Cerita Pendek & Novel Ruthless Familial Bond

My wife, Danielle Russell, has forgotten to log her WhatsApp account out of my computer after using it. When I'm about to help her log out, I notice a notification from a group chat popping up on the screen. "We're hosting a family dinner tonight to celebrate Vince's promotion." Out of curiosity, I click on the group chat. There are only four members there—my dad, my mom, Danielle, and my cousin, Vincent Tanner. Danielle texts back, "Are we the only ones attending? What about Leon?" "It's his fault for being petty all the time. He's the type who isn't above fighting with Vince over an apple!" I'm stunned, to say the least. It turns out that my family has already viewed me as an outsider.

Our pack has a tradition that goes back 100 years. When a pup turns one month old, her father plants a moonsilk vine with his own hands, and it grows alongside her. When the pup first shifts into wolf form, her mother harvests the ripe silk from the vine. From that moonsilk, she weaves two moon robes by hand. At the bonding, the she-wolf wears the long gown, and her mate wears the matching robe. Fur from both wolves is sewn into the lining of each robe. The robes symbolize one moon, one pack, and two mates with one heart. My twin sister, Lise, and I were both due to have our bonding ceremonies at the next full moon. A week before the ceremony, my mother brought Lise her finished gown. The gown shimmered silver in the moonlight. Lise couldn't stop touching it. My mother watched her fondly. "My little pup is about to be mated. I can hardly bear to let you go." My father tried to sound stern, but he couldn't hide his smile. "If Cecil doesn't treat you right, I'll tear his throat out!" I watched her with envy, hoping I'd get a gown like that too. "Mother, my bonding ceremony is at the next full moon too." My mother waved me off impatiently. "There wasn't enough moonsilk. Yours went to Lise too." I froze where I stood. My father glanced at me and said offhandedly, "Just buy a white dress for your bonding. It's the same thing. And stop sulking and making this hard on everyone." As I looked at the gown, I remembered how carefully my mother had tended the moonsilk vines in the moonlight. She'd once told me, "A bonding decides whether a wolf will be accepted by her mate's pack. It's one of the most important moments of your life." But they didn't care about my bonding ceremony at all. In that case, it was time I left the pack.

After my last exam, I spotted Mom waiting in the distance in a bright red dress. I was about to run to her when my twin sister, Rosie, beat me to it and threw herself into Mom's arms. "Sweetheart, you must be exhausted." Mom stroked Rosie's hair while Grant handed her an ice-cold juice and took her backpack. I stood where I was and watched the three of them climb into the family car, with Mom and Grant fussing over Rosie from either side. Just as the car was about to pull away, Rosie suddenly said, "Wait. We're missing someone." For one foolish second, I thought she meant me. I hurried toward them. Instead, Rosie waved at someone behind me. "Ethan! Over here!" Only after Ethan Cole climbed into the car did everyone finally notice me standing beside the open door. "Vivi? What are you doing here?" "Aren't you a year behind Rosie?" Because of my health, I'd started school a year later than my twin. Once I recovered, though, all their attention shifted to Rosie. They never even realized I'd skipped a grade. I looked at their confused faces and smiled. "I just came to wish Rosie luck." "That's sweet of you." Mom pulled two dollars from her purse. "Do you have enough for the bus? I can give you more if you need it." I looked at the two dollars in her hand, lowered my head, and whispered, "It's enough." The car door shut without hesitation. By the time I looked up again, even the exhaust had disappeared. I sniffed, pulled out my phone, and typed a question into the search bar: [Can you start college early?]

When my husband threatened me with divorce for the hundredth time, demanding I sacrifice myself for my sister, I did not cry or make a scene. I simply signed my name on the divorce papers and willingly handed over the man I had loved for ten years to my sister. A few days later, my sister spoke recklessly at a banquet and offended a powerful family. Once again, I stepped forward to take responsibility, bearing all the consequences in her place. When they later proposed that I become a test subject for my sister's drug research, I gladly accepted. Mom and Dad said I had finally grown into someone mature and responsible. Even my cold husband stood by my hospital bed and, for the first time in so long, gently stroked my cheek. He said tenderly, "Don't be afraid. The experiment won't be life-threatening. When you get out, I'll cook you a big meal." However, he did not know that regardless of whether the experiment was dangerous or not, he did not have to wait for me because I was already dying from a terminal illness.

