Ruthless Family Emotions Short Stories & Novels

When my wife, Whitney Novak, abandoned me on the mountaintop once again to rush off and take care of my younger brother, Aaron Novak, I was kidnapped on my way home. For three days and three nights, I endured unimaginable torture. The one call I managed to make for help was coldly hung up on. The day I finally dragged myself home, battered and covered in wounds, my family was celebrating Aaron's latest achievement. Whitney frowned in irritation. "Today's supposed to be a celebration. Who are you trying to disgust by showing up looking like that? Are you trying to make everyone think we've been abusing you?" My family looked at me with nothing but contempt. "You're worthless. You'll never measure up to Aaron. It should've been you who died instead." Later, they got exactly what they wanted. I really was dying. But if I was nothing more than a worthless failure, why were they crying?

"Whose illegitimate child are you pregnant with?" My parents demand to know, looking crazed. They want to know whose child I'm carrying. I look at them and laugh. "One of the kidnappers, of course." My parents and brother are stunned, and they turn ashen. I continue softly, "Don't you guys remember? The kidnappers asked for a ransom, but you guys were only willing to save your other daughter. You wanted to teach me a lesson." Mom collapses on the couch. "That can't be. We wanted to teach you a lesson so you would stop bullying Eden. I didn't… We didn't…" I crouch before her. "You guys never expected the kidnappers to violate me, right?" I don't wait for an answer. "Do you think a few kidnappers would have morals and ethics?" She parts her lips to speak, but I don't give her the chance. "I was covered in injuries when I got home. Why didn't any of you ask me about them? "You guys took Eden away without bothering to save me. You didn't return for a day, for two days, for a month… Did you think the kidnappers would think that they could still receive the ransom?" They should be happy now—I'm about to die.

My wife made me get a vasectomy. Not once, but ninety-nine times. Right before the hundredth operation, the doctor looked at me with pity in his eyes as the anesthesia failed to fully kick in. "Ms. Gibson really knows how to destroy a man," he murmured. "She's put him through ninety-nine vasectomies, then had them reversed—again and again. However, his body's long since broken. There's no chance of children now." "It's probably for her ex. Word is, it's his own brother. The scandals in these wealthy families—unbelievable." Because of a hospital mix-up at birth, my and Jeff Cunningham's fates were exchanged. He grew up with the Cunningham family, while I lived a poor life. Years later, my parents found the truth, taking me in and sending Jeff away. To make things worse, I became Wynnie Gibson's new fiancé. I once asked her, barely able to speak through the pain, why she would marry someone she did not love. She looked at me calmly. "To get revenge," she said. "You came home and stole Jeff's place. He was the one I love. He drank himself to death after you returned." Even my biological parents knew she was poisoning me. However, they turned a blind eye. They did nothing to stop her. They knew Wynnie had got pregnant with Jeff's child through IVF—planning to raise the child and let him inherit the family fortune. I coughed up blood and threw myself into the sea. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I was first reunited with them. This time, when I saw the sorrow in their eyes—sorrow not for me, but for the son they lost— I chose to let them go.

On my son’s birthday, my husband had asked his first love to pick our son up from our home. While I stubbornly refused to let him go, a huge fire broke out in the hallway during our standoff. I was struck by falling debris, and blood started streaming from my head. However, my son was unharmed as he lay beneath me. My husband, who was a firefighter, came forward to rescue us. But he handed the only gas mask he had to his first love. “Miss Leia has a weaker constitution. Dad, please get her out first. Mom, wait for the other firefighters to save you!” I watched them leave with a faint, bitter smile. It appeared that they had both forgotten my severe asthma and the fact that I would die without a gas mask.

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.

