เรื่องสั้นแนว Feel-Good Story และนิยาย Scumbag Family Emotions

Three days before my engagement party, my dad, Mike Kemp, makes a pot of wild mushroom stew at home. He says the wild mushrooms from Westhaven are the freshest, so it makes the perfect meal to welcome Vance Topp back home. Vance has just secured another round of funding. Everyone praises me for having such good judgment and betting on a promising young entrepreneur. But without my money, how could a broke man like him have gotten this far? I paid for his first lab with the money I got from selling the painting my mom, Peggy Roth, left for me. I also put my trust fund up as collateral to secure his first round of funding. On top of that, the company's most valuable anti-allergy formula is based on handwritten notes Mom left behind when she died. Luckily, Vance isn't some ungrateful jerk. Right now, he's gently ladling soup into my bowl. "Eat more, Tiana. You've lost weight from all the wedding planning." I'm about to say something when my stepmother, Brie Upton, who is right beside Dad, laughs. "Vance, you're still as considerate as ever." Brie is only a few years older than me and has been pretty well-behaved since she married Dad. Aside from being a little materialistic, she's never given me any trouble. We've always been cordial toward each other… Until tonight. The stew looks especially tempting, so Vance has two drinks and eats more than half a bowl. A moment later, his expression shifts and he stares at the chandelier, giggling. "Brie, I miss you so much." I freeze. Dad's expression hardens, his brows furrowing. "Vance, are you drunk?" Vance suddenly grabs Brie's hand. In the dead silence around the table, his voice comes out slurred yet affectionate. "We're almost through the hard part. Once I marry Tiana, the trust fund that her mom left behind will be ours."

Everyone warned me never to fall for Dante Moretti. They said he was the ghost of the Velasco family—an underboss who ordered hits without blinking, his heart colder than the barrel of his gun. But when he bent me over that mahogany desk, his mouth against my ear commanding me to say his name, I was stupid enough to think that was possession. It took me an entire year to see the truth. The photographs locked in his study drawer were never of me. The woman in white waiting for him in the cathedral district on Sunday mornings was never me. The girl who took a bullet for him, the one he called his "salvation"—her name is Elena Abate. And Elena happens to be my stepmother's daughter. My father is trying to sell me to a half-dead Agosti heir for five hundred million to save the family. My stepmother is scheming to erase me from existence entirely. And the man I thought would burn this city to the ground for me? On the day I needed him most, he was lifting Elena up a flight of stairs, cradling her like something sacred. They all thought I was just a pawn to be moved around their chessboard. They were wrong. If Dante can't let go of his precious white moonlight, his "salvation," then I'll become someone else's "widow." If Elena believes she's already won this game, I'll let her watch from the front row as a woman with nothing left to lose burns it all down. My name is Serafina. Remember it. Because I am about to become the reckoning none of them saw coming.

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 dad is the youngest ace pilot in the country. He's equipped with extremely stellar piloting skills. But on the day my mom suffers from a sudden heart attack and desperately needs to transfer hospitals, he refuses to fly her out with the excuse that the weather is terrible. Later on, someone records Dad flying a private jet just to scatter flower petals from a high altitude on a sunny day in order to celebrate the birthday of another woman's daughter. Meanwhile, my mom ends up dying on the stretcher while waiting to be saved. He didn't even show up, right up until the burial. For the next 20 years, my uncle has to take on cab orders every night just to put me through flight school. The day I become the youngest chief examiner of the Federal Aviation Administration, an airline delivers to me the file of a piloting prodigy for a captain upgrade assessment. The CEO of the airline is present as the guarantor of said pilot candidate. He puts himself in a very humble position when he addresses me. "Mr. Lowe, this young woman is extremely talented. If you drop your signature now, she will become the youngest pilot ever." I flip through the candidate's piloting resume. When my eyes fall on the list of her family members and her emergency contact, I'm stunned for a moment. Then, I stare at the young woman's photo for a very long time. Finally, I close the file and state softly, "Sorry. I won't approve her evaluation."

