venue. After that, I leave the city where I got my heart broken. All of Amara's friends keep speculating just how long it'll take me to crawl back to her this time. After all, everyone thinks of me as her ultimate simp. However, this time, I never return to her side. Amara finally panics and calls my number. "Ryan Crawford, if you don't return to me right now, we'll break up for real!" But all she hears is a feminine voice that lets out a soft titter. "Ryan is bathing at the moment. I can help you pass the message if you'd like."

It took Daisy ten years to transform from a humble street vendor into a star investor in the corporate world. I stood by her side for every single one of those ten years. During our darkest year, I threw away every last drop of my self-respect and begged my estranged mother just for twenty dollars to buy us a decent meal. Looking back into Daisy’s heartbroken, tear-filled eyes, I gave her a soft smile and asked just one thing: "On the day the company finally goes public on Nasdaq, will you bring me with you?" She held me close and promised she would. Years later, when her company’s empire was soaring at its absolute peak, I gently brought up my old request once more. She didn't even bother lifting her eyes from her desk. "I’m way too busy right now. We'll talk about it later." So, I never brought it up again. Until one evening, I accidentally stumbled across a viral short video of her company’s grand public listing online. Daisy, who had told me she was merely away on a routine business trip, was standing right there on the Nasdaq trading floor. However, the man standing proudly beside her wasn't me but my younger half-brother, Jason. Holding hands, Daisy and Jason struck the ceremonial bell together, ringing in her billion-dollar empire. As fireworks exploded across the digital screen, she pulled Jason into a gentle, tender embrace. "Thank you for being here to witness the most important moment of my life," her voice echoed through the video. "I’m so happy." Jason wrapped his arms around her waist, whispering back, "Me too." I turned off my phone screen and let out a faint, quiet laugh. Then, I went about my day as usual, buying groceries and cooking dinner. After finishing my meal, I sent Daisy a short, simple text message. [Got twenty bucks to spare?] She didn't bother asking me why. She simply transferred twenty thousand dollars straight into my bank account without a second thought. I kept twenty dollars, and immediately wired back the remaining nineteen thousand nine hundred and eighty. I sent her a final two-word reply. [Too much.] Then, I wired that twenty dollars straight to my mother, officially settling a decade-long debt. Ten years ago, for twenty dollars, I discarded my pride and dignity for Daisy's future. Now, with that same twenty dollars, she brought our relationship to an end. There was never any room for me in her grand Nasdaq victory, and the quiet life I built from here on out will never have any room for her.

On our first wedding anniversary, my husband's childhood friend, Sophia York, is busy policing what I eat. "This one's too spicy. You can't have it." "This one won't do. It's far too greasy." "This one is deep-fried, too. You can't eat it." She smacks my fork away before taking my glass of orange juice away from me too. Once she's done, all that's left in front of me is a bowl of plain pasta. There are 12 dishes on the table, but plain pasta is the only thing I'm allowed to eat. Looking at me sympathetically, my husband, Ivan Jefferson, picks up a piece of beef that's been rinsed with water and places it on my plate. "Listen to Sophia, okay? She's a nutritionist. Once you recover from gastritis, you'll be able to eat whatever you want." I've been eating like this for three whole years, and my gastritis still hasn't gotten any better. Later, I become pregnant. As I struggle with morning sickness, I suddenly crave blueberries. Ivan rushes out to buy some, only to return with Sophia in tow. She slips into one of our indoor slippers as if she belongs here and immediately starts to clear out my refrigerator. "You've always had a sensitive stomach, Lily. Now that you're pregnant, it's even more important for you to watch what you eat," she says. "Let me take care of you for the next couple of months." Ivan feeds me a blueberry and gently coaxes, "I feel uneasy about leaving you home alone while you're pregnant, Lily. Sophia's a professional." Sophia pulls out her credentials and shows them to me. I stare at the name of the shady association and suddenly burst out laughing. Is this what he calls a professional? All that's left in my refrigerator are vegetables and some beef. As I stare at the nearly empty refrigerator, I suddenly feel tired of living this way. Once my morning sickness eases, I'll move somewhere else and start a new life.

