Ruthless Familial Bond の短編小説 & 小説

The first year after my mother became a star, I learned that children give their fathers gifts on Father's Day. I didn't have a gift. I only had the letter Mom left behind for him. In my earliest memories, Mom was always on the balcony, talking to Dad on the phone. When I was three, she said, "Five million hush money? What is that supposed to buy? I spent it ages ago. I want cash now!" When I was four, she cried into the phone, "You're successful now. Just let a few crumbs slip through your fingers, treat it like spare change for a beggar!" When I was five, those phone calls stopped. Mom came back to us inside a wooden box. The lawyer told me that not a single penny of Mom's bank account had been touched. She left everything to me. But I didn't want the money. I just wanted my mom. This year, my teacher at school said we had to thank our fathers for Father's Day. I made the prettiest greeting card. Following the address written on the envelope, I walked all the way to a pair of grand iron gates. The security guard looked down at me and said, "Kid, Mr. Wright doesn't have any children. You clearly have the wrong address."

My mother-in-law threatened to teach me a lesson about wasting money. While I was visiting my parents, she planned to team up with my sister-in-law and livestream themselves dumping my expensive skincare serum, worth thousands of dollars, down the toilet. "Once a woman gets married, she should learn to be frugal and take care of her household! This stuff is ridiculously expensive. Today, I'm dumping every last drop just to hear it splash!" "My sister-in-law is so vain! Mom is teaching her how to be a good wife!" "Going live at 2 pm sharp! We are cleaning out that wasteful woman's vanity!" The moment I saw the announcement in the family group chat, I started panicking. I immediately called my husband, Chester Lloyd, and begged him to stop them. "Stop your mother! Don't let her pour the stuff in those bottles by the sink down the toilet!" Chester sounded completely unconcerned. "What am I supposed to do? My mom can't stand watching you waste money. "They are just a few bottles of skincare products. So what if she dumps them? Why get upset with an older woman over something so trivial? "Once you learn to stop wasting money and start living frugally, I will buy you a cheaper set." I was frantic. "But ..." Before I could finish, Chester hung up and went back to his video game. The problem was, what she had taken was not skincare serum at all. It was highly concentrated industrial sulfuric acid, the kind that could trigger a violent explosion when it came into contact with water.

After spending five years in Virtue School, I was a machine that dutifully carried out every order. Seeing me staying as silent as a grave, my father exclaimed happily, "Jojo's such a good boy now. Come on, let's eat! Let's celebrate!" Hearing the order to eat, I sprang to my feet, grabbed a plate, and stayed on all fours, shoving food into my own mouth with my own hands. My sister Josie shot me a look of disgust. "Mom! Dad! How has he improved?! He's even more annoying now!" On the other hand, the culprit who made me like this—the adopted orphan of my mother's fallen comrade—was suddenly tearing up, his voice cracking. "Sorry, brother… I didn't know you'd hate me for so long. "If you hate me that much, I will go to my mother. I'm more than content after your parents have taken care of me for so long." My brain, essentially lobotomized by shock therapy, couldn't understand such complex sentences. So I only watched as he gritted his teeth and pressed his dinner knife against his own neck. My parents promptly leaped up to stop him, while Josie bellowed at me, "No! If anyone should die, it's Joseph! He's such a jinx, ruining the mood here as soon as he comes back!" It was another complex sentence, but my mind caught the order this time. 'Die. Joseph.' Without hesitation, I scrambled to my feet, dashed toward the open window, and jumped.

I suffered sudden kidney failure and lay unconscious in the ICU for seven straight days. The doctors issued three critical condition notices. In the end, it was my eighteen-year-old son, Nolan Brooks, who donated one of his kidneys to save my life. Everyone praised him for being such a devoted son. The media hailed him as "the most devoted son" and even planned to turn our story into a public service campaign. But the first thing I said to him after I woke up was: "Nolan, I’m cutting all ties with you. You’re no longer my son." His face went pale, and with red-rimmed eyes, he asked me, "Dad, I just gave you a kidney. And now you’re disowning me?" I looked at his haggard face and answered, each word deliberate. "It’s precisely because you gave me a kidney that I need to sever all ties with you. Completely."