After my son was abducted, my husband took me to an adoption center to bring home a baby boy born the same year as the child we'd lost. I poured every ounce of love I had into raising him. He had a sensitive stomach, so I pushed through my chronic back pain to cook him special meals every single day. When he spiked a fever in the middle of the night, I carried him twenty miles through the rain to the nearest hospital. When he couldn't focus in school, I was constantly at his classroom door, flattering his teachers and bringing them gifts, just to get them to pay a little extra attention to him. Fifteen years of grinding sacrifice, and it all came down to one moment at his college acceptance party. "I couldn't have gotten into Harvard without my mother's love and hard work," he said into the microphone. He raised his glass, eyes drifting toward where I was sitting. The cameras flashed as I started to rise from my seat, matching his silent lip movements. And then I heard a name I didn't expect. "She is Rachel Lynch." I froze. That was my best friend's name.

My parents were both highly educated professionals. The one thing they could never tolerate in this life was having a mentally disabled daughter who could not even speak. They considered me a genetic failure and devoted all their love and effort to their adopted genius daughter, Jacey Lee. In this family, Jacey was treated like a ray of sunshine, while I was seen as a filthy rat in the gutter. Their eyes were always filled with contempt whenever they looked at me. “Just seeing your vacant, idiotic face makes me sick. Stay away from us. Don’t infect your sister with your low intelligence.” When I was eight, Grandma took me to Willow Creek to visit our family graves. My foot slipped, and I fell into the water. I was wearing nothing but a thin pink padded jacket. At the same time, Jacey merely failed to answer a phone call, and my parents frantically searched for her everywhere. They completely ignored Grandma’s tearful call for help. I struggled desperately and opened my mouth soundlessly to call for help. My mother calmly analyzed the situation on the other end of the phone. “Mom, don’t let her fool you. According to child psychology, she’s pretending to be missing to get attention. If we go back now, we’ll only reinforce her distorted way of thinking.” My father impatiently cut her off. “Stop bothering us with that useless burden! With her limited intelligence, she’ll do nothing but look for food. Once she gets hungry, she’ll come crawling home like a dog. Jacey is the one in real danger!” The icy water rose to my neck. I took the piece of candy from my pocket. I had prepared it for my parents to celebrate my birthday. But the wrapper was wet, and I could not hold on to it. It slipped through my fingers. This time, this idiot would never return home.

Dad's temper explodes when I tell him that one plus one equals two. Frank Huxley ruthlessly kicks me in the chest and roars, "Who gave you permission to learn addition? Why won't you just listen to me?" He then grabs me by the leg and drags me to the door, shoving me out of the house. "You just love learning so much, don't you? Go then! But don't ever call me your father ever again!" I wail loudly as I bang on the door with all my might. Suddenly, I can hear Dad's thoughts through the door. "He's so annoying. Why is this villain so disobedient? He needs to be an idiot so I can complete my mission. I'll give him the cold shoulder for a couple of days and deprive him of a few meals. Let's see whether he still has the guts to learn behind my back then!" I whip my head up in confusion. I don't know what a "villain" is, but I can't shake the feeling that Dad doesn't actually love me.

After my younger brother, Dylan Whitaker, forged a college acceptance letter, swindled our family out of $30,000 in tuition money, and ran away, he vanished without a trace. My parents, Patricia and Thomas Whitaker, searched for him relentlessly until the stress took a toll on their health, leaving them unable to work. With no other choice, I used my savings to open a small convenience store for them. By the end of 2023, the pressure had become unbearable, so I chose to work overtime instead of going home for the holidays. Just as I finished my shift in the early hours of the morning, Mom called. “Your father’s heart condition has flared up. He needs surgery. How much money do you have left? Send it over to save your dad. We’ll pay you back once we’ve saved enough.” My heart sank. “Which hospital is Dad at? I’ll come home right now.” Silence stretched over the line for several seconds before Mom finally stammered, “There’s... there’s only one hospital in Fairview. Where else could he be? And what good would it do for you to come back? Just transfer the money first. Your father really can’t wait any longer!” Impossible. Fairview Community Hospital wasn’t even equipped to perform heart surgery.

My mother had hated my guts for 18 years. On the day I died, they had gone on a vacation and were happily snapping photos. The cops called her, but she got upset because the news marred her mood. So, she retorted, "He'd never take his own life. I bet this is just another one of his attempts to get my money. He can die for all I care. I'm not interested." She had no idea that I was already dead.

