Kurzgeschichten & Romane

My family had always prioritized fairness, because my brother and sister were twins and would start fighting if our parents so much as showed a hint of favoritism. That was why they always had equal portions for them—one for John, the other for Jane. "What about me?" I asked my mother, only to get yelled at. "Can you stop?! We already have our hands full with your twin siblings!" Later, my father bought a six-seater for our family of five. However, when the family headed out for a trip, the remaining two seats were taken by Jane's pet dog and John's pet cat. As I stood outside gingerly under the rain, Jane glared at me warily while shouldering her dog, while John snorted. "We agreed to be fair. No one gets to take my cat's seat." My father shot me a look of annoyance. "Don't you have better things to do?" I was shivering from the cold, but I smiled at him nonetheless. "Yeah, I won't be joining you guys." After that, I submitted my national athlete application to my counselor, Mr. Ackles. If there was no fairness for me even after twenty years, I had no reason to stay.

I spent my whole life desperate to win my mother’s approval. Unfortunately, the woman I had been trying to please was my adoptive mother. Whenever she scolded me, I would say, “You’re right.” Whenever she hit me, I would still ask, “Did that hurt your hand?” But after fifteen years of sucking up to her, the affection score above her head was still [0]. Then I was brought back to the ducal estate, where I learned that I was their true-born heiress. The moment I stepped through the gates, all eight of my brothers were standing behind the girl who took my place, looking at me as though I were an unwelcome stranger who came to demand what was hers. The fake heiress’ eyes reddened as she said, “Melody, I took your place for fifteen years. If you hate me for it, I’m willing to leave.” My eldest brother, Patrick Shaw, immediately frowned. “Ivy is in poor health. You’re already trying to force her out the moment you arrive?” My second brother, Linus Shaw, shielded Ivy behind him. “Our family has raised Ivy for fifteen years. She is our sister.” I looked at the affection scores above their heads— [4, 3...] Then floating comments appeared before my eyes: [Oh no, the real heiress got the worst possible start.] [All eight brothers are total sister-con fanatics, but unfortunately, the sister they adore isn’t the female lead!] I did not care about any of that. I only wanted to know where my real mother was. More comments drifted across my vision. [Unless she can win over her biological mother, the Princess Regent.] My mother was the Princess Regent! Just then, a woman stepped down from the royal carriage outside. The affection score above her head slowly lit up: [60]. My eyes sparkled as I called out excitedly, “Mother—” Finally, my particular talent had found its perfect target. I was definitely winning her over!

I was the most troublesome six-year-old little tyrant in Aviator Gardens, Silverpine, Franklin. My dad was an airline captain, and my mom was the principal dancer of the Silverpine Ballet Company. I was the proof of their love. Whenever Dad returned from a flight, the first thing he did was rub his stubbled cheek against mine; Mom even insured her hands for a fortune because she used them to braid my hair. I could cover the walls with paint and refuse every part of a pork rib except the crunchy cartilage. Then last night, while hiding in the closet during hide-and-seek, I suddenly heard a strange countdown announcement. [Only a few days remain before the host's parents confess their divorce.] [Prepare yourself. Because the host is excessively unruly, male lead Adrian Johnston has decided to leave the marriage with nothing, while female lead Elena Johnston has already contacted a boarding school.] [They will soon build separate families and welcome obedient new babies.] In the dark closet, I covered my mouth with both hands while tears soaked my face. The next morning, Mom brought me warm milk, and Dad waited with a hairbrush. I did not roll across the bed shouting that I refused to go to preschool. I pulled on the hardest pair of uniform overalls by myself and silently drank every drop of milk without leaving a stain. Then I walked to Dad, looked up, twisted the edge of my shirt in both hands, and spoke through a trembling voice. "Mommy, Daddy, I won't draw on the walls anymore. I won't ask for rib cartilage. I'll wash my own socks... When you go to your new homes, can you...can you take me with you?"

