قصص وروايات قصيرة عن Plot Twists وتضم Ruthless وتدور في Family Emotions

After my parents moved into their new house, they kept refusing to let me see it ahead of time. It wasn't until Labor Day that my mother, Gloria Grant, finally sent me the address, being all mysterious about it. Mom: [Allie, come home, quick! This year, the five of us are spending our first Labor Day together in the new house.] I hurried over with a box of pumpkin tarts in hand. In the entryway, four pairs of custom-made slippers sat in a neat row. There was gray for my father, Martin Grant, and off-white for Mom. My older brother, Fred Grant, and my younger sister, Lily Grant, each had a pair too. I looked down and searched for a long time before Mom finally dug a pair of disposable hotel slippers out from the bottom of the shoe cabinet. "I forgot to have a pair made for you. You hardly ever come home anyway, so it doesn't matter what you wear." I said nothing, not until Lily excitedly dragged me off to tour the rooms. She had a walk-in closet, and Fred had a gaming room. Even the space by the balcony had been partitioned off into a tea room just for Dad. I came to the last door. Inside was a folding bed. Mom smiled. "This is the guest room. You'll stay here whenever you come back." I stood there, stunned, for a long time. So when they moved, they hadn't simply forgotten to ask which room I wanted. From the very beginning, it had never occurred to them that this home needed a room for me. At dinner that night, Dad raised his glass. "From now on, our family finally has a real home." I smiled and clinked glasses with everyone too. But under the table, I quietly withdrew from the job that would have kept me in the city and accepted a position twelve hundred miles away. They had already moved into their new home. It was time I went to find mine.

When I was six, I eagerly asked Mom when she was going to give me a little sister. Her heart softened, and she said yes. But on the day she gave birth, she suffered an amniotic fluid embolism and died on the operating table, along with my unborn sister. From then on, Dad hated me with everything he had. He screamed at me hysterically, "If you hadn't kept begging for a sister, your mom wouldn't be dead! Why couldn't it have been you instead?" I knelt on the floor, sobbing out an apology. "I'm sorry, Dad! I was wrong! I'll never want a little sister again!" Dad stormed out and slammed the door behind him. He never came back. After three days without food, I called and begged him to bring me something to eat. He sounded completely fed up. "Isn't there flour in the kitchen? Eat some flour. You'll live." I couldn't find any flour, only a small bottle of powder. So I ate that. Soon, a twisting pain tore through my stomach. I collapsed, and everything went dark. Trembling, I made one last call to Dad. The moment he picked up, I smiled through my tears. "Dad, I think I can go be with Mom now..."

"You are a sick, twisted monster." My mother glared at me. The doctor frowned and recommended genetic testing, suspecting a rare disease. My mother only sneered. "Rare disease? She's mentally warped. She fakes being sick to get attention!" The noon sun blazed overhead. I huddled under the shade canopy, trembling violently, clutching my collar shut. Then my mother shoved the canopy aside and overturned it. She tore off my long coat and pushed me down onto the scorching sand. The intense UV rays seared through my skin in an instant. Huge blisters swelled up along my arms, then burst one after another. My mother stood there, revulsion all over her face. "Iris, have you no shame left at all, faking an illness like this? "You love lying down so much, then lie there in the sun until you die!" Mom, this time I really am going to burn to death.

My husband, Leon Hobbs, calls me to tell me that his grandma, Phoebe Reid, has forgotten to bring her blood pressure medication, so he wants me to deliver it to her. "Hurry up, Elsie! Grandma's blood pressure is spiking again! You're the one who's closest to her right now!" With the medication in hand, I've just reached the corridor when comments pop up on my phone out of nowhere. "Don't go! The old lady will die in the living room ten minutes after you enter the apartment!" "The blood pressure medication has been swapped out for poison, and your prints are on the bottle! Everyone will think that you're the one who poisoned the old lady!" "Your husband and your mother-in-law have left the apartment purposefully so that you'll be the only one facing the old lady's corpse! Then, they'll use the assets that you and the old lady have left behind just to buy a new home for your husband's pregnant mistress!" I remain rooted to the spot as I stare at the bottle of medication. Leon had passed it to me last night, claiming that it was a bottle of newly prescribed medication. He wanted me to keep it for Phoebe for the time being. My fingerprints are all over the bottle at this time. Three seconds later, I turn on my heel and head toward the nearest pharmacy. Then, I place the bottle of pills on the counter. "Please help me check whether or not this bottle of medication fits the label."

