Cerita Pendek & Novel Scumbag Familial Bond

On the first day of summer break, my husband, Alfred Manning, cancels the family trip I have booked again. He reasons that his childhood sweetheart, Edna Moore, has just gotten divorced. She needs a trip to Flordale with her son to clear their heads. Alfred finds her pitiful, so that is how the trip my daughter, Bella Manning, has spent two semesters earning with her gold stars turns into another child's vacation. Hugging her stuffed animal, Bella looks up at me with tear-filled eyes and asks, "Is Daddy not coming again?" The word "again" makes my heart throb in pain. Alfred wires some money into my account and sends a soothing voice note. "Just take Bella to a local park or something. She's just a kid, so it's the same to her no matter where she goes." Meanwhile, Edna posts a photo on X, showing Alfred cradling her son in his arms. "You don't need a biological bond to be the best dad in the world." It hits me then that Bella and I are the only ones working hard to protect this family. That night, I change our family passes into two one-way tickets that are bound for the new city where I'm relocated for work. "What about Daddy's pass?" I tear the canceled boarding pass into shreds. "He has already made his choice."

My husband was like a broken record. His answer was always the same. "I can't leave." On our wedding anniversary, he said he couldn't leave because he had to take Natalie Rivers out and cheer her up. When I miscarried, he couldn't leave because he had to take Natalie to therapy. Even when my mother died, he still gave me the same answer. "I really can't leave. Natalie's depression has come back, and she can't be alone." Still weak after my miscarriage, I kept vigil alone for three days. That was when I finally understood. To him, neither our baby's life nor my mother's life mattered. My relatives were shocked to see me handling everything alone. "Josh really isn't coming?" After saying my final goodbye to my mother, I stood up and answered calmly. "No. He doesn't have that obligation anymore."

My mom's dying wish was simple. She wanted to meet the guy I'd been with for eight years. That day, I called Tyler Carlton sixty-seven times. Not once did he pick up. Mom was already gone by the time his text came in. [The project's locked down right now. I can't leave. When things calm down, I'll come see your mom.] I held Mom's cold hand, my fingers shaking over the screen. [Okay.] Then, that night, I found the video. Tyler stood in a white suit at some fancy riverfront restaurant. Beside him was another woman, smiling softly as he held a birthday cake. The caption said: [Four years after graduation, I'm finally back by your side. Happy birthday, Vivian.] The comments were packed with congrats. I knew a lot of the names. Then someone asked: [So you two finally got your happy ending?] I stared at the screen, my chest going tight. Then I replied: [They got their happy ending. I was just the extra who didn't know.]

This was the hundredth time Mom caught Dad throwing thousands of dollars at social media influencers. She didn't scream or make a scene for the entire construction crew to laugh at anymore, nor did she pause her work. Dad thought she had finally learned her place and grown sensible. The very next month, he invited every single worker on the job site to attend his wedding. However, he kept Mom and me out of it. When the workers returned, they were all gossiping about how Mom, the worn-out house-cat, had been replaced by a beauty. The bride was a meticulously dolled-up young woman. I had seen her on his phone many times. Every time, she would be wearing next to nothing, dancing on camera while calling my dad her "Big Spender", right before Dad transferred amounts of money to her with many zeros at the end. Mom looked calmly at them. Unfastening her apron, she thrust the spatula into the woman's hands. "The workers' massive daily meals will be on you from now on." Dad's expression hardened instantly, and he slapped Mom's hand away. "Are you out of your mind?! There are over a hundred people on this site. How could you possibly make Abigail cook for them? It would wear her out! She married me to live in luxury!" "And living in a shack on a construction site isn't too much for our daughter?" The young woman stepped forward to play the peacemaker. "Oh, I heard you and my husband started working on construction sites together ten years ago. The kid must be totally used to it by now. "You can just stay on as the housekeeper. I won't kick you guys out." As if granting charity, Dad commanded Mom, "Hurry up and thank Abigail for her generosity. She's the new matriarch around here. We're all one family now." Mom didn't say another word, simply closing the drafty corrugated tin door. "Bailey, I saved up a bit of money. How about I take you somewhere else to go to school?"