My wife, Wendy Sinclair, has a severe sleepwalking disorder. After she falls asleep, she always wanders out in a state of unconsciousness. The night before our wedding, she disappears without a word. I have no choice but to postpone our wedding. Only then does she walk out of her childhood friend's house next door, rubbing her sleepy eyes. Afraid I might overthink, she cries and apologizes to me. "There's no cure for my condition. From now on, just tie me up when I sleep, okay?" I feel sorry for her, so I just change the door lock to make sure she cannot go out. But in the middle of the night, I wake up and see her standing on the edge of the balcony. She climbs in through the window and goes into her childhood friend's house again. Soon, suggestive and intimate sounds come from inside. My blood runs cold. Her sleepwalking isn't an illness at all—it is out of love.

Six weeks before their wedding, Marielle Rousseau tells Dorian Halberg she wants to have another man's baby. When he refuses, she brings it up day after day. Fifteen days before the ceremony, Dorian finds her pregnancy report. She's already nearly a month along. She never intended to wait for his consent. In that moment, the love he's carried for years begins to disappear. Dorian cancels the wedding, destroys the keepsakes of their relationship, and on what should have been his wedding day, walks into a high-security research facility that cuts him off from the outside world. From then on, Marielle has no place in his life.

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

Right before New Year’s, the sports car I had waited six months for was finally delivered. However, my wife Vanessa snatched the keys from my hand. “Ryan likes sports cars. Let him take yours for a quick spin.” I refused. I knew her godbrother, Ryan, did not even have a driver’s license. Still, she secretly gave him the keys anyway. When I saw my car again, the car hood was covered in blood. Vanessa was holding Ryan. Her face was full of distress, and her words left me stunned. “Honey, please take the blame for Ryan. No one will make things hard for you with your background.” I immediately refused, but Vanessa then pulled out her phone. “I already turned you in. Just go along with it. You’ll be fine.” I could not believe my eyes when I saw the police call history.

For six years of marriage, Cyran Valehart and I lived with measured respect, as if we were partners holding the same scale in perfect balance. For the sake of my equestrian career, I refused to have children. He shouldered the gossip, endured the judgment, and stood beside me without hesitation. But when I rode into what should have been my final international competition, he went back home with his first love—her hand resting protectively over her swollen belly. "All these years, you chose the horses over me," he spat. "That damned competition meant more to you than our family ever did." His voice shook with righteous anger, but his next words cut far deeper. "Six years ago, I abandoned Celia once. Now she carries my child. I won't betray her again." In that instant, my marriage became nothing but a title. I was reduced to a wife in name only, a figurehead in his home, a shadow he no longer cared to see. During the very competition meant to crown my life's work, Cyran laced a sharp needle beneath my saddle, each stride of my horse a fresh stab of pain meant to break us both. I lost the match. My horse collapsed with a shattered leg. And in that fall, my dream and my marriage were crushed together—ruined by the very man who once swore to protect them. Later, he paid with everything he had, desperate to make amends. But no matter what he sacrificed, Cyran Valehart was already behind me, nothing more than a ghost I would never turn to face again.

All men in the Sherwood family will go through a mutation when they hit 25 years old, where they will develop heavy breasts and wombs of their own, just like regular women. The only way to break the curse is to marry a blessed woman. In my previous life, Mason Sherwood wanted to marry my younger sister, Winnie Lowe. But I knew the truth, so I did everything I could to stop him. In the end, he was forced to marry me. On our wedding night, Winnie left a suicide note behind before jumping off a cliff. In that note, she accused me of stealing her true love from her. My parents lashed out at me for being a vile woman, whereas Mason hated my guts. One week after Winnie's death, Mason ordered his men to hang me off a helicopter and flew me around. With a ferocious expression, Mason cut the rope, causing me to fall from an extremely high altitude. All that remained of me was a huge puddle of flesh. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day the Sherwoods visit my home and ask for Winnie's hand in marriage. This time, I'd like to see how Winnie, who has lost her blessing, can save Mason's life!

