Familial Bond-Kurzgeschichten & Scumbag Cheating-Kurzromane

A typhoon warning had been issued. I drove out to pick up my mother, who lived by the coast. My car broke down halfway there. I called my boyfriend fifty-eight times, and every single one was declined. The rain kept getting heavier. No rescue services were available, and the water was rising. My hands were shaking so badly that all I could do was get Mom to a nearby bus shelter. That was when I scrolled past a Facebook post from my boyfriend's assistant, Megan. "Derek is such a sweetheart. Spent two hours searching, and the little stray finally has a home." In the photo, Derek was at Megan's place, giving a stray cat a bath. I looked at my mother, soaked to the bone, and a wave of hurt washed over me. By the time evening fell, my boyfriend finally called back, but the wind was so strong that the signal kept cutting in and out. I was about to ask him to come get us when his voice crackled through the receiver, broken up by static. "Don't let your mom... the seafood... mess up the car." Before I could say a word, he hung up. The rescue team arrived. As we climbed in, Mom was still shivering, fretting over the seafood that had spoiled during the delay. I picked up the bag and tossed it into the trash. If it's spoiled, there's no point keeping it. Same goes for people.

Ten years ago, I died in a shootout. My men recovered my body. I left behind only one daughter. My husband, Colton Rinaldi, found our daughter selling cigars at the docks. Under the blazing sun, she was drenched in sweat. The wooden crates had rubbed her shoulders raw and bloody. Colton's face fell. He pulled her aside. Then he demanded, beside himself with rage, "Why are you doing hard labor here? Where is your mother? How could she dump you in a place like this? "She's so damn selfish!" Mia Rinaldi had never seen him before. She stared at him, bewildered. "Who are you? Do you want a cigar? They're cheap." Colton lifted the crate off her shoulders. The veins on the backs of his hands bulged. "Even if she's angry with me, she has no right to torment you like this. Come with me. As far as you're concerned, you don't have a mother anymore." With that, he grabbed her hand and tried to lead her away. Panicked, Mia bit his arm and glared up at him. "Don't talk about my mom like that! Who are you? Get away from me! "Let go of me!" Blood streamed down Colton's arm. Colton went livid. "What has Monica Bellini been teaching you? She's angry with me, so she taught you to be this rude? "I'm your father!" My spirit hovered beside Mia. I tried to wipe away her frightened tears. My hand passed straight through her. A bitter smile tugged at my lips. How could Colton not know? I wasn't sulking. I was dead.

My daughter, Amelia Rossum, comes home with her palm pierced all the way through by a pencil. I drop my mop in a panic, hastily change out of my loungewear, and rush her to the ER. At the hospital entrance, my husband, Benedict Rossum, jumps out of his car and immediately lashes out at me. "How could you let this happen to her?" Our neighbor, Lorelei Bates, trails behind him, holding her daughter's hand. She addresses him gently, "Benedict, don't be so hard on Clarissa. Everyone makes mistakes." He scoffs. "Other mothers can keep their kids safe perfectly fine. What's her excuse? I bet she did this on purpose to guilt me into coming home early!" Amelia recoils and hides behind me. Seeing her reaction, Benedict crouches down and immediately softens his voice. "Don't be scared, Amelia. I'm right here. You can tell me what happened. I'll make it right." "Really?" She steals anxious glances at me. I shake my head, silently telling her not to say anything. With Lorelei standing right there, we don't stand a chance. She always finds a way to twist the truth against us. Benedict shoves me aside and picks Amelia up. "Clarissa, are you trying to scare her into keeping quiet? What kind of mother are you? What, did you stab her hand on purpose, too?" "No, it wasn't Mommy!" Amelia bursts into sobs. Benedict gently pats her back, his eyes reddening with distress. "It must hurt a lot, doesn't it, Amelia? Tell me what happened to your hand." She's sobbing so hard that she can barely catch her breath. After a long while, she finally points at Lorelei's daughter and says in between sobs, "Penelope and her friends stabbed me."