A blizzard had buried the mountain, turning every road into a death trap. Locals called it Deadman's Pass—seventy-two icy switchbacks with zero room for error. As the only person who had ever made it through without a scratch, I'd just gotten a million-dollar rescue call from beyond the final curve. Ten years ago, I went there once. My seventeen-year-old daughter, Maya, was skydiving with her classmates when a violent air current forced an emergency landing. The rescue came too late. She died there. Later, I learned my husband, Jayden Boone, had ignored Maya's safety. He poured hundreds of thousands of dollars into the rescue effort and redirected every team to save his ex's daughter instead. The girl had only sprained her ankle on a hiking trip. The day Maya died, I walked away from my career as a professor and stayed here, living as a broke driver. I risked my life running Deadman's Pass again and again until I knew every turn by heart. In the ten years since, no one else had died on that road. Today, a friend shoved a million-dollar rescue job in front of me and told me to leave right away. I looked at the face in the photo—the one I could never forget. Then I smiled and tossed my keys onto the table. "I can't take this job."

My name is Elena Valesi Moretti. I'm a Brooklyn mob bride, a pawn in everyone's game. My father Enzo traded me for an alliance. My sister Isabella played the saint while secretly selling our baby sister Sofia to the Bianchi family behind closed doors. And my husband, Dante Moretti—the man with winter in his eyes who whispered “Try to run, I’ll break your legs” on our wedding day—he married me because when I was fifteen years old, I once pointed a gun at him inside a burning building. The only rule in this marriage was simple: stay out of his way. I spent three years breaking it. I sat in on council meetings and memorized every traitor's secret. I stood and watched a man's finger be severed to teach my own brother the price of betrayal. I turned myself into a blade. Then I uncovered the truth—Dante knew everything from the start. He knew my father had planted a mole inside his inner circle. He knew my sister was a trafficker's broker. He knew the woman he married was meant to be disposable from the very beginning. But there's one thing he never accounted for. He didn't marry a lamb. He married a wolf who learned how to draw blood. Now someone is trying to sell my little sister, and I have six weeks to stop it. I'm going to beat this man at every game he ever taught me.

I'd been married to Cecil Smith for eight years. He was the youngest wedding planner in the country, yet our own wedding had been thrown together in a rush. I'd asked him about it many times. Each time, he'd take my hand and say the same thing. "Nora, once I make it into the Best of Weddings Hall of Fame, I'll give you a wedding the whole city will talk about. "I'll make sure everyone knows you're the wife I'd do anything for." He said it like he meant it, so I believed him. I gladly stayed up late rewriting proposals with him and worked alongside him on-site. When he needed cash to keep the business going, I sold the house my mother had left me. My coworkers would see how worn out I was and smile at me with a hint of mockery. "Mrs. Smith is so lucky. With a husband like Mr. Smith, who knows how spectacular that wedding is going to be." "Once the photos are up, we're all going to be very jealous of you." Then, on the day Cecil finally made the Hall of Fame, everyone crowded around a phone and gasped. He'd posted a photo on Instagram from a snow-covered mountain. It showed two passports and a wedding gown. Everyone assumed he'd finally taken me abroad for our bridal photo shoot. That was when I walked into the office with my suitcase. They stared for a few seconds. Then the questions came, their voices oddly hesitant. "Mrs. Smith, what are you still doing here?" "Don't tell me you weren't the woman Mr. Smith took with him."

Our daughter was diagnosed with a genetic illness. To save her, my husband founded a charity in her name. To raise the funds, he pushed himself to the brink—working three hundred days straight, surviving on three hours of sleep a night. His relentless drive moved countless people. The media hailed him as "Father of the Year." Everyone congratulated me on having such a devoted partner. Then came the day he rallied the entire nation, securing pledges for millions in donations to fund our daughter's cure. At the gala, with over ten million dollars moments from being transferred, I suddenly hit the pause button. "And now, we'll take a brief intermission for a signing," I announced. The room erupted. They shouted at me, called me selfish, a monster. My husband stared at me, utterly stunned. "Have you lost your mind? Children around the world are waiting on this money to survive! What in God's name are you talking about?" I lifted my gaze to meet his. "A divorce agreement."

I was the one who first spotted the pimple on my husband Ryan Bennett's back. It was plump, red, and swollen, topped with a whitehead that looked ready to burst at any moment. I rubbed my hands together in excitement and told him not to move. Once the extraction tool I'd ordered arrived, I was going to perform a little "operation" on it. He laughed and said sure, adding that he loved this weird little hobby of mine. Two days later, he came back from his business trip. I rushed over with my brand-new "surgical instruments," only to find that patch of skin smooth and clear, with nothing left but a faint red mark. My heart deflated just like that pimple. Someone had beaten me to it.