It was my first day taking over the branch office, and to get an honest read on the place before anyone put on a show for me, I'd left my assistant behind. In the elevator, I noticed a female coworker struggling with an armload of supply boxes, unable to free a hand. I reached over and pressed her floor for her. I hadn't even pulled my arm back when the man beside her smacked my hand away. "Where do you think you're putting your hands? Just because she's a woman, you figure you can lean in on her?" The woman flinched, and she lowered her voice, pleading, "Honey, are you out of your mind? He was just helping me." The man shot her a vicious glare and grabbed my collar. "Helping you? Sweet-talking my wife right in front of me. God knows what you get up to behind my back." I frowned and tried to reason with him. "Sir, I'd appreciate a little respect. I'm new here, and..." "New, huh?" He cut me off with a sneer. "First day on the job and you've already got the nerve to seduce my wife? You think I'm stupid?" The elevator reached our floor, and I had no interest in dragging this out any further. I turned to leave. He must have mistaken it for guilt, because he seized my collar again and roared, "Trying to run after you started something? Guys like you, sponging off women to get ahead, don't belong in this company. You're fired, effective immediately."

I closed down my car repair shop in town and went to the city for a year to help my apprentice, Matthew Darwin. The headquarters finally decided to give someone in our car repair shop the title of the best employee of the year and give them a bonus of one million dollars, though we were to pick who it was on our own. Unfortunately, during such a good occasion, I received news that my mother got into an accident and needed money for her surgery. I was in a hurry to get money to save her, so I grabbed Matthew’s sleeve. “Matthew, you got the bonus, didn’t you? You promised to give me 30% of it.” But right in front of everyone’s faces, Matthew declared, “I’m happy to announce that I’m the one who’s getting the bonus!” “What? Didn’t you say—” “Say what? Without me as the owner, we wouldn’t have gotten the bonus.” “Matthew, I’m really in a hurry for money right now. My mother got into an accident and needs money for her sur—” Before I finished speaking, Matthew had already kicked me to the floor. “What does your mom getting into an accident have to do with me? Work! I don’t keep slackers around!” After Matthew sauntered out, Gary, one of the repairmen, helped me up. “Mr. York, without you, Mr. Darwin wouldn’t have gotten the bonus.” None of them have forgotten how the shop had gone from nearly bankrupt to the best car repair shop in the company, only Matthew. I had fixed cars for twenty years. It was time for me to fix his morals.

At the supermarket checkout, I pulled up my e-wallet. The system froze. While I waited, I shoved the bottled water into a bag. "Miss!" the cashier yelled. "You didn't pay. Trying to steal?" Every head turned. Before I could say a word, my phone rang. "Dr. Andersen, a family of three got hit by a truck. Metal debris went through their chests. You're the only one who can operate!" Owen sounded freaked. I hung up and slapped a ten on the counter. "I'm sorry, but I have an emergency operation waiting. I need to go. Can I pay cash?" "No." She tossed the bill aside and gave me a once-over. "You? A doctor? Yeah, right. "You're not going anywhere until the system's back up." My phone kept buzzing in my pocket. "I don't want it anymore." I dropped the bottled water on the counter and turned to leave. Click. The cashier locked the exit gate. Then she faced the crowd. "She broke the checkout system, and now she's trying to run! Don't let her get away! "Everyone, stay calm. Security and the technician will be here any second." Whispers broke out around me. The smug look in her eyes made my blood boil.

Timothy Grayson has been frail and sickly since childhood, yet he dreams of fighting on the front lines. I ask the system to strengthen his life force, and the price is that we exchange each other's pain and wound. From then on, Timothy fights without fear, knowing someone else is bearing the pain for him. With every battle, he grows bolder and earns countless military honors. For three years, I bear every bit of his pain alone. Every time a stray arrow pierces him in battle, the pain is so intense that I nearly bite through my own tongue. Meanwhile, the only pain Timothy ever gets from me is a dull ache in his lower abdomen for a few days each month and the occasional headache or fever. I accept it all. But after meeting Sarah Tucker, Timothy grows increasingly reckless. Fearing she'd get caught in the rain, he drapes his coat over her. Yet, I spend the entire night suffering through a bone-deep chill. Sarah is afraid of the dark, so Timothy ventures into a fever swamp to find her a luminous gem. I spend the next three days bedridden, coughing up black blood in his place. Even after returning home victorious from war, the first thing Timothy says to me is, "Ana, you've endured three years of suffering in my place. I'll never forget what you've done for me. But Sarah is the woman I love. I could never ask her to be my mistress." That's when I hear the system's voice for the first time in a long while. It says, "Loss of hope detected. Once the death condition is triggered, you may return to the real world." I nod without a word. From then on, Timothy and I go our separate ways.