My husband and my best friend's husband looked exactly alike, but I never thought much of it. My husband, Cody Hill, was one of the country's top scientific researchers. Since my best friend, Ophelia Underwood, had sworn never to marry, he built an android in his own image to keep her company and take care of her. At first, I found it unsettling. But after decades passed, I gradually got used to it. Things were fine until the day of our 50th wedding anniversary. The hotel suddenly collapsed, trapping my husband and me beneath the rubble. Only then did I discover that the liquid flowing from his open wounds was blue. In the final second before another slab of concrete came crashing down, I watched him split apart before my eyes into countless precision-engineered bionic components. After I died, my soul drifted above the ruins. That's when I saw the "android" standing beside Ophelia gently wiping away her tears. In a gentle voice, he said, "She's dead. I don't have to pretend to be a robot while I stay by your side anymore." When I opened my eyes, I was 25 years old again. Inside the laboratory, two identical men stood before me. I raised my hand and pointed at one of them. "I'll take this one."

After Cassian Frick scatters my mother's ashes, Serena Skelding and he become sworn enemies. To stand up for me, Serena drives her car into Cassian and breaks his leg. They remain locked in a bitter feud for five years. It finally comes to an end when Serena marries me, and Cassian leaves the country in disgrace. Three years later, Cassian shows up again at a class reunion. Someone urges him to liven things up. Cassian looks at Serena and smiles. "She and I once had a child. We went at it too roughly and lost it, though. Before I went abroad, she promised me she'd mourn our unborn child for three years." As he says this, he gives me a meaningful look. "Hey, you still haven't slept with her, have you?" I whip my head around and stare at Serena, demanding an explanation. But all she does is nonchalantly pat my hand and say, "After midnight, you can touch me." The normal intimacy between husband and wife somehow becomes a privilege she bestows upon me. She acts as if she's throwing me a bone. At that moment, I suddenly realize how laughably foolish I've been.

To prepare for a baby, my wife, Daphne Sinclair, suggested we start working out together and keep each other accountable by tracking our daily step counts. While I was away on a two-week business trip, she ranked first on our Fitbit leaderboard every single night. Then one day, my neighbor suddenly sent me a video. The location tag showed it was filmed right in the parking lot beneath my apartment. "Bro, impressive. Your wife's even hired a personal trainer for her workouts now? That Maybach suspension really hits different." In the video, a pink sports bra I had never seen before hung from the driver’s side window. The car rocked rhythmically, accompanied by Daphne's restrained yet excited breathing. I dialed her number. "Where are you?" Her voice turned soft and coy. "On the treadmill, sprinting. Honey, I'm working so hard for our baby." "Really?" I chuckled. "You've worked so hard the entire neighborhood knows about it." Holding the phone, I said slowly, word by word, "Open the door. I'm bringing you a towel."

The surgeon told me that amputating my leg could buy me one more year, and asked whether I'd accept it. My breath caught. I hesitated a long time, and then I messaged my wife anyway. "The surgery could give me another year. Do you want me to do it?" One minute before they wheeled me into the operating room, my phone finally buzzed. A message read "Hope this helps"! And a cash transfer. The same as every message I'd sent her for three years. Ever since our wedding night, when I asked her for five hundred thousand dollars, Victoria had been certain I was exactly the gold digger her friends said I was. So when I was hospitalized saving her life, she sent money. When I begged her to come to my father's funeral, she sent money. Six months ago I was diagnosed with the bone cancer that runs in my family. Before long I'd be like my father — tubes in every vein, parts of me gone, waiting to die in a hospital bed. I fell apart and sent her ninety-seven long voice messages. I received ninety-seven transfers.

I'd been "married" to Zachary for two years—until I tried applying for a loan and the bank's system flagged someone else as his legal wife. Our wedding? Just a private show. The real marriage license had his name next to hers. So yeah. I wasn't the wife. I was the other woman. Crushed, I went home—only to hear Zachary talking to his friend, Ethan, by the door. "Man, watching you stress is exhausting," Ethan said. "You clearly love Sierra. So why marry Cathryn?" Zachary looked torn. "At first, she was just a stand-in. But when she left, I couldn't stop thinking about her. So I brought her back—as my assistant." He paused, then muttered, "I can't live without Sierra. But I can't let go of Cathryn either. So I gave Sierra my love in public and kept Cathryn hidden with the title. That's fair, right?" I stood frozen, heart splitting open. He loved us both. Me—his childhood sweetheart. Her—the hidden wife. I thought I was the one. Turns out, I was just the game. He didn't break my heart. He shattered my whole world. But I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I walked away. And started planning two things.