Four years after marrying Wesley Coleman, Emma Payne is expecting a baby. She shows up at the hospital with her forms to get registered, but when the nurse runs her info, she tells her that the marriage certificate isn't valid. Emma simply can't believe it. "No way. That can't be right." The nurse taps on the stamp. "Look at that. The seal is all crooked, and the code doesn't check out." Emma isn't convinced yet. She rushes to the courthouse, but they tell her the same thing. "Mr. Coleman is married, and his spouse's name is Sandra Payne." The news hits her like a ton of bricks. Her mind just goes blank. Sandra Payne is Emma's half-sister. Worst of all, she is also Wesley's first love. Years ago, she went abroad to chase her dreams. She never showed up to her own wedding and left Wesley heartbroken. And now, she is actually his legal wife.

The day I get into Harton University, one of the top colleges in the country, everyone in town is proud of me. "Lindsay, you wouldn't be where you are today without your mom!" "Your dad is gone, and your mom had to raise you all by herself. It couldn't have been easy!" "We've all seen how much she's done for you over the years. Good deeds really do get rewarded." Mom smiles and tells me to get a bottle of good liquor from the cellar for everyone. I go down there, but instead of finding the liquor, I uncover a merit ledger hidden amongst the bottles. It is written in Mom's neat handwriting. "May 17. I deliberately poisoned our neighbor, Mr. Lowe, and killed him to gain blessings for my daughter's studies and help her become the top student in the country."

From as far back as I can remember, I knew my mom hated me. She gives me sleeping pills when I'm three. When I'm five, she tries pesticide instead. But I'm hard to get rid of. By the time I'm seven, I've already learned how to fight back. If she refuses to give me food, I flip the table so no one can eat either. If she beats me up until I'm on the ground, writhing in pain, I go after her beloved son the same way, leaving him bruised and bawling. That's how we stay locked in battle until I turn 12. Everything changes when my youngest sister is born. I'm clumsily trying to help with her wet diaper when Mom suddenly shoves me against the wall. The look in her eyes holds both disgust and fear. "What were you trying to do to my daughter? I knew it. You take after that monster of a father. Why didn't you just die with him?" I hold my aching head. For the first time, I don't fight back. I believe she's right. My existence is a mistake. I should never have been alive.

While on a car trip, our car is struck by falling rocks and breaks down on a remote mountain road. My sister, Renee Olsen, is terrified. We wait three hours before a passing vehicle finally comes. The driver rolls down the window. "I can only fit three people in my car. How many of you are there?" My mom, Penny Ziegler, lets out a relieved sigh and smiles. "Great, there are three of us." My dad, Leonard Olsen, immediately shifts slightly to the side, completely blocking me from view as I cower in the back seat. They get into the car with Renee and leave. Ten minutes later, Mom sends me a message. "Renee is in shock. We're bringing her to the hospital for a check-up first. You stay right there with the car and wait for us to pick you up." I glance at my leg that is bleeding from cuts caused by shattered glass and reply, "Okay." I wait from day into night until my phone battery dies, yet my parents never return. They never pick up my calls or reply to my messages. A team conducting geological surveys nearby discovers me, barely conscious. They arrange for a tow truck and rush me to the hospital, as I'm burning up with a fever. The doctor frowns when he sees my leg. "Why did you wait until now to come in? Young lady, your wound is infected. You need surgery to debride it. Where is your family? Get them here quickly to sign it." I slowly unclench my stiff fingers and take the surgical consent form. Calmly, I pick up the pen and sign my name. "I can sign it myself. They've already forgotten about me."