After my parents have passed away, I drop out of school and spend the next ten years working my butt off so that I can put my younger sister, Delilah Scott, through school. When Delilah scores a total of 1550 on her SATs, I can't help but shed happy tears for her. After holding a grand celebratory party, I see live comments streaking in front of my eyes all of a sudden. "I'm so excited! Today, Lils will be spending her first night with Doug!" The sight of the first comment leaves me stunned. At first, I think I'm just seeing things. But the second comment soon flashes in front of me. "This is all Lils' fault for getting into a fight with Doug right before their SATs! Doug got mad at her and ended up scribbling her name all over his exam papers, causing him to score a big fat zero on everything! Poor Lils is overwhelmed by so much guilt that she has secretly changed her application for her dream university to the community college Doug will be studying at! "Tonight, Lils will be giving her virginity to Doug just to comfort him! Once they start college, they'll be busy popping out babies one after another. After graduation, they'll inherit Lils' older sister's company right away and live happily ever after as a married couple!" The moment the comments vanish before my eyes, I see Delilah walking out of her room. "Trish, I'm sleeping over at my best friend's house tonight, so I won't be coming home."

My grandfather was a thief. He stole my grandmother’s name and the opportunity that could have taken her out of the backwoods, then left with another woman by his side. One of them became a prominent law professor, standing at the front of lecture halls talking about fairness and justice. The other became a renowned fine artist, speaking in front of news cameras about art and integrity. Meanwhile, my grandmother was trapped in the backwoods her entire life, enduring pointed fingers and malicious insults everywhere she went. She died with her eyes wide open, refusing to rest in peace. Fifty years passed. I owed everything to the sacrifices of my grandmother and mother. Thanks to them, I made my way out of the backwoods and became a partner at a top-tier law firm. During recruitment season, I sat in the head interviewer's chair. The young man sitting across from me was bright, handsome, and the star graduate of a top-tier law school. I flipped through his resume, scanning page after page. When I reached the family background section, my fingers froze. I stared at that name for a long time. Finally, I lifted my eyes, looked straight at him, and spoke without a trace of emotion, "You didn't make the cut."

The day I married Dante Moretti, I became the youngest Donna in New York. He took the Family seal from me and put the Family's ledgers and vault keys in the hands of his Underboss Valentina. She was his second-in-command and his lover. Even as Donna, I needed her signature before I could spend a dollar of the Family's money. Then Beatrice Moretti, Dante's mother and the former Donna, was attacked outside a church. The secret clinic demanded half a million dollars in cash before they would operate. I couldn't reach Dante, so I had to go to Valentina for access to the emergency vault. She sat behind Dante's desk, painting her nails. "You want money? Kneel, kiss my instep, and submit a request form." I did as I was told. Because my mother-in-law was lying on that operating table, and she was the only person who had ever treated me like a daughter. Valentina deliberately spilled coffee on the form and tore it to pieces. Not long after, the church bells tolled for the dead. And Dante, with his arm around Valentina, asked, "It's your mother who died. Why should we pay for her?"

The day before the list of names for guaranteed university admission was announced, a synced note I shared with Bryce Joller for three years suddenly showed a reminder: [Operation: Save Lara Lane] I stared at it for a long moment before tapping on it. [1st: Give Nelly Seagel's spot to Lara.] [2nd: Go to the city where Lara's university is, take care of her, and let her join Joller Group when she graduates.] [3rd: After witnessing Lara get married, marry Nelly.] I stared at those three lines for a long time, unable to believe it. Bryce hated homewreckers the most because his mother was driven to death by one. Thus, over the years, he stayed up late studying with me, shielded me from my classmates’ taunts, and even used the Joller family name he hated most to stand up for me when my stepmother, Marissa York, kicked me out of the house. He supported me through countless nights when I could not hold on anymore. "Nelly, don't you dare break down. As long as I'm here, you're not allowed to give up!" Only now did I realize that Bryce had already chosen someone else to save somewhere along the way.

