Feel-Good Story Short Stories & Scumbag Marriage Novels

At a private spa retreat, my husband’s assistant brought me a glass of iced coffee. I was parched and about to drain it when a stream of comments appeared before my eyes. [Drink it, you wicked villainess! The coffee is laced with enough sleeping pills to knock you out. Don’t ruin the leads’ big moment!] [I’m dying. The male lead is sleeping with his sister-in-law right under the villainess’ nose.] [The leads are all over each other in the sauna! This is getting spicy!] Suspicious, I lowered the glass, and the comment stream erupted. [Why isn’t the villainess drinking it?!] Were they calling me the villainess? I glanced toward the sauna, then walked straight over to it. I pulled a floor cushion over, sat down outside the steaming wooden door, and called to a staff member, “Excuse me, could you turn up the heat? I want to sit here and sweat it out.” [What?! No! Our precious leads are going to be cooked alive!]

My husband Ben Miller gave me a grand a month for household expenses, while claiming to everyone it was ten grand. Not wanting to hurt his pride, I kept my silence. Came New Year’s Eve dinner when Mary, my mom-in-law, went so far as to blurt out in front of everyone: “My boy works himself to the bone out there every day, only for my precious daughter-in-law to drain every last cent. “Who knows how much of his money she’s given to her own parents?” Ben pretended not to hear a thing, downing drinks with the guests. A chill settled in my heart. All my years of saving every penny, frugally managing the household, and slaving away for their extended family came to nothing. In their eyes, I was nothing more than a leach bleeding them dry. I unclasped the apron from around my waist, not wanting to spend another second with this family. To my surprise, Mary led a large crowd of relatives into the kitchen, cornering me inside. “Come clean now. How much of Ben’s money have you pocketed over the years? “Today, you’re spitting every single cent back out.”

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.

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."

The night we fought for the port, I took a ricin-laced bullet for my husband, Don Nick Valenti. As I lay dying, Dr. Bruno Esposito, the Valenti family's doctor, brought out the last dose of antiserum. He said a shot right away would save me. But Nick injected the lifesaving serum into Mia Conti instead. Mia suddenly developed stomach cramps, so Nick ordered Bruno to give her the antiserum slowly through an IV. He ignored the fact that I could barely breathe and my skin was turning blue. Isabella Valenti, Nick's mother and the former Donna, clutched her crucifix. “Your wife is the one who was poisoned, Nick! Why are you saving Mia?” Nick pressed a cotton ball to Mia's arm to stop the bleeding. “Mia's been sheltered her whole life. She's never had so much as a scratch. Julia's survived more gunshot wounds than I can count. She'll pull through this one too.” Isabella's face went cold and hard. “Julia has pulled you out of gunfire at least ten times. Her father and brother both died helping you seize power! And you won't even give her the antiserum that could save her life?” Nick's voice was cold. “Mother, I never forced them to do any of it! When Julia married me, she made her vows before God. She loves me. She chose all of this.” He came over to my bed and touched my face. “Julia, I know you're stronger than this. I'll have Bruno do everything he can. You're my wife and the Donna of the Valenti family.” He looked as tender as he had the night before, when he had held me in his arms. I looked at the empty syringe in his hand, and suddenly, none of it felt worth it anymore. “Nick Valenti! You had better pray I don't survive. “Because if I do, you'll answer to God for everything you've done!”

I pick up my husband Ethan Fuller's phone to transfer 200 dollars to myself for poker, but I stumble across his buddies' group chat, where they're planning a proposal. "Saturday at 7:00 pm, on a yacht on the river. Everybody dress up a little, guys. Let's give the future Mrs. Fuller a moment she'll never forget." "Jordy, you're in charge of keeping his wife occupied. Whatever you do, don't let her find out. That woman's sharp as a tack." "Don't worry. My wife says they'll be playing poker all night. There's no way she'll get there in time." "Hahaha, I'm dying. Once Ethan gets her to say yes, his wife won't even have anyone to go crying to." "By the way, Ethan, is the ring well hidden? We don't want a repeat of last time, when she almost dug it out." "I hid it in the company safe. She doesn't know the combination." "Once this is a done deal, I'd like to see her try to make a scene." The messages keep scrolling up, and the latest one is a voice message from Ethan. I tap it, and there's a smile in his voice. "Thanks for going to all this trouble, guys. When this is all taken care of, drinks are on me. Keep a close eye on her, and don't let anything go wrong." The light from the phone screen falls on my face. I stare at the group chat, then switch screens with a tap and decide to transfer another 20,000 dollars to myself. It's poker, after all. My luck had better be running hot.