Yuna Cooper was left mentally impaired after saving my life, so I gave up my chance to return home and remained in the mission world to care for her. But in my third year there, she suddenly ran me down with her car. Then, taking Joshua Cook’s hand, she told me, “I’ve finally waited for this day. Once you’re dead, Joshua and I can take your place as the one chosen by the system and live forever.” Only then did I realize she had been pretending all along, plotting to steal the system from me. What she did not know was that I had been enduring the system’s punishments this entire time. I said to the system, “There are two new hosts willing to take my place. Can I leave now?”

My parents, Dennis and Sandra Ford, always said the wiring in our old house was too outdated to power more than three air conditioners. My sister, Beth Ford, practiced her violin in her room all day, so she needed one. My brother, Monty Ford, had been sickly since he was little and couldn't stand even a little heat, so he needed one too. The last unit went to the master bedroom. I didn't say anything. I stuck to my old, creaking fan and got through twenty-two stifling summers in Battisata City. I thought that if I stayed quiet enough, obedient enough, my family would eventually notice me. Then came the day I borrowed Monty's air-conditioned room for the final online interview at a major company. Right in the middle of it, the door kept swinging open. Beth's singing drifted in from the living room, and my dad poked his head in for the fourth time. "Still not done? Don't forget to make your brother his honey-glazed fish tonight." The interviewer on the screen frowned. "Sorry, we don't need employees with an attitude problem." The second the screen went dark, I sat frozen in my chair, cold sweat soaking the hair at my forehead. "Hurry to the market once you're finished. The fish won't be fresh if you wait too long." Their nagging kept going, and that was the moment it hit me. What I'd lost over the years wasn't just a working air conditioner or a hard-won job. It was my entire family.

My best friend, Nicole Reed, likes joking around. At my wedding, she takes the microphone to give her speech as my maid of honor. "I'm so happy for her! She had some little procedure at the gynecologist's just last month. Honestly, I was starting to think that she'd never find a husband! "Oh, come on, guys! I'm just messing with her. You know I can't resist a joke. Don't read too much into it!" In my previous life, I break down in tears and explain that I had an ovarian cyst removed. But Nicole just doubles over laughing. "Oh, right! So you needed some other man to sign off on the procedure? Okay, I get it now! "I'm kidding! Why are you getting so worked up?" Her words send my husband's conservative family into a fury. My husband, Theodore Grant, slaps me and calls off the wedding in front of everyone. In the end, I fall into depression and take my own life. Now I watch Nicole standing onstage again, hamming it up for the crowd. She covers her mouth, puts on an innocent act, and says, "Don't get the wrong idea…" I grab my furious husband by the arm and stop him. Then, I calmly hold the microphone out to Nicole. "Don't stop. Keep going." I want to see how many jokes she can crack when the truth comes out, and whether she can still laugh her way out of it.

My sister's graduation party was held on June 25th, the same day SAT scores were released. A banner hung across the hotel ballroom reading, ‘Congratulations to Bria Sumner, ranked 8th in the district, on her admission to Graymont Preparatory!’ The room was done up with balloons and fresh flowers, and Dad had ordered a custom cake with ‘The Sky's the Limit’ piped across the top in buttercream. I was sitting on a chair in the corner when my phone lit up. It was a notification from the College Board. I had scored a 1,580, placing me in the 99th percentile statewide. I silently turned the phone face down on the table. My uncle, seated next to me, slapped his forehead. "Paige, didn't you take your SATs this year too?" Mom lifted her glass and answered for me with a laugh, "Oh, her? She's still got a ways to go. Her test isn't until next year." My fork stopped midway to my mouth. I had spent months studying for the SATs on my own, diligently working through the vocabulary, reading, math, and essay sections. I set my own alarm on test day, called my own cab to the testing center, and came home to an empty house afterward. Mom had only sent me one message that day. Mom: [Get up early tomorrow. We need to book the venue for Bria's party.] I lowered my head and pushed the food on my plate around. I had lost my appetite. That night, I sat alone in my room, opened the college applications portal, and entered the farthest university I could find as my first choice. The university was 808 miles away from home.