My daughter and my husband’s godson were diagnosed with acute leukemia at the same time. The doctors said a banked cord-blood unit could save a life. His foster sister, Rebecca Sloan, knelt in front of me with her son in her arms and begged until her voice gave out. “Claire, please, let Leo have the cord blood. His father died right after he was born and I never banked any of my own. Have some pity on the two of us. “Leo is the only child I have. I’m begging you. Save him.” I refused outright. I was not going to gamble with my daughter’s life. Then, on the morning of my daughter’s treatment, my husband, Ethan Hale hit me with his car and left me critically injured. The wheels went over my thigh and back again. The pain nearly took me under. He stood over me while I struggled in the blood on the pavement, and I couldn’t read anything in his eyes. “Claire, I’m sorry. For Leo’s sake, this is the only thing I can do. “You shouldn’t have fought Rebecca over the cord blood. Leo is far sicker than our daughter. If anyone gets saved first, it should be him.” They rushed me into surgery. He turned around, took the cord blood, and gave it to Rebecca’s son. By the time I woke up in my room, the only thing waiting for me was my daughter’s death certificate.

In the sixth year of my relationship with Niklas Berg, he spent three hundred days a year in Inari, in northern Finland, doing fieldwork on Sámi culture and traditional crafts. I stayed behind in London, looking after his mother, Helena Berg, who had been bedridden since her stroke. The day I miscarried from sheer exhaustion, I was shaking all over with pain. I called him. Before I could say a word, he cut me off. "Signal's bad up here. The project's at a critical stage. Stop bothering me with every little thing at home." Then he hung up. I had always believed he was simply too consumed by his research to understand the needs of an ordinary relationship. That belief lasted until late one night, when I came across a promotional video for a Nordic traditional crafts exhibition on social media. In the video, Niklas, always so reserved and composed, was leaning down, fastening an heirloom silver brooch at the collar of a radiant young Sámi woman. The silver caught the light against her red-and-blue shawl, and his hands moved with such solemnity it looked like a ritual only the two of them understood. Someone off-camera teased him, asking if he planned to stay in the north forever. He looked at the girl, his voice low and tender. "Aila says this brooch is only given to the person she wants to share her life with. I'd gladly stay here for her." I closed the video. I didn't cry, and I didn't confront him. I simply signed the Helsinki transfer confirmation I should have signed long ago, then left my flat key and engagement ring behind in our home. His beliefs had never left room for me. So I would go and find a world of my own.

Adrian Mohr and I had been together for seven years. We'd tried to register our blood bond eight times and failed every single one. The first time, his father said the Mohr clan's nighttime shipping routes had been targeted by vampire hunters, and Adrian needed to attend an emergency family meeting. The meeting ran from dusk until the following dawn. He never showed up before the registry closed. The second time, my mother said she'd found hunters' silver markings outside our front door and insisted that leaving the house would expose the entire family. She blocked the doorway and even threatened that if I insisted on going, she would pull back the blackout curtains and step into the sunlight. The third time, my best friend, Claire Donovan, called me in tears, saying hunters were following her and she was hiding in a bell tower, too afraid to come down alone. I rushed to her side, and by the time we confirmed the area was safe, the registry had already closed for the night. ... The ninth time, we took care of everything ahead of schedule and got into a car with UV-tinted windows, heading to the registry through the underground tunnel. We had barely crossed one intersection when a black sports car shot out from a side street and slammed into us. The side window shattered, and a sliver of silver-coated glass lodged in my left shoulder. For most vampires, a crash like that was nothing, but silver suppressed healing. The wound burned immediately, and the bleeding wouldn't stop. Lillian Hart stumbled out of the sports car in a panic. She was my sister, a newly awakened vampire. She rushed to our car door, her face drained of color. "Oh God, I didn't mean to! Adrian, Eve, are you hurt?" Adrian grabbed her wrist first, checking whether she'd touched any silver. Only after confirming she was completely unharmed did he turn back to me. "Eve, looks like we won't make it to the registry today either." "Yeah. I guess not." I pressed my hand against my still-bleeding shoulder