My sister-in-law, Hannah Martinez, was eight months pregnant when someone shoved her to the ground. Due to the heavy bleeding, she was rushed to the hospital. I happened to drive past, but I rolled up my window and pretended I saw nothing, pressing down on the gas pedal. In my previous life, I had immediately taken Hannah to the hospital when I saw her pass out from the blood loss. However, the situation was critical. After the severe bleeding, she developed an amniotic fluid embolism. My wife, Lauren Martinez, was the best obstetrician in the city. I called her, begging her to hurry to the hospital. Yet, she thought I was throwing a tantrum out of jealousy because she was having dinner with her first love, Isaac Poole, and his family. She believed I was using Hannah's emergency to force her to come back. By the time her family finally arrived, Hannah had already died from the failed treatment of the amniotic fluid embolism. Her entire family blamed me for Hannah's death, convinced that I had deliberately caused Lauren to misunderstand and let Hannah die. My brother-in-law, Jacob Turner, who rushed back from out of town, believed their lies. In his overwhelming grief, he hacked me to death with a knife at Hannah's funeral. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Hannah was pushed and started bleeding out.

My mom was a brilliant programmer. She created an app called "Shake for Allowance." After my brother and I downloaded it, she told us, "From now on, this is how you'll get your living expenses. On the first of every month, just shake your phone. Whatever number you get is the amount you'll receive. "The range is from zero to ten thousand dollars." At first, I was excited. Every month, I shook my phone with anticipation. However, every time, the result was the same: 0 dollars. My brother, meanwhile, always landed the highest amount. "Wow, sis, your luck really sucks," he said. Even when he showed me the transfer record for ten thousand dollars, there was a smug smile on his face. When I confronted Mom, she brushed it off, saying my luck was bad and that no one else was to blame. With no other choice, I worked three part-time jobs just to support myself while studying. On the night before my final exams, I collapsed from exhaustion and died. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the very day my mom created the "Shake for Allowance" app.

My brother died, so my parents forced me to undergo plastic surgery to look exactly like him and live his life in his place. "Your brother was a genius. You can't just leave his fiancée and research project behind. You have to take over." "You've accomplished nothing with your life anyway. Getting to live his life is a lucky break for you." They seemed to have forgotten that I had my own name and that I had a life of my own. My identity records were canceled, and my parents acted as though they had every right to do it. "If you really care about our family, then you should understand why we're doing this." "We're doing this for your own good. Don't be so ungrateful." Everyone thought I would break down and run away. Instead, I smiled. "He was a genius? Fine. I will take his place." I later signed a high-stakes wager agreement with his former rival and even carried out increasingly reckless experiments in his name whilst wearing his face. "Don't go too far. You'll destroy our family…" I looked at them calmly. "I see." I tightened my grip on the letters my brother had left behind before quietly feeding them into the shredder.

When I found the hotel booking receipts on my husband's phone, I asked for a divorce. I didn't yell. I didn't cry. My husband, Mark Sterling, thought I was just throwing another childish tantrum. He tossed a black credit card onto the counter. "The PIN is your birthday. Go buy yourself something nice and stop being so paranoid." When I didn't touch it, he sighed and pulled a limited-edition action figure from behind his back. "Look, I even got a gift for Leo. I'll pick him up from preschool tonight. Happy now?" My hands shook as I stared at the toy. Our son died in a car crash two months ago, on the day Mark skipped his parent-teacher conference. He didn't even know that our boy was dead.

My five-year-old daughter loved telling lies. I had taken her out to a simple school supplies run, but she yelled on the street that I was a human trafficker. Consequently, I nearly got arrested and taken to the police station. When we went home, she cried and threw herself in my husband’s arms to complain about me before I could say anything. “Dad, Mom wouldn’t buy me stationeries. She even hit me on the street!” I offered my husband an explanation. He heard me out, but I did not expect him to angrily slap me when I was finished. “Our daughter is only five. She can’t lie. Can’t you just put up with it?!” When I drove my daughter to school, she got down on her knees in front of me while the other parents were around. “Mom, please let me go to school. I don’t want to take naked photos for those guys.” When the teacher checked my phone, it was full of my daughter’s explicit photos. A mob of angry parents pushed me into the traffic, killing me. I could not figure out why my biological daughter would behave that way, even as I lay dying. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day when I was about to buy stationery for my daughter.