Eight months into my pregnancy, my husband finally makes time from his police duties to go to a prenatal checkup with me for the first time. The moment we step into the hospital, his satellite-encrypted phone buzzes urgently. The caller ID flashes briefly, and just like that, the man who's always calm and collected panics. "Honey, it's a red alert. Another international fugitive just crossed the border. I… I'm sorry…" He's clearly anxious, yet his tone is firm, leaving no room for argument. After apologizing, he rushes off. As I watch his SUV speed out of sight, my fist clenches tightly, crumpling the prenatal checkup sheet. I flag down a cab, slide into the car, and swiftly instruct the driver, "Follow that car. Don't lose it." A Red Notice for a fugitive? What a joke. My father, who works at the National Security Agency, barely catches wind of a notice like that. Yet, somehow, a mere police chief who only assists with cases is suddenly tasked with catching a high-priority criminal. Fine, then. I can't wait to meet the superior who's given him such an urgent assignment.

After graduation, I post something online without really thinking about it. "Does not relying on you anymore count as growing up?" My childhood friend's comment pops up almost instantly. "That's cause for celebration." I don't understand, so I send him a question mark. After a while, his reply comes through. "Mara, do you know everyone says you're like a leech I can't shake off? "School's over. You don't need to be stuck to me every day. "Learn to stand on your own. No one in college is going to put up with a big baby." Then, without missing a beat, he sends me a download link. "Got a question? Ask AI. It's more useful than relying on me." Just like that, the boy who has looked after me for 12 years hands me off to an AI app. I sit there stunned for a long time, then quietly download it.

At our dinner gathering, my best friend, Maya Miller, leaned in with a drunken smirk. "If you find out I'm sharing someone's husband, would you still be my friend?" Before I could answer, Maya kept going. "I didn't miss our lunch yesterday because I was sick," she whispered. "He installed a floor-length mirror, just to try something new with me." She took a sip of her wine. "And that retreat last month? Fake too. His wife just had a baby, so he took me to Aspen instead." I froze in total shock. Maya Miller suddenly burst out laughing. "Oh, come on! I’m totally joking. Look at your face!" I let out a breath and laughed it off. That evening, I drove to the office to drop off files for my husband, Ethan Cross. I walked in and froze. The floor-to-ceiling window in his private office was gone. Replaced by a massive floor-length mirror. Cold sweat broke out on my neck. I turned to Ethan. "Why the mirror?" Ethan pulled me into a soft hug from behind. "The window had a small crack, sweetheart. I got the mirror so you can touch up your makeup whenever you visit." I smiled and nodded, staying silent. As soon as Ethan walked out to grab his keys, I stepped up to the glass. Near the bottom corner were two faint, rounded smudges. I measured the shape with my hands. A D-cup. Exactly Maya Miller's size. I pulled out my phone, snapped a clear picture, and dialed a contact. "Get a construction crew here tonight. I want to replace a mirror with a two-way glass." I took a deep breath. "Then call the press. Tell them Ethan Cross is holding an emergency conference downstairs on Thursday.”

My husband is a copycat. He would buy a watch or a car just because his friend did so. Last year, his friend had an affair partner. He swiftly found one for himself, too. “Jonas and the gang all do this. It’ll look bad on me if I don’t have one.” The day I suffered a miscarriage and was hospitalized, he spent it with that woman, celebrating the 100th day anniversary of when they met. “Jonas spends his time with his other woman. It’ll look bad on me if I don’t do the same.” I went on my knees, begging him to sign the surgical consent form. Yet, he found me a killjoy and blocked me for three months. Subsequently, his friends’ wives all asked for a divorce and threatened to leave with half their assets. He rushed home immediately, deleted his affair partner from his contacts, and put on an apron to cook for me. “Honey, I’ve thought things through. From now on, I’ll learn from others and be a devoted husband.” I stared at the divorce agreement he had filed unilaterally and smiled. “What a coincidence. I’ve been learning from others recently, specifically in switching out my husband.”

For six years of marriage, Cyran Valehart and I lived with measured respect, as if we were partners holding the same scale in perfect balance. For the sake of my equestrian career, I refused to have children. He shouldered the gossip, endured the judgment, and stood beside me without hesitation. But when I rode into what should have been my final international competition, he went back home with his first love—her hand resting protectively over her swollen belly. "All these years, you chose the horses over me," he spat. "That damned competition meant more to you than our family ever did." His voice shook with righteous anger, but his next words cut far deeper. "Six years ago, I abandoned Celia once. Now she carries my child. I won't betray her again." In that instant, my marriage became nothing but a title. I was reduced to a wife in name only, a figurehead in his home, a shadow he no longer cared to see. During the very competition meant to crown my life's work, Cyran laced a sharp needle beneath my saddle, each stride of my horse a fresh stab of pain meant to break us both. I lost the match. My horse collapsed with a shattered leg. And in that fall, my dream and my marriage were crushed together—ruined by the very man who once swore to protect them. Later, he paid with everything he had, desperate to make amends. But no matter what he sacrificed, Cyran Valehart was already behind me, nothing more than a ghost I would never turn to face again.