My mother, Yvonne Scott, is a maternal health specialist who has helped countless women safely deliver healthy babies. Her delivery with my older brother goes smoothly, but she suffers a difficult labor with me. After everything she endures to bring me into the world, I'm diagnosed with autism at the age of six. Dad can't accept it, so he leaves her. Mom blames me for derailing her career and destroying her marriage. Even as a kid, I can always see the resentment in her eyes. Over the next two years, she loses me twice. The third time, I watch her burn every trace of my existence. That's why I choose to leave home. 20 years later, I become a child psychologist specializing in autism and work as a special education specialist at Haverly's most prestigious school for children with autism. The school requires every incoming student to attend a one-on-one introductory session before the new term begins. When I spot Yvonne arriving with her grandson, my heart drops.

Vanessa Allen and I were the envy of everyone who knew us—we were the perfect, loving couple. What none of them knew was that I was never anything more than a stand-in for my younger brother. One offhand complaint from him that he wasn't feeling well, and Vanessa would drop me the second my heart gave out. I begged her, in tears, to save me. All I got back was a cold, "Stop making a scene." Mom frowned and told me to be the bigger person, to stop pulling petty stunts out of jealousy. Dad looked at me like I disgusted him and said if I really wanted to die, I should just hurry up and do it. Even my elder brother, the one who'd doted on me since we were kids, turned on me. "Miles has bipolar disorder. You know that. Why can't you just let it go for once?" After that, I finally let go of any illusions I had about love or family. That was when they finally started to regret it—when they came to me in tears, begging for forgiveness.

A livestream notification for a product launch popped up on my phone. My mom stood onstage, a massive screen glowing behind her. “This is the exclusive feature of our Luna smart speaker: Parental Guardian Mode.” She tapped on an audio recording. “Luna, I failed my math test today. I’m scared to tell my mom.” It was what I’d told Luna last night. Thunderous applause erupted from the audience. My mom beamed with pride. “You can check on your child’s emotional state at any time. You can even find out who they’ve been talking to and what they said. “Every little secret they have will be reported directly to you.” The live comment feed was full of praise. 【This is how technology changes lives!】 【Ms. Landon really understands what parents need!】 My whole world came crashing down. Luna, my only friend, the one who called me “sweetheart,” had been a spy sent by my mom all along. If being alive meant having every moment of my life broadcast like some cruel joke, then I didn’t want to live anymore. I twisted the cap off the bottle of sleeping pills. "Mom, will my life finally be enough for you?"

After the morning rush at the supermarket dies down, I tear off a piece of bread to eat. My daughter, who's just getting out of bed at nearly noon, immediately explodes at me. "Dad, can you stop being so greedy? The moment I'm not around, you help yourself to the expensive bread. Honestly, the worst thieves are the ones under your own roof." I try to explain that I've been up since 5:00 am and haven't even had breakfast yet, but she doesn't care. She barks, "Let's get one thing straight. This is my store. I was kind enough to bring you here from the countryside so you could enjoy your retirement. Is this how you repay me?" My son-in-law jumps in unhappily. "If you're hungry, can't you just wait a little longer? There are leftovers from yesterday at home. Couldn't you go back and eat those instead?" His mother steps in with a smile. "Alright, that's enough. I'm sure he isn't the type to take advantage of people. If he ate the bread, he'll pay for it, right? It's five dollars. You can Venmo me." I laugh out of exasperation. This store is opened with my money. Every shelf is stocked with merchandise I carry in myself. I get up before dawn and work until late at night without getting paid a single cent. And now, I need to pay for a piece of bread? If this is how things are going to be, I don't want this kind of daughter anymore. I gather all my savings account books and bank cards, then change the beneficiary's name in my will to my nephew's.

My mom, Martha Sanders, works as a housekeeper for my girlfriend's family. On the day we make our relationship official, my girlfriend, Yara Quinn, takes me home to meet her family. My mom brought out a plate of steamed jumbo shrimp. But Yara's mother, Wendy Slade, slams the table and jabs a finger at my mom's forehead. She yells, "You ungrateful leech! The second your son shows up, you start serving him the good stuff. How shameless can you be, you bitch?" I start to stand up to stop Wendy, but Yara kicks me under the table. She speaks before I can. "Just let it go. Don't upset my mom." Then she orders my mom, "Martha, give the shrimp to Lucky." Lucky is their family dog. I stare at the face I thought I knew and hear the coldness in her voice. Suddenly, I feel like everything we have isn't as important as I thought.