In my past life, I toiled away at the Lincoln family and treated my in-laws like they were a king and a queen. I also gave my stepson the best education possible and helped him get into a renowned college. Yet, I later ended up dead on the street. My stepson said, "You're not my mother. You'll never be her!" He breaks my legs, kicks me out of the house, and watches as I starve to death. It's only after my death that I find out he's the illegitimate son of my husband and his true love! When I open my eyes again, I'm back to the day my husband, Simon Lincoln, brings my stepson home.

Lenora Bennet is my first love. After we start dating, she's been nothing but caring toward me. But on the day of our wedding, my older brother, Gideon Sloane, calls her on the phone and tells her that he's sick and hospitalized. Lenora doesn't hesitate to ditch me at the altar. My mom wants me to be the bigger man and let Lenora take care of the ill Gideon. Meanwhile, my older sister, Hillary Sloane, chastises me for being selfish. She thinks I never let Gideon have his way. I don't understand at all. Gideon is the one who's stolen my life from me, but why is it that my family wants me to be gracious toward him? But after that, I've graciously decided that I don't want them in my life anymore. Surprisingly enough, they keep begging for my forgiveness.

The day my parents divorced, I turned my back on the mother who loved me and clung desperately to my cheating father. In my previous life, I chose my mother without hesitation. Because the family never accepted me, she spent the rest of her life suffering for my sake, enduring endless scorn and hardship. This time, as I looked into her heartbroken eyes, I walked away without a backward glance. Five years later, I was scraping by at a seafood market, spending my days gutting fish amid the stench of saltwater and blood. Just as I expertly sliced open a fish's belly, my mother appeared. Her heels clicked across the damp floor as she navigated around puddles left by melting ice and approached me. She covered her nose in disgust, looked me up and down in my stained, shabby clothes, and let out a cold laugh. "No matter how hard you wash, you still reek of fish. This is the life you chose when you picked him over me. “The Cooper family's notorious young heir is about to form an alliance with our family through marriage. “As long as you kneel and beg me, I'll give you a chance to live a better life. What do you think? “You know I always mean what I say.” The contempt in her voice was unmistakable. I swallowed the metallic taste rising in my throat, flashed a carefree grin, and stepped closer. “Not only am I not kneeling, but you’ll have to kiss me first if you want me to go.” Just one kiss would be enough to get me through the last month of my life.

My sister and I got into a car crash. My heart was ruptured, and I needed immediate surgery if I were to live. My mother, being the director of her hospital, sent all the doctors to my sister instead, all just to check on her. She barely got hurt. I pleaded and begged for my mother to save me, but impatience got the better of her. She roared, "This isn't the time to take any attention away from your sister! She almost had a bone fracture!" And I died. I remember where it was. It was a freezing operating theater.

After finding out that the city is flourishing with countless opportunities, Florence Chastain drinks far too much out of elation. She begins stumbling toward the home of Gerard Vertes, a widower, in her drunken haze. Even though I have a crush on her, I choose to ignore her. In my previous life, I was worried that Florence might submit to her carnal urges due to intoxication, which might lead to her losing the golden opportunity of moving to the city. So, I rushed over to stop her. But Florence was quick to yank the hem of my shirt while begging me to satisfy her urges. After the wild night, she got pregnant with my child. In order to preserve Florence's reputation, her parents forced her to marry me. After our marriage, Florence was cold and aloof toward me and our child. She'd beat us up from time to time, too. "If not for your busybody tendencies back then, I wouldn't have married a country bumpkin like you! With talents like mine, I'd definitely have made it big in the city!" The daily torment had me physically and mentally strained. In order to make life easier for this family, I borrowed money from various sources just to rent a general store. That way, we'd have steady income. But Florence had the audacity to lock me up at home when our son was down with a high fever. I begged her to save our son, only to get beaten up by her ruthlessly instead. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the night Florence is making her way drunkenly toward Gerard's house.