After I got pregnant, Severin Voss went from a ruthless Don to a devoted husband who cooked for me. He cut off all contact with Vivian Lane and banished her from Voss territory. He had never liked children, yet now he shadowed the estate's most experienced housekeeper every day, learning how to care for a baby. He even learned how to cook for an expectant mother. He had a prenatal meal plan tailored to my needs and prepared every dish himself. It was as if he'd never had anything to do with Vivian, as if we were still as close as ever. When my mother came to visit, she marveled, "There's never been a Don in all of Sicily who's such a family man. "You should consider yourself lucky to have married him. Stop dwelling on his past mistakes." I smiled and agreed, then ate the lunch Severin had made just for me. An hour later, I was rushed to a private hospital, doubled over in pain. By the time I came out of surgery, my baby was gone. Three days later, Severin returned from a business trip, looking exhausted and travel-worn. A blissful smile still lingered on his face. "Honey, I learned some new pregnancy-friendly recipes. They're even more nutritious than the old ones. If you stick to them, I know your delivery will go smoothly. "I'll start making them for you tomorrow, okay?" When I didn't respond, Severin's gaze finally dropped from my pale face to my flat stomach. In that instant, his smile vanished.

When I'm eight months pregnant, my parents, who sold me off when I was a child, beg for my forgiveness and ask me to come home to await the birth of my baby. Suddenly, a gas explosion occurs. Without a moment's hesitation, Mom and Dad shove me aside and rush through the inferno. They are quick to carry my younger sister, Avril Holden, who suffers from leukemia, to safety. Only my husband, Zack Burton, charges into the flames like a madman to rescue me. He even brings in a top-tier medical team for my treatment after I'm rescued from the fire. In the end, I lose my baby, and a falling roof beam leaves me with a broken leg. As I hobble along to catch one last glimpse of my child, I see Zack outside the morgue, pulling Avril into an excited embrace. "Thank God, Avril! We can now harvest Ashley's bone marrow while she's unconscious, and you'll be cured! You'll be back to your old self in no time." I once believed Zack was my warm, reliable refuge, but it turns out it was nothing more than an illusion all along. The marriage I once took such pride in has become a bitter, freezing winter. If that's how it is, then I shall simply let go.

After finding out I'm pregnant again, I decide to check the trust fund I set up for my deceased daughter, Ivy Stewart. To my shock, I learn that someone has been withdrawing money from the account for the last five years. The first withdrawal happened the day Ivy passed away. Every year since, five million dollars has been withdrawn from the trust fund on Ivy's death anniversary, all transferred to the same account. Over dinner, I bring it up to my husband, William Stewart. He nonchalantly explains, "Ivy's death hit me hard, so I decided to do some charity work in her memory. I've been providing financial support to a little boy with leukemia all these years. He's a pitiful child, just like Ivy." Nevertheless, I still feel uncomfortable about the whole situation. "Why didn't you discuss things with me first?" Before William gets to say anything, my mother-in-law, Martha Cook, snaps at me, "Doing charity is a good thing! Why would William need to discuss it with you first? It's not like we can't spare the money. He's doing it in Ivy's memory, so don't be so petty!" I stop asking questions, but I secretly approach the fund manager, Shane Mitchell, and tell him I want to visit the boy. However, the fund manager looks at me, shocked. "Isn't the recipient your child? The money was transferred from the trust fund account with the explicit designation that it was for the child's education!"

A body was pulled from the sea, waterlogged and swollen. The woman was two months pregnant. Her face was unrecognizable, but I recognized the ring I had given her immediately. The dead woman was my daughter, Cecily Moretti. I had once been the most powerful Mafia Donna on the West Coast, with enemies everywhere. To protect Cecily, I staged a shipwreck ten years ago. I jumped into the sea clutching a doll and faked my own death. I left her in the care of the Griffiths family, whose son I had chosen to be her husband. I gave them money, power, and every advantage so my daughter could live a peaceful, happy life. But my investigation uncovered the truth. Five years after I disappeared, Cecily's intended husband, Selwyn Griffiths, fell in love with Iliana Valmont, the daughter of a noble family. "Donna, Selwyn broke his promise to marry Ms. Cecily. He also believed Iliana's lies and had Ms. Cecily tied to a reef as punishment. The abrasions on her wrists and ankles suggest she struggled to free herself as the tide came in. Then... then a wave swept her out to sea." As my lieutenant gave his report, my fingernails dug into my palms. I had lifted the Griffiths family to the top, yet my beloved daughter had been treated worse than a slave! Fighting back my grief, I slowly wrapped my hand around Cecily's scarred fingers. "Rest now, Cecily. I swear I'll avenge you."