The Sullivans, one of Delston's richest families, are coming to the orphanage to find their long-lost daughter. Before they arrive, my childhood friend, Alex Jenkins, hands me a gold pendant. "Mr. Anderson said you were wearing this when you were first brought here. He told me to return it to you." Comments suddenly begin appearing one after another in front of me. "Wait, Alex gave Olivia's pendant to Rhea? Is he seriously trying to pass Rhea off as the Sullivan daughter?" "Of course he is. Olivia's pregnant. What rich family wants its long-lost daughter showing up pregnant and unmarried?" "They'll let Rhea take her place until Olivia has the baby. Then Olivia can come back, expose her, and take her place in the family. She's the real Sullivan, after all." "Poor Rhea has no clue what's really going on. Now everyone's going to think she's some scheming orphan trying to worm her way into a rich family." And that was exactly what happened the first time around. Thrilled, I went to meet the Sullivans with the gold pendant. Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan mistook me for their long-lost daughter and spoiled me rotten. Then, at my birthday party two years later, Olivia Sullivan burst in sobbing. She accused me of stealing her pendant and taking her place in the family. Alex turned on me too, telling everyone I'd been manipulative since we were kids. Overnight, I became the most hated woman in Delston high society. The entire industry blacklisted me, and in the end, I died on the streets. When I opened my eyes again, Alex was holding out the same gold pendant to me. And yet, I still smile and take it.

Before my father passed away, he arranged for me to be married. My future partner, Shane Zimmer, is an influential business mogul in Javensburg, and he's notoriously difficult to deal with. Before I marry him, I set three rules for myself. One, we don't talk about love, only dividends. Two, we stay out of each other's lives. Three, if one day he finds his true love, I walk away immediately, and all I want is double the alimony. Shane is pleased that I know my place. One day, a teenager who resembles him knocks on the front door. He calmly says, "Hi there, I'm Shane's son. He's been raising me in secret. I'm 17 this year."

I am the lawfully wedded wife of Don Jones—the Donna of the Jones Family—and the founding CEO of his medical empire. I stood by Vincent's side as we built it up from a two-room surgical clinic into the crown jewel of European private healthcare. Then, in my eighth month of pregnancy, dying on the operating table, Vincent pulled every surgeon out of my maternity ward for the sake of his mistress. He killed our child with his own hands. He stripped me of the right to ever be a mother. He thought I was a homeless orphan with nowhere to go. He had no idea I was the sole blood heir of the Belmonte Family. After the divorce, I came home to command a global medical empire. He knelt and begged. I watched, cold-eyed, as he fell into hell.

It's my daughter, Clementine Hartman's first time smashing cake and we hold a big birthday party for her. Somehow, she digs out a thong belonging to Nancy Ortega, my husband's female best friend, from the giftbox he has prepared. Everyone is stunned, to say the least. Nancy lets out a soft gasp before blinking at me innocently. "Sorry, this is my fault! Shawn and I traded underwear just for fun some time ago, and I forgot to take it away. Please don't take this matter to heart, Karina." I do my best to suppress my rage and pretend that nothing has happened for Clementine's sake. But suddenly Clementine picks up a document. Thinking that it's a present prepared by the elderly members in the family for Clementine, I glance at it before putting it away. Unexpectedly, Nancy bursts out laughing. "Karina, is money all you care about? Did you seriously accept that document without going through it? Don't tell me you seriously think a property deed is wrapped up in that document!" Then, Nancy picks out a few pieces of paper from the pile before tossing them to me. Only then do I make out the details. It turns out that Clementine has actually grabbed a copy of the divorce agreement meant for me and Shawn Hartman. I stare at Shawn in disbelief. "Is this what you really want? A divorce?" Shawn looks perplexed at first, but he still shields Nancy behind him out of instinct. "Nancy's just pulling a prank. Don't take it to heart. She's just joking around." But Nancy sticks her head out from behind Shawn and adds, "Joking around? Shawn, don't tell me you've lost your courage to divorce Karina!" All the guests fall silent at her words. They all turn to look at me. After a while, I don't react by crying or kicking up a fuss. Instead, I drop my signature on the divorce agreement while everyone else stares at me in shock. "Fine. Let's get divorced." After all, it is my daughter's gift.