Among the three children in my wealthy family, I was the biggest embarrassment by a long shot. My eldest sister, Eliana Spencer, was busy preparing to inherit the family business, while my younger brother, Alistair Spencer, the fake heir, was busy attending parties. As for me, the real heir who had been brought back from the mountains, I was sent to the old family residence to care for my paralyzed grandfather. In my first month caring for him, the family transferred $150 as my nursing allowance. I did not think anything of it. After all, Eliana knew how to make money for the family, and Alistair knew how to keep our parents happy. All I knew how to do was grow vegetables and raise chickens. $150 was already a generous amount. That was more than good enough. Folks from the mountains had our own ways of getting by. If I could not afford fine vegetables, I would grow my own in the yard. If I could not afford a caregiver, I would bathe Grandpa, turn him over, and get up at regular intervals throughout the night to give him his medication. When I needed to replace his old oxygen concentrator, I spent my days digging up medicinal herbs and my nights weaving wicker baskets for the townspeople. After more than half a year of saving every penny, I had finally scraped together $1,000. The day the new machine arrived at the old residence, my father and mother happened to bring Eliana and Alistair over to visit Grandpa. Eliana brought a top medical team. Alistair presented Grandpa with a wild Phoenix Root worth a million dollars. Then there was me, looking like I had just crawled out of a dirt pit, carrying a bundle of wild vegetables in one hand and an $1,000 domestically-made oxygen concentrator in the other. Alistair glanced at the machine in my arms and put on an exaggerated look of surprise. “We give you $100,000 a month for Grandpa’s care, and this is the cheap piece of junk you bought him?” Eliana’s face darkened. She demanded furiously, “That’s $900,000 over nine months! Where did you spend Grandpa’s life-saving money?" I stared at her blankly, swallowed hard, and wiped the dust from my face. We mountain folk were honest to a fault. If I was truly given that much money, Grandpa would be living in luxury right now. Which brought me to the real question: I had not even caught a whiff of that money, so whose pockets had that $900,000 ended up lining?

On the train to college registration, my heart gave a sharp, agonizing flutter. I leaned over the bunk and tapped the frame below me. "Mom, Dad, my heart hurts. Can you ask Julian to grab my medicine?" Thunder flashed outside, illuminating the compartment. The five other bunks were empty. I had been forgotten again. Ever since my younger sister, Lily Hayes, fell ill last year, I became an afterthought. “She needs all our attention,” they told me. “Stop competing for love.” So I ate alone, studied alone, and learned to keep my quiet during my worst heart episodes. Then came the next excuse, my grades were too good. Seeing my success would stress Lily to the point of breakdown. So they shipped me off to boarding school. My presence at home shrank until my house slippers vanished from the entryway, unnoticed. Julian Hayes never noticed when I scrambled for medication during an attack. And now, they didn't notice leaving me behind on a train. My eyes stung. Chest tightening, I grabbed my phone to call for help, but an app notification froze me. A photo posted by Lily minutes ago. Five beaming faces under the streetlights outside the campus gates. Beside her, Seth Vance stood with his arm around her neck, flashing a peace sign. Before we boarded, I had pulled on Seth’s sleeve, asking for a quick photo together. He had pushed me aside gently while stowing Lily’s luggage. "Later. We have four years to take pictures. Go get some sleep. I’ll wake you before we stop." Seth forgot. And there would be no "later." I opened the app and changed my ticket destination to a distant city a thousand miles north. The world was wide. I would walk into this future alone.