My husband, James Zeller, and I have established a common-law marriage. We did not have a formal wedding ceremony, nor do we have a marriage license. We also live separately, our lives barely intertwining, because he has a special profession. Therefore, despite being married to him for seven years, we've never met each other's friends and relatives. As his wife, I'm proud of being married to him despite how it pains me. I'm willing to give up the opportunity to study at the National Academy of Sciences to take care of things at home while he works. One day, my son, Jasper Chalder, comes home from elementary school crying. He sobs about not being a bastard child and requests to see James. Greatly distressed, I decide to take him to visit the military base over the new year for a family reunion. However, I don't expect this trip to turn my life completely upside down.

On my wedding day, I'm up at 4:00 am, waiting for the makeup artist. By 7:00 am, no one has shown up. I start to panic and call my best friend, Whitney Adams. She bursts out laughing. "Erin, how did you miss this? They changed the plan last night. No one's coming to pick you up. Everyone went straight to the hotel." I grab my wedding dress and rush over. By the time I get there, I'm drenched in sweat. The hotel is empty. Then Whitney calls again, trying not to laugh. "I was messing with you. Don't tell me you actually went to the hotel. Destination weddings are the thing now. We moved yours to an island. Everyone's already at the airport waiting for you." So I drag my heavy garment bag from terminal to terminal, searching the entire departures hall. None of them are there. Then Whitney video-calls me, laughing so hard she's doubled over. "You took too long. We already left! There's no destination wedding. We just wanted to spend a week on the island. We'll have the wedding when we get back." She turns the camera around. My fiancé, Dwayne Brewer, is pulling her suitcase. Mom and Dad are standing behind them, smiling more brightly than they ever do in family photos. Mom frowns when she sees how pale I look. "Oh, come on. It was just a joke. Whitney knows how to have fun. You've always taken everything too seriously." Dwayne drapes his jacket over Whitney's shoulders, then looks into the camera. "Go home and wait for me. I'll marry you when we get back." I look at all their smiling faces on the screen and suddenly don't see the point in confronting them. I'm not angry or sad anymore. I just feel numb. I text the wedding planner and cancel the wedding. They can keep playing their little game. I'm done being part of it.

My mom, Serena Brunetti, is the most hopelessly lovesick side character in a romance novel. She's the daughter of the Don of the Brunetti family, for crying out loud. But she rejected the match her family arranged and insisted on marrying my dad, John Carter, instead. I call him Trash Dad. He's a freeloader who lives off her money and keeps his first love on the side. The result? Seven miscarriages, all deliberately caused. Yet she's so sweet and clueless that she thinks they happened because her body is too weak. She even feels as if she let Trash Dad down. And me? I'm the poor little soul who tried to be born seven times in a row and never made it out of heaven. On my eighth try, even my angel couldn't stand to watch anymore and personally escorted me into the world. Before leaving, the angel even gave me a max-level Baby Talk buff. I was all set to live my best life, adored and spoiled rotten. Instead, Trash Dad walked up to Mom's hospital bed with a smile, carrying some random baby boy. "You did so well, honey. Look, this is our precious son, the first in line to inherit from your dad." Meanwhile, I'd been stuffed into a filthy biohazard bin, and I was about to be tossed into an incinerator and burned to ash! I panicked and started cursing in my head. Lovesick Mom, wake up! That's Trash Dad's son with his side piece. I'm your real daughter. Come save me! Mom, who had been leaning against Trash Dad and gazing at him like a lovesick puppy, suddenly shivered.