My sister, Kelly Sutton, was totally lovestruck. The night her longtime crush finally said yes, she begged me not to tell our parents about their date. She stayed out all night, and I covered for her. Kelly was so happy, I couldn't help being happy for her. Three months later, she jumped off the roof of our apartment building. Dad had a heart attack and died on the spot. Mom never smiled again. Eventually, she ended up in a psychiatric hospital. More than a decade later, after I became a cop, I dug up an old case that made my blood run cold. Kelly's crush, Calvin Tilley, was a psychopath who used love as bait to deliberately spread HIV, destroying young women's lives. That was why my sister killed herself. Then I opened my eyes and found myself back on that night. Kelly leaned in, her voice low. "He said yes." "Please, Sophie. Keep this between us. Just tell Mom and Dad I'm sleeping over at my best friend's." She stood at the mirror in a floral dress, filling in her brows. My blood went cold. I grabbed her wrist. "No. You're not going anywhere tonight."

When my husband, Lucius Croft, and I were on a flight that was heading toward our honeymoon destination, his childhood friend, Belinda Todd, suddenly appeared before us while pregnant. She claimed that she had bought an economy-class ticket and that she wanted to go on a vacation with us. Not only did Lucius not reject Belinda, but he also wanted me to give my first-class ticket away to her. I turned his suggestion down. So, he helped Belinda occupy the first-class seat next to us. When I realized that an old lady was the owner of that particular seat, I did everything I could to convince Lucius to return the seat to her. Unexpectedly, Belinda was so mad that she got off the plane right away. On her way home, she got into an accident, which killed her and her unborn baby. Lucius attended her funeral calmly. But on the day I was supposed to go into labor, he tied me up in the car and staged a car accident on purpose. "This is all your fault! If it wasn't for you, Belinda never would've died! You deserve to make it up to her with your life!" I could only watch the car drive into the tree in total despair. All I saw was a huge explosion and tongues of flame around me before I completely lost consciousness. When I open my eyes again, I see Belinda standing before me with her belly jutting out. This time, I no longer stop them. What they don't know is that the inconspicuous-looking old lady is actually a member of the esteemed Howard family, also known as the global business powerhouse. She's also the grandmother of the richest man in the world, Ethan Howard.

After a wild month of partying across half the world, I unexpectedly found out that I was pregnant. I flew home overnight to surprise my husband, only to find a new nanny had moved into our house. Before I could say a word, she slapped me across the face. "What's a vixen like you doing here?" she snapped, fierce and full of herself. "Get out! This is my daughter's house! Out, out, out!" My hand froze halfway to dialing 911. I shot back instead, "Who's your daughter?" She settled onto the leather sofa I'd bought, crossed her legs smugly, and said, "My daughter is Paige Griffin, and her husband is Bradley Ford, Morlene City's hottest new rising star. Did you hear that clearly, or are your ears just for show?" My head started buzzing. I looked down at the wall-sized print of my wedding photo with Bradley and let out a bitter laugh. If her daughter was Bradley's wife, then who did that make me? Me, the proud daughter of Morlene City's richest man, had been reduced to being someone's mistress?

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?"

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?"

My stepson, Lucas Lincoln, is trapped in a fire. After calling the fire brigade, I quickly ring my husband, Jasper Lincoln. Jasper is the leader of a search-and-rescue team, after all. But to my dismay, Jasper is currently keeping his ex-wife, Yvonne Schmidt, company. Yvonne has won the "Forensic Doctor of the Year" award, and so they are out celebrating it. My phone calls are rejected again and again. Jasper never once calls me back, even after Lucas' cries for help disappear entirely. By the time the fire brigade arrives to quell the flames, Lucas has been burned to a crisp. I tell Jasper what happened to our son, but he only gleefully says, "He was nothing but a troublemaker who'd contribute nothing to society. If he's dead, then so be it. This way, he won't grow up to become a menace. "Yvonne happens to be giving a public talk tomorrow and is still in need of a specimen demonstrating burn injuries. She can use Noah's corpse for her demonstration since it's still fresh." I sneer. So Jasper thinks that my own son, Noah Green, is the one who died in the fire. I immediately send Lucas' blackened corpse to Yvonne's operating room.

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?