My father was a highly respected criminal investigator, and my mother was the head of the ER, dedicated to saving lives. However, I was a regular at the local police station. I fought, caused trouble, and earned the title of “the most hopeless kid on the block.” The first time, I publicly insulted my newly transferred cousin at school. My father dragged me straight to the police station in front of everyone and had me locked up for a full day and night. The second time, I led a gang of thugs to block my cousin’s way home in an alley. My mother was so furious, she dumped me deep in the mountains, leaving me to be bullied by a lecherous bachelor. The third time, I stole a keepsake from my cousin and tossed it down a sewer. My father put the handcuffs on me himself and sent me straight to juvenile detention. Five years later, I became a key informant in an anti-fraud operation, helping the police crack a major nationwide case. The media rushed to report the story, and journalists packed my parents’ house to interview the “hero’s family.” However, my parents just scoffed over the phone. “Her? A hero? We will only believe she is changed for the better when she is dead.” So why was it that when they saw me lying in a pool of blood after shielding a hostage, they finally cried?

A group of thugs dragged me into an alley. In a panic, I called my boyfriend thirty-nine times, only to have him decline every single call. My whole body trembled as I struggled desperately to break free. Just as they were about to strip me naked, laughter suddenly erupted around me. One by one, they removed their masks and caps. I looked up stiffly and saw that every one of them was someone close to me. My younger brother, Caleb Bennett, scoffed. "This is hilarious, sis. You should've seen the look on your face. Did you seriously think someone was stalking you?" My older brother, Adrian Bennett, teased, "How are you still this easy to scare after all these years?" My best friend, Maya Grant, smiled at the girl beside her. "See, Jenna? I told you she was a coward, but you didn't believe me. Do you believe me now?" I followed her gaze to Jenna Gale, the woman Blake Carter had always carried a torch for, who had just returned from abroad. She stood behind Blake, looking at me with feigned innocence. "I had no idea you were really this easy to scare, sis. "No wonder you guys do this every year, Blake. It's actually pretty fun." Blake remained completely indifferent, never once looking at me. "If you like it, we'll do it again next time." I stood frozen, my entire body went cold. Only then did I realize that this was yet another one of their pranks meant to toughen me up. Two years ago, they locked me in a pitch-black room and told me ghost stories, leaving me plagued by nightmares for an entire month. Last year, they put dead snakes and rats in my bed. I was so terrified that I collapsed and went into convulsions. Today, one more person had joined them in tormenting me. It suddenly occurred to me that it was time to put an end to this farce once and for all.

Three months after our daughter, Aria Kirk, is born, she ends up in the ICU. That's when my wife, Leyla Saunders, sends her childhood friend and secretary, Kamryn Benton, to hand me 50 bucks. She wants me to get rid of our baby, claiming that "a poor man's genes aren't worth passing on". I tear up the agreement, scoop Aria into my arms, and leave Leyla. I run into her again five years later. She's donating 30 million dollars to the municipal children's hospital, while I'm working as a caregiver at the hospital, with Aria by my side. My baby girl is starving. The moment she spots half a leftover drumstick on a tray, she reaches for it. I grab her frail wrist and pull her back. "Aria, what did I tell you? We don't pick up food other people leave behind." She stares longingly at the chicken. "But it's just on the table. It didn't hit the trash can yet. If you wipe it off, I can still eat it." My throat tightens, and I feel a heavy weight pressing against my chest. Just as I'm about to pull out the half-eaten bread from this morning, a familiar voice calls out from behind us, "Jason?"

By the time I was diagnosed with end-stage heart failure, UNOS had finally matched me with a donor heart. My foster sister Isabella had the same condition, but no donor heart had been found for her. My family had heard somewhere that if I signed a voluntary waiver giving up the transplant, the heart would go straight to her. For three straight months, my parents refused to pay a cent toward my care to pressure me into signing. They told anyone who would listen that their own daughter was selfish enough to take away her sister's only chance to live. My older brother Howard came to my room and tossed the waiver onto my bed. "Isabella just got into a top university. She has her whole future ahead of her. "You already have severe drug allergies. Even with that heart, rejection could kill you at any time." Before he could finish, Isabella ran in sobbing, threw herself into his arms, and demanded to know if I had to step over her dead body just to stay alive. Howard patted her back gently. He had once nearly died carrying me out of a fire. Afterward, he cried and swore he would never let me die before he did. Now all he ever did was look at me with those cold blue eyes. My hand shook when I picked up the pen. "All right, Howard. "I'll sign it."