At a Halloween costume parade, I suddenly spotted a familiar figure. I watched him with a she-wolf. They couldn't keep their hands off each other. The she-wolf was draped against him in a succubus costume that showed off her curves. The male wolf was dressed as a lord of Hell. His face was flushed, his body tense, and his hands gripped the she-wolf's waist tightly. The people around them laughed good-naturedly. I froze. That was my father, Elias Thorne, the stiff, conservative man who had rushed off to work late even on Halloween. I called him right away and kept my tone casual. "Dad, can you come pick me up in a little while?" His voice faltered for a moment, then returned to its usual warmth. "Sorry, sweetheart, I'm at the office working late. I can't come get you. When I get home tonight, I'll make you the apple pie you love." I didn't argue. I said yes like a good daughter and smiled into the phone. When the call ended, I let out a breath and walked toward the couple who should never have been together.

I was a real estate agent. My mother, Jenna Bennett, approached me privately and asked me to sell her property. "Your dad is having a hard time with his business. I want to help him out." The property had been left to Mom by my grandmother, Renna Patterson, so she'd always have a small refuge of her own, a place where she could feel safe and secure. Now, for my father's sake, Mom was selling that refuge at a bargain price. It didn't take long for a buyer to contact me. The woman asked, "Hi, could you hold the property for me until next week? I'd like my partner to give it to me for my birthday." I caught sight of a photo of her and her "partner" on her phone screen, and froze. It was Dad. I smiled and nodded at the woman. "Of course. I look forward to seeing your partner next week."

My daughter, Ruby Pratt, has leukemia. She needs a bone marrow transplant—and fast. Out of everyone in the family, my husband, Dan Pratt, was the only match. I begged him for an entire month before he finally agreed to go through with the donation. But on the morning of the surgery, he went completely off the grid. I stood outside the hospital all day, waiting. No calls. No texts. Not even a shadow. That night, his childhood friend, Valerie Kinder, posted on Instagram. In the photo, Dan was holding Valerie's hand with one arm and carrying her young son with the other—on a beach in Lulabo City. The caption read: [Soaking up the sun! Dan cleared his whole schedule to join us on a month-long trek and we finally made it to the coast! My little boy said Uncle Dan made his ocean dream come true. Pure joy!] My heart splintered. While I was drowning in worry over my daughter, he was off playing happy family with them. I wiped my tears and typed a comment beneath her post: [Not 'Uncle.' From now on, he's your son's father.] That night, I finally got a call from him. "Babe, don't be like this," Dan said. "You're not being fair. "Valerie's son has been bullied at school for not having a dad. I couldn't stand seeing him hurt, so I took them on this trip. It was supposed to help him heal. "I'll catch the first flight back tomorrow and head straight to the hospital to donate the marrow. I promise." I hung up with a bitter smile. The next morning, Dan rushed into the hospital room. But all he found on the bed was a death certificate.

In the five years of our long-distance relationship, I've wanted to return home countless times to marry my boyfriend, Blake Grayson. Blake always said, "Just wait a little longer. Once I've saved enough money, I'll marry you." The first year, his company went bankrupt, and he lost everything he invested. The second year, his father was in a car accident. The medical bills wiped out his savings. The third year, his investment failed. He needed more time to recover financially. I told him, "It's okay. As long as we're together, I don't need anything else." But he'd always insist, "I may come from a poor family, but as my wife, you deserve everything other people have." By the fifth year, I've had enough of the distance. I decide to drop everything and finally be with the man I love. I call Blake more than a dozen times, but every call goes unanswered. I just assume that he's working late. When I go to pick up my mother's preion, I spot a familiar figure outside the obstetrics department. He wears a bespoke suit, and more than a dozen bodyguards clear the way for him. "Mr. Grayson, Mrs. Grayson, congratulations. The baby is perfectly healthy." I freeze at the sight of that familiar silhouette. My boyfriend's last name is Grayson too, but he was supposed to be a poor guy.