A priest has shown up at my first birthday party. He claims that I'm a cursed soul—that my presence will bring doom to those close to me, and my existence itself can snatch everyone's luck. The only way to counter this is to give me up to an orphanage and let me live a life of poverty and suffering. Without a family, I'll be able to overcome my fate as a cursed soul. Daddy has the priest cast out of our home immediately. Meanwhile, Mommy hugs me tightly. "My son is the luckiest boy in the whole wide world!" But everything has changed when my younger brother, Andy Lawson, has fallen off the 20th floor. His body is completely shattered from the fall. I can only stand by the window uneasily. Fear is evident in my eyes as I wave my hands with all my might. "It wasn't me! It really wasn't me!" The wind that day is very strong, but it can never drown out Mommy's cries. Daddy hoists me up and stuffs me into Andy's coffin. I keep latching onto the sides of the coffin to the point my fingers are all bloodied and trampled over. At the same time, I keep screaming for Mommy. Mommy stares at me blankly at first. But her hollow gaze is soon filled with hatred. "Why aren't you the one dead? That priest told us that you'll have to stay in the coffin for seven whole days and nights just to atone for your sins! Only then can Andy's soul rest in peace! "This is your fate and your sin, Adam!" The heavy lid slowly covers the coffin, soon sealing my hoarse cries and screams away. A long time later, a few voices ring out amid the sorrowful melody played by the organ. "Why is there a tiny gap in the coffin? Hurry up and nail it shut! We can't afford to have misfortune spread to us!" When the final nail is bolted onto the lid, I close my eyes. Mommy, Daddy, I'm no longer a cursed soul.

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."

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.

I die in the basement after being burned by acid. My family doesn't recognize me, and they don't call the cops. My mother picks up the scalpel that hasn't been used in years and debones me. My father excitedly mixes my skeleton with concrete and turns me into an exquisite statue. My sister uses the sculpture she's made out of my flesh and portrays herself as a genius sculptor whom everyone admires. Later, the sculpture is shattered, revealing half a broken finger inside. That's when everyone panics.

Lately, the husband whom the Jeston heiress had loved for years seemed like a completely different person. A month ago, during a heavy downpour, Sierra Parker forgot her husband, Caleb Finch, who had been at the airport waiting for her to pick him up, instead choosing to accompany her late cousin's husband, Riley Cross, for a round of karaoke. Caleb, who usually possesses a petty streak, didn't even get angry this time. He simply caught a taxi home alone. Two weeks ago, Sierra forgot Caleb's birthday entirely while she stayed out to nurse the drunk Riley. Caleb didn't stay up waiting for her like he always did. Instead, he cleaned up the mess and headed to bed. Two days ago, Sierra abandoned Caleb while he's running a high fever, all because Riley nearly scalded himself. Even their daughter, Amelia Finch, was worried about Riley. When they crossed paths at the hospital, Caleb merely sat down and received his IV drip in silence. He forgot their vows to grow old together and even Amelia's words of appreciation for how hard he had worked to care for their family over the years. Now, Sierra wants to bring Riley into their home and support him for the rest of his life. Seeing the sadness in Caleb's eyes, she merely purses her lips. "Caleb, we've been married for seven years. I'm only letting Riley move in with us. You don't have to threaten to walk out on me." Amelia looks equally annoyed with him. "Dad, stop being so dramatic. Isn't it a good thing to have another person around to look after me?" Silently enduring the loss of his memories, he calls out to the system, "System, I'm ready to go now."

My brother Mitchell sided with his dream girl when she accused me of bullying her. Despite being the only family member I had left, he exploded in anger and sent me away to a boarding school for so-called reformation to learn how to become a meek and obedient little sister. In time, I became exactly what he wanted—a docile sibling who never fought back, never argued. But everything changed the day he saw my medical report. He lost his mind. "Nora, I'm begging you—forgive me and let me be your brother again!"

I knew that my father did not like me since I was young. When I wanted to commit suicide to end the pain caused by my illness, he was celebrating another child’s birthday. He hated my mother and me alongside her. So, when I told him that I was sick, he did not believe me. “Is this your new tactic to get money from me?” No one believed that the daughter of the Powell family could die because she was too poor to pay the hospital fees. My father did not believe it either. However, when he saw my dead body, the famous actor who hated his daughter actually went insane.

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.

"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.

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.