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.

When the university announced a nine-day break, my roommate started booking their tickets home on their phone while I was busy answering trivia questions on mine. This was my family rule. I had to answer questions to earn my allowance. There were ten questions, and every correct answer would get me $2. There were four levels for the trivia, which were Beginner Level, Intermediate Level, Advanced Level, and Expert Level. I did the trivia for seven years, from high school until my second year of university. One morning, my father, Norm Livingston, texted in the family group chat. [Whoever gets all ten questions correct, I'll pay for the ticket home during Thanksgiving.] I tried hard to suppress my excitement as I focused on answering the questions, but I got one wrong. I texted the results to Norm with clenched teeth and begged, [Dad, the questions this time were really difficult, but I got nine right. The train ticket is only $50. Can you cover it for me?] However, Norm replied right away with a voice note, and he berated me. "The rules are the rules. Look at your brother. He got all ten questions right and won himself the flight ticket. You should work harder to improve your knowledge. Stop thinking about having fun all the time." My younger brother, Ezra Livingston, texted the group with a screenshot of Norm transferring him the money for the ticket. [First-class ticket worth $1,000 to come home to your family.] The text was followed by another text from my older sister, Edith Livingston. [I specially set your questions at Beginner Level for you.] I stared at their texts and looked at my questions, which were at Expert Level, and I called my counselor after that. "Is it too late to submit my application to Gerasia as an exchange student?" I no longer wanted to reunite with my family during Thanksgiving.

My little brother, Rylan, wanted to go to the park. However, Dad told me to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn't wander off. So, Rylan said he wanted to play hide-and-seek at home with me, and I agreed. Unfortunately, I couldn't find him after he hid. I searched everywhere for him. I looked through all three floors of the house and even searched the yard. At the time, I just thought that Rylan had found an incredible hiding spot. It wasn't until that evening that our neighbor brought him home with the police. Only then did I realize that Rylan had slipped out of the house while I'd been counting with my eyes covered. Terrified that Dad would find out he'd snuck off to play, Rylan threw his arms around Dad's leg and burst into tears. "Dad, Caleb threw me out of the house!" Dad flew into a rage and slapped me across the face. "How could you be so cruel? Your brother is only five years old! You told me he was playing hide-and-seek with you. You rotten liar!" But Dad... I was only seven. I tried to explain, but Dad never believed another word I said. From that day on, I ranked lower than even the chauffeur in our house. Every day, I was fed spoiled leftovers and forced to sleep in the doghouse. When I was 12, a bad woman kidnapped me and made me call Dad for ransom money. All I got in return was his furious voice yelling over the phone. "You rotten liar! You really will say anything for money, even something like this. If they won't let you live without it, then go ahead and die." The woman was so furious that she kicked me off the unfinished balcony of an abandoned building. I hit the ground, and my body was splattered beyond recognition. Before I even had a chance to feel the pain, I found myself drifting upward. Dad… I hadn't been lying.