During a game of Truth or Dare, my boyfriend lost and had to buy drinks for everyone. Half an hour later, he returned loaded with bags, grinning as he handed them out. "Jake, you've been up for two days. Here's your iced Americano. Lula, you like the mango passionfruit with extra tapioca, right? And your lemon juice, no ice. You've had it like 800 times." He went around the circle until everyone had a cup. But when he reached me, the bag was empty. The room froze. "Where is Harper's drink?" Todd Rossi pushed his cup toward me. "I forgot, but she can just share mine." His friends groaned. "Come on, every single time? If you're gonna rub it in our faces, at least switch up the moves." They laughed and teased him, thinking it was a public display of affection. But I knew the truth: Todd hadn't forgotten the drink; he had forgotten me. After four years together, he still couldn't remember that I was allergic to peaches. I quietly set the cup back on the table. Having put up with it for so long, I finally decided to leave.

I had just returned from the world's largest tech summit when my mentor called. She has always been like a mother to me. She told me she had arranged a marriage for me, with the daughter of a close friend of hers, Tania Jones. She was a rising talent in the capital's business scene, and a number of my patents were licensed to her company, forming the core technology behind their latest products. After working late in the lab, I changed into a carefully chosen suit and went to the engagement ceremony. However, I was stopped at the entrance by Elias Yates, Tania's personal assistant. He was wearing a perfectly tailored designer suit, every detail immaculate. He looked more like the groom than I did. "If you know what's good for you, walk away," he said with an icy smirk. "An orphan with no background should know his place. You are not worthy of Ms. Jones." I frowned and replied, "Does Tania know you are speaking on her behalf like this?" Elias let out a mocking laugh. "A kept man living off his mentor's reputation could never understand how important I am to Ms. Jones." There was obsession and pride shining in his eyes. I looked at him for a moment, then dialed Tania. "If this is your idea of welcoming your fiancé," I said evenly, "then perhaps my patents should only be shown to you on paper, right before I sell them to your rival instead."

The night before our wedding, my fiancee, Winona Yale, sleeps with her first love. He tells her he has cancer and wants to lose his virginity before he dies, and she agrees to fulfill his dying wish. Later that night, I, Liam Parker, receive photos of them together in bed. I laugh coldly and text back, "If she's that much of a saint, she's all yours." The next morning, I cancel the wedding and announce a party to celebrate staying single. Winona panics, showing up in her white dress with red-rimmed eyes. Her voice shakes as she sobs. "You don't want to marry me anymore?"

I've been married to my wife, Shannon Ruppert, for ten years, but we've slept in separate beds the entire time. The day our house catches fire, the flames are so intense that no one dares to approach. Still, I rush inside, knowing the ceiling could collapse at any moment. Ignoring the pain as my skin burns, I strain to lift the wardrobe pinning her down. The firefighter who rushes in tells us that, given the severity of the fire, they can only get one of us out. Without hesitation, Shannon points to Charles Rice, her first love. "I want him to live!" I feel no anger or resentment. I just ask the question I've never dared to ask. "For the past ten years, you wouldn't let me touch you. Was it because of him?" Shannon lowers her head and won't look at me. Finally, she lets out a quiet sigh. "I'm sorry. If there is a next life, I'll be a good wife to you." I smile. Only after hearing the answer from her own lips can I finally let go. If I can't win her heart in this life, I won't want it in the next. As Shannon stares at me in shock, I hold on to her and jump from the sixth-floor window, positioning myself beneath her to break her fall. When I open my eyes, I'm back on my way to college for my freshman year. Without a second thought, I use my dad's connections to transfer to a college as far away from Shannon as possible. But as I board the high-speed train to Belham University, a girl's voice suddenly rings out from outside the train. "Matthew, our story isn't over! It never will be!" I turn and look out the window. Shannon is driving a sports car alongside the speeding train.

My wife's first love broke into our home and killed me. Yet my wife, one of the world's top defense attorneys, stood in court to secure his acquittal. She insisted that the entire incident was nothing more than an act I had staged myself—a desperate attempt to win her attention. She even appeared at my funeral. Pointing at my coffin with open disgust, she sneered, "You'd stoop this low just to get my sympathy? Stop pretending and come out right now to apologize to Marvin."