My husband Jim Sully and I kept our finances separate. We lived our own lives and stayed out of each other's way. Today, he suddenly decided to compare our savings. "In three years, I saved 300,000 dollars. That's pretty impressive, right? If I had handed my paycheck over to you back then, you'd have blown it all!" I smiled without saying a word and tossed my bank card onto the table. It held a seven-figure balance. "Right back at you." Suddenly, he exploded in anger. "Are you taking advantage of me? Half of that 1 million dollars is mine!" When I didn't answer, he snapped, "You take 30 minutes to shower, while I take five minutes. That's not fair!" He said we had to split the cost of everything from the past three years all over again. "You use more water, so you have to pay more!" My expression darkened as I pointed at the cherries. "One, two, three…" I added, "I bought 40 cherries for 10 dollars. You ate 18, so you owe me 4.50 dollars." "We're married! You're seriously keeping track of how much fruit I eat?" Jim snapped. His expression darkened. "Fine, then. Let's split the cost of all the emotional support you've gotten from me over the past three years too!"

"Ms. Summers, are you sure you want to terminate this pregnancy?" Solana Summers has been lost in thought, but the repeated questioning suddenly snaps her back to reality. She stares wide-eyed, as if she can't believe what she is seeing. When the doctor, Aidan Bates, urges her again, she realizes she has been reborn. In her previous life, it was on this very day that she discovered she was pregnant and made a choice that cost her dearly. Aidan urges her once more. "Ms. Summers?" "Yes!" Solana answers firmly, her voice trembling ever so slightly. This time, she won't make the same mistake again.

Using an alternative account, I secretly join a cycling group chat that my husband, Liam Johnson, is in. One day, an announcement is made in the group chat. "We'll be organizing a weekend mountain biking activity with an overnight stay, with two people sharing a room. To add some excitement, we'll be drawing lots for room assignments." I can't really understand it. Curious, I ask, "What if a man and a woman end up drawing the same room?"

On my wedding day, the officiant had just asked me whether I would take this man as my husband. Then my fiancé's secretary shoved her way onto the stage, heavily pregnant, sobbing that her baby couldn't grow up without a father. The whole audience was in an uproar. Adrian grasped both of her hands, turned to look at me, and kept his voice mild. "Vivian, she's stood by me for five years. That has to count for something." "The baby's already seven months along. I can't let him come into this world without a name." "You'll remain Mrs. Locke and we can treat her as part of our family. The three of us will build a harmonious life together." I looked at the big backdrop screen behind him, emblazoned with both our names side by side, and I started to laugh. "Adrian, did you forget?" "For this wedding, the hotel is mine and the guests are all those I invited." "Even that tux you're wearing was paid for with the card I gave you." I pulled off my wedding veil and dropped it onto the floor at his feet. "You want to give her a name? Fine." "First, cough up every last cent you owe me."

Out of nowhere, I heard the slap of bodies coming from the bathroom, along with a woman's breathy moans and my husband's low groans. But my husband, Robert Hayes, was the only person in there! Frowning, I pushed the bathroom door open. Robert's hands were frozen in midair, clenched into fists, and every muscle in his body was tense. He swallowed hard. I was about to go in when lines of text suddenly started scrolling across my vision like comments on a livestream. [He's doing it with Emma Bennett's best friend, Selena Reed, right under Emma's nose. He's wild!] [No wonder Robert was willing to drop over a million dollars on an invisibility potion.] [Doing it with Emma watching must be even hotter! Today's just a test run. Tomorrow's pool party is Robert's real show.] [Just thinking about it is a thrill!] A sudden sound came from the bathroom, and two wet footprints appeared on a dry patch of the floor. Robert turned toward the sound. His deep-blue eyes narrowed, and his voice sharpened. "Get out!" I backed out. I was so furious that I immediately went online and ordered a whole box of bear traps.

My cheating husband, Steve Manson, gets hit by a car and suffers brain damage. After the accident, he can only say two words—"Yes" and "No". He can't say anything else. And somehow, every answer he gives has to be the truth. For once, it feels like heaven is finally on my side. I ask, "Is the woman you're having an affair with my best friend?" His face turns pale, but his mouth moves against his will. "Yes." "Did you transfer assets behind my back?" "Yes." "Is your bank account password your first love's birthday?" "Yes." Thanks to this bizarre ability of his, I successfully send the mistress to prison and walk away with all of his assets. Yet, he can't even curse me out no matter how much he wants it. Then one day, a handsome food delivery guy flirts with me. I turn to look at Steve, who stands there with the same dull expression as always. "Are you really my husband? Why aren't you even jealous?" Without hesitation, he blurts out, "No." I freeze instantly and stare into his eyes. After a long silence, I finally ask, "Then is my husband... dead?" He answers, "Yes and no."