My younger brother had stage four kidney cancer. Our parents demanded that I donate a kidney to save him. I told them I only had one kidney left. The transplant would kill me. Instead of listening to me, they forcibly strapped me to the operating table. “It’s just one kidney! Stop being so selfish!” they yelled. They did not care that I was telling the truth. Years ago, I had given my other kidney to save my father after his car crash.

During the SAT exam, My sister and I both had an emergency at the same time. Overwhelmed by stress, I suffered a heart attack and was on the brink of death. Yet my mom, who was working as an invigilator that day, rushed to tend to my sister—who only had a stomach ache—without a second thought. I begged her to save me. But she kicked me away fiercely. “Can’t you pick the right time to put on a show for attention? If you ruin your sister’s grades, I’ll beat you to death, you beast!” Later, I failed to respond to resuscitation and died in the hospital. Mom collapsed overnight.

On my 18th birthday, my stepmother, Sheila Coleman, teams up with her secret lover, William Lynch, to kill me in cold blood. After that, she carves my femur into a bone sculpture and presents it to my dad as a gift. Dad loves the sculpture to no end. Thanks to Sheila slandering me in the past, he doesn't give a damn about me at all, even after finding out that I've gone missing. In fact, he even declares that he wants to cut off all ties with me. "Don't bring that brat up in front of me from now on! I hope that she dies out there!" But when he finds out that I'm really dead, he goes crazy from remorse.

I had been a copycat since childhood, but I only ever copied my older sister, Solana Darnell. When she took a liking to a strawberry cake from a particular dessert shop, I bought out every new product from that shop and kept eating it until my stomach hurt. When she took up equestrianism, I fell off a horse and broke my leg. The first thing I did after getting my cast removed was to go back to the stables with her. Whatever designer brand she wore, my closet would inevitably have the same piece the very next day. Later, Solana married the eldest son of the Creese family, Arthur Creese. I turned down every arranged marriage my father set up and instead married the Creese family’s second son, Alden Creese. Our friend group made fun of me for copying her even in marriage. She said to me angrily, “You’ve been copying me for over twenty years. When are you finally going to leave me alone? I can’t take this anymore!” That night, she left a suicide note and jumped off Harlow Bridge. Everyone said that I had driven her to her death. My parents forced me to apologize publicly in the funeral hall and admit to my fault. Alden lashed out at me, calling me so jealous of Solana that I wanted to steal her life too. Little did I know that the suicide was actually set up by my family, including Solana. The day Solana jumped, a rescue team was already waiting under the bridge. My family just wanted to scare some sense into me to force me to learn to be myself. But the only thing I took away from it all was the fact that Solana was dead. So I would copy her in that, too.

When I suffered from major depressive disorder, my academic performance plummeted. When my mother saw the big red 'F' on my exam paper, she was so furious that she tied my hands behind my back and threw me into the fish pond. “I scrimped and saved to send you to tutoring classes, and this is how you repay me? “Stop with this depression nonsense! You’re just being dramatic. You need a wake-up call. Stay in that pond until you come to your senses!” The weather was cold, and the water was freezing. I was never a good swimmer, so I could only beg for mercy. My mother, however, ignored my pleas. She forcibly dragged my father away to attend my cousin’s college send-off party. The waterweed wrapped around my feet and pulled me under. I decided to stop struggling. “Mom, I’m sorry I couldn’t be the perfect student you keep hoping for. Maybe you’ll be relieved to be rid of me.”

I'm born with severe allergies, the kind where a whiff of pollen can trigger a full-blown asthma attack. But my mom, who is also the principal of my school, insists that I go on a field trip to the botanical garden with the rest of my class. I plead with her, my eyes reddened, but she stays as cold and hard as ice. "You've got all your meds, don't you? It's just a little thing. Why are you being so dramatic? I'm the principal, so I have to treat every student the same. If anything, you have even more reason to go, so people don't think I'm playing favorites!" To show what a good relationship I have with my classmates, she publicly commands me to get into the flowerbeds and pick flowers to be given to the top student in our grade, Rachel White. The moment I get close to the flowers, I start coughing and wheezing violently. A crushing sense of suffocation floods over me. Mom doesn't look worried in the slightest. Instead, she bites out, "Penelope, how long are you going to keep this act going? You're doing this on purpose to cause trouble for me and embarrass me, aren't you?" She has no idea that my throat is already swelling and closing up. Every breath I take feels like I'm swallowing broken glass. It looks like I won't be a problem for her anymore.