Five years had gone by since my death. The cops called my mom and told her they got news about me. My mother and brother marched to my grandmother's home and kicked her door down. "Where's Charlie? That shameless woman has been hiding from us far too long. Her brother needs her cornea, and she's giving it to him!" "Charlie's dead," said my grandmother, sobbing. My mother sneered. "As if. The cops called us. They said they had her news. Hand her over or get out of the house, you hag." My grandmother looked at her daughter, tears streaming down her cheeks. With trembling hands, she took my photo out. "I wonder if you've ever regretted saving your brother, Charlie."

With my first paycheck, I buy three air conditioners for my family. But when I come home from work, I find that my west-facing bedroom is still sweltering like an oven. And there's a huge winter melon sitting on my bed. Mom proudly pats its skin. "We moved the air conditioners into your brother's and sister's rooms. We had one left over, so we installed it in your sister's art studio. "The outdoor unit for your room would be right outside your sister's window, and the humming would keep her awake at night. Just sleep with a winter melon. It'll keep you cool enough." I open my mouth, but the dull ache in my chest leaves me unable to speak. She has forgotten that I was hospitalized for heatstroke just last month. The doctor warned me to stay out of the heat after I was discharged. I turn toward the studio at the end of the hallway. Cool air spills through the crack beneath the door. Dad is adjusting the lighting over my sister's easel. My brother is holding a freshly cut slice of chilled watermelon to her lips. And my boyfriend of three years is carefully adjusting the airflow for her with the remote. "Angle the vents upward. Don't let her catch a cold." I wipe the sweat from my forehead and stare at the ridiculous winter melon on my bed. Suddenly, I don't want to fight for anything anymore. I take out my phone and reply to my supervisor. "You said I could become a permanent employee early if I transferred to the new branch in Veymont. I agree." After making it through twenty-two summers, all I want is to give myself a spring that never ends.

My father's adopted daughter was only locked in the cramped storage closet for around fifteen minutes, yet he punished me by tying me up and throwing me inside. He even sealed off the ventilation with towels. "As Wendy's older sister, if you can't take care of her, then you should also experience how scared she was," he declared coldly. He knew I was claustrophobic, but my desperate pleas for mercy, my terror, were met with nothing but heartless reprimands. "Let this be a lesson on how to be a good sister." As the last sliver of light disappeared, swallowed by the oppressive darkness, I struggled helplessly. A week passed before my father finally remembered my existence and decided it was time to end my punishment. "Let's hope this week served as a good lesson for you, Jennifer. If this happens again, you will no longer be allowed in this house." He would never know that I had already taken my last breath in that suffocating room. My body had begun to rot in the darkness.

My mother loved obedience tests. I told her I couldn't eat ginger, and she put it in every single meal. "Who's allergic to ginger? You're just being picky." For my eighteenth birthday she went out and bought half a ton of it, then made an all-ginger banquet and a bottle of homemade ginger perfume. She looked at me, pleased with herself. "Ginger cures everything. I'm doing this for your own good." "Only a spoiled kid refuses ginger. I minced it all up this time. Let's see you pick it out now." My mother was delighted. As far as she was concerned, the test had worked. What she didn't know was that I'd never lied to her. My ginger allergy was severe. Once I'd eaten or breathed in that much of it, the symptoms would build over the next two hours, and they could kill me.

My wife went viral by copying someone else. After some netizens shamed her looks, she became obsessed with plastic surgery. Eventually, an illegal clinic tricked her into spending thirty thousand dollars, claiming they could make her into a celebrity. She even forced me to fund her dream by feeding our daughter pesticides. However, I knew that the clinic used implants from stolen corpses. Before long, her face would start to rot. I spent ages convincing her to choose a professional cosmetic hospital instead, saving her life. Later, though, her best friend became an internet star after undergoing plastic surgery. In comparison, my wife’s appearance had only improved slightly after the cosmetic treatment. In a fit of jealousy, she burned my daughter and me alive. “It’s your fault I couldn’t make it big! You deserve to die!” When I next opened my eyes, I returned to the day my wife asked me for money.