My stepmother, Mary, hated me to the bone. All because when I was little, I went to a classmate’s house to play and forgot to close the courtyard gate. Her son ran onto the road and was hit to death by a car. My father loved my younger brother the most. After learning what happened, he was heartbroken. “Were you jealous of your brother? That’s why you deliberately left the gate open?” I desperately explained that I had closed the gate, but Dad didn’t believe me. He locked me in the basement and raised me like a dog for the rest of my life. Until one day, when Dad went on a business trip, Mary didn’t give me any food for three days. Starving, I crawled upstairs to the kitchen to look for something to eat. That was when I saw Mary sitting on a man’s lap, saying softly, “If you hadn’t forgotten to close the gate back then, I wouldn’t be living in fear every day of my husband finding out… We’re the ones who killed Ethan.” Only then did I understand that I wasn’t the one who had forgotten to close the gate and caused my brother to run outside, but my stepmother’s lover. Just as I was about to sneak back to the basement, my stepmother noticed me. “What did you hear? No! I can’t let your father find out that I killed our own son!” In a panic, she grabbed me and threw me down the stairs, killing me on the spot. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day the car hit my brother. I blinked my innocent, childlike eyes and pointed upstairs, speaking in a soft, baby voice, “Dad, I closed the gate. It was the man in Mom’s bedroom who didn’t!”

The daughter of my father's first love suffered from heatstroke because she was left in the car, so he tied me up in a fit of anger and locked me in the car boot. He looked at me with utter disgust and said, "I don't have a vicious daughter like you. Stay here and reflect on yourself." I begged him, apologized to him, and pleaded for him to let me out, but all I got in return was his ruthless order. "Unless she dies, no one is allowed to let her out." The car was parked in the garage. No one could hear me no matter how much I screamed for help. Seven days later, he finally remembered me and decided to let me out. However, he had no idea that I had already died in that trunk and could never wake up again.

In my previous life, my three sons told me they wanted to set up a Family Bond Fund for me. Each of them would deposit three thousand dollars every month. I cried with gratitude, truly believing that decades of sacrifice had finally paid off. One of them even said, "Mom, you've given us so much. It's our turn to take care of you now." However, eight years later, I was told I have uremia. That was when I discover that the bank card, which supposedly held the fund, couldn't even cover the dialysis deposit. Soon after, my eldest son video-called me. He said he wanted to buy a better apartment in a good school district. He was short of 150 thousand dollars for the down payment and asked if I could lend it to him first. My second son came to the hospital with his wife and daughter. He didn't ask about my condition at all. Instead, he kept showing off his daughter's piano competition trophy, hinting that he needed 50 thousand dollars to enroll her in a prestigious international piano program. My youngest son was even more straightforward. He said he had his eye on a limited-edition pair of sneakers and wanted me to pay 30 thousand dollars for them as a birthday gift. The moment they realized the bank account didn't have enough money, their faces fell. "We each put in three thousand dollars every month. Over eight years, that's at least eight hundred thousand dollars. Mom, are you hiding the money from us?" To force me to reveal my savings, they took turns pressuring me, switching between sweet talk and threats. They even told relatives that I had dementia and had been scammed out of my money. Unable to take it anymore, I yanked out my IV late one night and walked out of the hospital, only to be hit by a car, dying instantly. When I open my eyes again, I find myself back on the day of my hospital checkup.

Just because I ate one chicken leg more than my brother, my father kicked me out of the house in the middle of a snowstorm. Later on, my father of an archeologist dug up my body. Due to my missing head, he did not recognize me. Even when he saw that the body had the same scars as I did, he did not care. Later on, my mother dug out my heart and showed it to her students. "Today, we will study the heart of someone with congenital heart disease." She once said she would recognize me no matter what I looked like. Mom, now that the only thing left of me is my heart, do you still recognize me?

My sister, Nancy Wood, wanted to be the family's only child, so my mother had my name changed and handed my identification documents over to my grandmother. She even told me I had to pay for everything if I wanted to live under their roof. The change and coupons Nancy got from her shopping were the sole source of allowance I'd get. If she saved 30 dollars from her shopping trips, I would get 30 dollars next month. It was the last day for all students to enter their applications for college. I begged my sister to let me use her computer. She extended her hand. "You have to pay me 20 bucks." I fished all the money out of my pocket. I only had 19 dollars. So, I hastily blurted in a panic, "I'm only one dollar short. Please!" Nancy arched her eyebrow at me and shook her head. "Don't even think about it! It's 20 bucks and not a penny less! If you can't afford it, then don't use it! It's not as if someone's pointing a gun at you for you to go to college!" My mother watched at the sidelines impassively. Then, she took Nancy's side. "She's right. You remember the rules. You can't use our stuff for free!" Time was running out. I barged into my room to scrounge for money. Fortunately, I finally found a dollar in the corner of my bed. Then, I charged right at the computer, ignoring Nancy's sullen mood. The notification froze me to my bones. "Application time is up." It expired just a minute ago. My eyes were glued to the screen, my blood turning to ice under my skin. I could distantly hear my mother comforting Nancy. "She's just some distant relative. You shouldn't get worked up over her." A surge of bitterness welled up inside me as I sent a message to my teacher, "I'll go to Lorantia." After all, I was nothing but a relative. So, I should know my place and stop troubling them any further.