I loved eating cakes. My dad would bring me one every day after work, and my mom bought a full set of oven and baking tools, patiently learning how to bake them for me. I once thought I was the happiest little princess in the world until the day my parents divorced. The person who came to pick up my dad turned out to be the bakery owner. My mom turned to me, growling, "This is all your fault! If you hadn't asked for cakes every day, your dad never would've cheated!" She stretched out her hands, covered in burn scars, and screamed hysterically, "I slaved away making cakes for you, and these hands have never healed since. What did you do? You both think the stuff from outside is so much better!" She grabbed a baking sheet and smacked me hard with it. I bit my lip, not daring to make a sound. That night, she brought home a little girl. Ignoring the pain all over my body, I begged for her forgiveness. "Mom, I'm sorry. Please don't throw me away. I swear I'll never eat another cake!" She slapped me across the face, but that wasn't enough to quench her anger. She tossed me into the big oven. "I'm not your mom! You love cakes so much? Stay in there and reflect on what you've done! You and your worthless dad both deserve to die!" After she slammed the door and stormed out, the little girl skipped over to the oven, grinning smugly as she hit the switch. "From now on, your mom is gonna be mine!" The oven kicked on, and the temperature began to rise. I smiled bitterly. At least this way, my mom could finally be happy.

My mom often makes an example out of someone when it comes to parenting. Unfortunately, I'm that someone, while my little brother, Raymond Nelson, benefits from it. Ever since I was four years old, my mom had been using this method. If Raymond breaks a bowl, I'm the one kneeling on the floor to pick up the pieces. If Raymond destroys something belonging to someone else, I'm the one writing the reflection report on his behalf. Mom tells me, "You're the older sister here. Since you can't keep your brother in line, you're the one at fault." But Raymond can never get rid of his bad habit of stealing and lying. When Franklin Harris, the owner of a grocery store, comes knocking on our door, Raymond points at me once again. "She was the one who stole your money!" In order to help Raymond get rid of this problematic habit of his, Mom decides to hand me over to the owner. "Sorry, Franklin. It's my fault for not raising my child well. I'll give my daughter to you. You can do whatever you want to her, be it scolding her or beating her up." Little does she know that I will never go home after Mr. Harris takes me away.

I loved Stella for five years, and we were even engaged. However, she never helped when my grandfather was dying, all because the adopted son of my family suggested that she should use the opportunity to put me through adversity—so that I would toughen up. After my grandfather died helplessly, I toughened up just as she hoped for, no longer relying on her for everything. Naturally, I no longer loved her anymore either.

Ever since Mom loses the baby, Dad has been spending his time keeping his late classmate's wife company. So I take scissors to our family photos, cutting him out of every single one. When Mom receives a call from my school, she overhears me telling a classmate that my dad is dead and asking if I can borrow theirs instead. Mom freezes for a moment before admitting, "Yeah, he died young." When family sports day rolls around, Mom catches me slipping a ten-dollar bill to the school guard, begging him to pretend to be my dad for the day. Instead of stopping me, she quietly hands the guard 200 dollars, making sure he attends the parent-teacher conference with me. Whenever an event requires a father figure, Mom simply lets me rent one. Eventually, it dawns on Dad that he hasn't heard anything from us in a long time. He clears his entire schedule for the afternoon to pick me up from school, but my teacher stops him at the school gate. Dad heads back home in confusion. The second he steps through the front door, he overhears me speaking to the maintenance guy. "My dad's dead," I tell him. "Do you want to be my new dad?"

On the day of my engagement party, the fake heiress of the Sharpe family, Angelina Sharpe, bursts into the hall while covered in wounds. She falls to her knees before me and begs for mercy. "I've learned my lesson, Char. I never should have taken your place as the heiress of the Sharpe family. I'll leave right now. Please spare me." Dad refuses to listen to my explanation and slaps me. "How could you be so despicable? She's my daughter too." My fiancé, Henry Fuller, is wearing a furious expression as he steadies Angelina. "I'll never marry a woman with a wicked heart like you, Charlotte Sharpe." They seem to be deaf to my explanations and send me to the infamous Trueheart Academy. "You can come back once you've learned how to behave yourself!" No one in the family visits me even once in the three years that I spend there. I am electrocuted and put in solitary confinement. I'm also publicly humiliated. My sense of shame and self-esteem are completely shattered. Later, my family finally takes me home when Angelina and Henry are engaged. I've become the well-behaved woman they want me to be, but they're the ones who lose their minds.