My father disappeared for seventeen years. The first time he surfaced, it was to offer me fifty thousand dollars for my bone marrow to save the daughter he'd had with his lover. My mother slapped me twice right there, demanding I refuse his dirty money. But I got into the car the Alpha had sent, handprints still burning on my face, and walked into his multimillion-dollar estate. They all thought I was so desperate I'd sell my own blood for cash. That changed when I pointed at the most expensive car in his garage and told my father, "Either restore my name to the Blackwood family registry or give me the car's value in cash: three hundred thousand dollars." "Your daughter needs my bone marrow to survive. My mother needs three hundred thousand dollars to stay alive." "If you can't part with the money, then watch her die." After that, everyone thought all I cared about was money. Only I knew the truth: I was selling my own blood to buy my mother a chance at life.

I put my six-year-old daughter in my mother-in-law’s hands as I was busy with an overseas project. Every month, I would send her 20,000 dollars in allowance, not including holiday cash gifts. My mother-in-law would always talk about how well my daughter ate and slept during every video call. In the video, a feast was always laid before my daughter. So when her teacher claimed that she had fainted out of hunger during class, my first thought was that she must have called the wrong number. I rushed back home and headed straight to the hospital. The doctor said that my daughter was suffering from long-term malnutrition and her weight was far below the average. She also had severe post-traumatic stress disorder with suspected autism. The homeroom teacher looked begrudgingly at me with furrowed brows. “Ms. Mason, this isn’t the first time Natalie fainted out of hunger during class. “She only brings one cold plain bun to school for lunch every day. Sometimes, she doesn’t even have that bun. “Each time I ask her about things at home, she refuses to speak.” I was utterly confused by the teacher’s questions. How could my child go hungry when I was sending over 20,000 dollars in allowance every month?

I have just disembarked from the plane when I receive a call from my sister, Sienna Miller's, manager. "Bad news! Sienna's role was stolen from her." I immediately rush to the set only to see Sienna surrounded by a group of people. Her cheeks are red and swollen from being slapped repeatedly. A mixture of fury and panic rages within me. I'm just about to step forward when a young woman, who looks no older than 16 years old and is wearing a dress that is covered in ruffles and frills, slaps me across my face. I'm stunned by the slap. A murderous glint flickers in my eyes. "Do you have any idea who I am?" I hiss. The young woman scoffs and sneers. "Who do you think you are? How dare you try to intimidate me? You'll be offending the only daughter of Deslano's Miller family, Quinn Miller. You'll also be facing a fate worse than death if you dare to fight me for this role." The director's arrogance from before has disappeared. He rubs his hands together as he tries to smooth the situation over. "She invested a significant amount of funds when she joined the crew. You're no match for her. If you know what's good for you, you'll accept whatever role that is assigned to you." The only daughter of the Miller family? What does that make me and Sienna then? I immediately call Dad and coldly demand answers from him. "It hasn't even been a week since Mom passed away. Are you in that much of a rush to bring your mistress and other children into the family?"

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."

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.

For seven years of my marriage to Damian Moretti, my daughter and I were so poor that every night we collected empty bottles from the alley behind a bar. Every time Ella traded the bottles in for change, she would ask me, "Mommy, do we have enough saved to go to the aquarium with Daddy yet?" Damian always said we had no money. Then, on the day I finally saved enough for three tickets, I arrived at the aquarium only to find him at the entrance holding his ex-girlfriend's hand, with her son in his arms. A staff member stopped us. "Sorry, Mr. Moretti has reserved the entire aquarium for a private event tonight." A bodyguard in black stepped up beside Damian and bowed his head. "Don, the car is ready." The truth was that my supposedly penniless husband, the man who claimed he could not afford his own daughter's ticket, had reclaimed the Moretti Family long ago and become New York's new Don. It was not that he had no money. He simply refused to spend any of it on us. Later I took my daughter and left New York, and the Vitale Family found me. I inherited the family's ports, took control of the Atlantic Shipping Alliance, and became a Donna before whom countless mafia families bowed. Damian, eyes red, begged me to come home. I only pushed the divorce papers across to him. "Damian, I am already home. And you were never my family."