My company has dispatched me on a one-week business trip to another city. When the trip is over, I drive home in a hurry just so I can celebrate my mother-in-law, Marianne Jones' birthday with her. But when I'm waiting for the traffic light to turn green, rows of live comments suddenly appear right in front of my eyes. "Do not go home no matter what! If you do, that crime will be pinned on you!" "The moment you step through the front door, Marianne will jump off the building!" "Your fingerprints are all over Marianne's body! When the time comes, you won't be able to defend yourself at all, and you'll end up receiving a death sentence! After your husband receives a hefty insurance payout, he and your best friend, Kathie Wilbury, will live a luxurious and happy life together!" I'm stunned by the information. But a few seconds later, I decide to believe the live comments. In that case, I might as well make a huge gamble. As soon as the green light is on, I start the car and stomp down on the gas pedal. Then, I veer my car toward the concrete barrier on the roadside and crash into it.

The moment I was born, I took her life. They called me a murderer. Marcus used to burn me with cigarette butts, and Dad would say it was my fate. “You’re a curse. If you had any conscience, you’d have gone to join Mom a long time ago to repay what you owe.” When Marcus was diagnosed with kidney failure, that same cold, distant father knelt in front of me. “Please… save him…” I put my hand on Dad’s shoulder. “Dad, I’ll do the surgery. But can you promise me one thing?” Dad performed the surgery himself. It was a success. He saved the son he loved most and took the life of the daughter he hated. But after I died, Dad turned himself in to the police, and Marcus lost his mind.

After the plane crash, my body was never recovered. My soul drifted back to the home I hadn't stepped foot in for five years. They didn't know I was dead. They were still waiting for me to come home for Christmas. When my mom got the call from the airline, she froze for a long time, completely at a loss, before breaking down in tears. I followed them as they went to the memorial crash site. That was when I noticed something strange—I could see their levels of regret hovering above their heads. My brother's regret level read: 40%. My father's showed: 60%. Even my sister-in-law had 30% over her head. But my mother's regret level? It flashed a cold, unchanging 0%.

Ever since I was little, my dad taught me that no matter what happened, I should put my studies and exams as my top priority. When I was eight, I accidentally broke my leg during gym class, but my dad insisted that I finish that day’s class before taking me to get it treated. When the doctor said I was brought in too late and would have to be hospitalized, my dad looked troubled. “Third grade is a crucial transition period in elementary school. My child absolutely cannot waste any time right now!” So, I went to school in a wheelchair during the day and returned to my hospital room at night to finish my homework. When I was discharged, I was left with a lasting condition. Ever since then, I walked with a slight limp. When I was eleven, I ran a high fever of 102 degrees and started babbling incoherently. But my dad took forever to arrive. The teacher was so anxious that she took me to the hospital first, only to be berated by my dad when he finally showed up. “The transition from elementary to middle school is a critical moment for a child’s future. If my son, Teleus Costa, misses these three classes, just think how far behind the other kids he’ll fall!” Even though I had not fully recovered, my dad sent me back to school the very next day. From then on, I suffered from severe myocarditis. At seventeen, I developed a serious heart condition that put me at risk of sudden death at any moment. But my dad insisted I wait until after the SATs to seek treatment. “The SATs are the pivotal moment that determines your future. Missing even one class at such a time is tantamount to suicide!” One night during evening study hall, my heart seized up again, and I stumbled down the stairs. Lying in a pool of blood, I mustered my last ounce of strength to press the emergency contact button on my smartwatch to call for help. But on the other end, I heard my father’s voice. “There’s still one more session of evening study hall left. Can’t you just hang in there until it’s over?” ‘Dad, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I could make it,’ I thought.