Three years after my husband, Lucien Vance, put me on a household spending card linked to his account, he hired Camilla Bennett to manage his money. From then on, every dollar I spent needed her approval. "Nine dollars for a cab? The bus costs one dollar." Denied. "An air conditioner for your mom? She's gone without one for decades. What's changed?" Denied. Lucien watched me fume and said, "Camilla knows what she's doing. She's helping us save money. You know I can't stand gold diggers." Then Lucien's mother, Nora Vance, landed in the ICU with severe pneumonia. She needed a ventilator, antibiotics, and continuous hemofiltration. The bill came to $30,000. Camilla denied it again. My hands shook as I called Lucien 43 times before he finally answered. "Send the money now! Nora has pneumonia. She's going to die without treatment!" He sounded annoyed. "Camilla said it isn't serious. A little cough syrup will clear it up. You're making this up for money? What would your mother say?" Then I heard Camilla's voice in the background. "Lucien, this necklace only cost $25,000. I couldn't pass it up. Let's call it my birthday present!" I opened my mouth, but he hung up before I could speak. As I watched Nora suffer, it hit me. Lucien had gotten one thing very wrong. It wasn't my mother in that hospital bed. It was his.

My daughter, Clara Williams, turned seven today. We played a simple game to celebrate. The rule was easy. I would start a sentence, and she would finish it. It was a popular trend designed to see if a child was being criticized. "First sentence," I said, leaning over the table. "Look at the other kids…" I waited, a warm smile on my face. I had never raised my voice at her. I spent years protecting her world, building her confidence brick by brick. I knew she was happy. Her soft voice shattered that illusion instantly. "They are so much better than you," she said, reciting the words by heart. "You aren't even worth a single hair on Lily's head." Lily. She was the daughter of Donald Williams’ ex-girlfriend, Valerie Thompson. My chest tightened. The air left my lungs all at once. It took everything I had to swallow the lump in my throat and move to the second prompt. "What do you have to complain about?" "Lily is younger than you," my daughter cut in, her voice small. "You have to give up everything for her." She looked up at me nervously. Her little hands twisted the hem of her shirt under the table. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing down the sudden surge of nausea. I took a slow breath and tried sentence three. "You've grown up already…" "Go to parent-teacher conferences by yourself," she answered, looking at the floor. "I have to play family games with Lily." I stopped. I couldn't bring myself to ask another question. The cold truth was sitting right in front of me, but I was still clinging to a tiny shred of hope. "Sweetheart," I whispered. "Who told you those things?" "Daddy did." She caught the change in my tone and panicked. She quickly blew out the birthday candles, trying to lighten the mood. She closed her eyes tightly, making a wish out loud. "I wish I can be a better girl. Then Dad will be happy, and he will treat Mommy better." The last candle flickered and died. Darkness crept over the room. My illusion collapsed right along with it. I thought I was shielding my little girl from the monsters of the world. I never guessed her own father, Donald Williams, was the biggest among the monsters.

Three years ago, Isabella Moretti was the sole heir to the Moretti family, the most powerful of New York's five crime families. She was supposed to inherit the Moretti name and most of the business flowing through New York Harbor. A Mafia shootout changed everything. To save her husband, Matteo De Luca, she deliberately drew the enemy away from him. Matteo got out. But Isabella was shot in the shoulder and captured by the kidnappers. They wanted information about Moretti operations. For three years, they tortured her to get it. She was carrying Matteo's child at the time. She did not know she had already been written off. She kept believing the husband she loved would come for her. The truth was that for three whole years, nobody came. She escaped by faking her death and made it back to New York alive, only to find that she had lost everything. Her loving parents were dead, while the husband she adored was rushing to bury her with his lover and their children at his side!