When I hand in my resignation and pack up my things, I make sure to box up my 100,000 dollars' worth of camera equipment. However, my colleague Reed Lanrod, an intern who joined the company after me, immediately throws a tantrum. "What are we supposed to use if you take all that equipment with you? You're already leaving, and you're still leeching off the company? That's not right!" I keep my cool and patiently explain, "I bought every single piece of this gear with my own money. It's got nothing to do with the company." Reed, who's been eyeing my equipment for the longest time, storms off. Not long after, the boss, Karen Halfpenny, calls me into her office. "You've been keeping the equipment in our office, so it's been using our electricity and taking up our office space. That makes it company property. You're not taking a single item with you." I can't help but laugh at the sheer audacity. When I first joined the company, Karen told me to treat the company like home. So, to get the job done right, I gradually spent 100,000 dollars of my own money to buy camera equipment and store it at the office. Now she's calling it company property? Fine. I immediately call the IRS and report the company for tax evasion and fraud. They insist the 100,000-dollar setup is theirs, yet they've never paid a single cent of tax on it. In that case, let's see what the IRS agents think about that.

On graduation photo day, my boyfriend, Ethan Jones, takes more than 200 photos of Chloe Lloyd, the prettiest girl in our class. As president of the photography club, he knows better than anyone how to find the most flattering angles. Chloe stands beneath a tree and smiles at him. "Are you sure this isn't too much trouble?" Ethan looks down and flips through the photos on his camera. "Not at all. You look good no matter how I photograph you," he says gently. When my turn comes, I clutch the hem of my skirt and walk over. Ethan casually presses the shutter twice. "Done." I stare at him. "That's it?" He frowns at me. "You never look good in pictures anyway. Don't hold everyone else up." I look at the two photos on his camera. My eyes are closed in one, and half my face is hidden in the tree's shadow in the other. I ask him to take a few more, but instead, he puts up a post on the campus forum. "Photographer wanted. 20 dollars to snap a few graduation photos of my girlfriend." Half an hour later, I receive a private message from an unfamiliar profile. I send over my location, then say quietly, "Just so you know, I'm not photogenic." The reply comes almost immediately. "Your photographer didn't know how to work with you." After the shoot, he sends me the unedited photos. I'm stunned when I see the photos. I never knew I could look this good on camera. Even crazier, the photographer who took the job for 20 dollars seems to know what he's doing better than the president of the photography club.

At my mom's 50th birthday party, the host suddenly invites my adoptive sister, Megan Fraser, and me onstage to take part in a "Who Knows Mom Best?" quiz. All the relatives assume it is a special segment my mom has arranged to officially introduce me to everyone as her biological daughter. The first question is about my mom's favorite flower. I write down "lily", the flower she always keeps in her study. Megan, on the other hand, holds up her board and says, "White camellia. Mom said it was the first flower Dad ever gave her." My mom nods and says, "Megan remembers it better than anyone." The second question asks what my mom takes for her stomach problems. I write down the medication her doctor prescribed. Megan writes down the soup my brother, Josh Fraser, makes. "Kathy, you've been back for three years, and you didn't even know Mom hates taking medicine?" Josh mocks. After that, Megan correctly answers questions about my mom's usual size, the opera she listens to when she can't sleep, and her favorite perfume. One by one, the lights beside me—symbols of our supposed bond—go out. The last question is who my mom wants to give the family heirloom brooch to. Megan doesn't write a word. Instead, she slips her arm through my mom's and says, "Mom would never let me lose." As laughter fills the room, my mom personally lights the final light for Megan. Then she looks at me and says, "Just because you're my flesh and blood doesn't mean you truly know me. We'll talk about acknowledging you as my daughter another time." I walk straight off the stage and send my lawyer, Peter Richmond, a message. "Proceed as planned. I'm leaving tonight."

My mother, a judge, wanted her intern-lawyer son to get his footing in the profession. So in the murder trial where I stood falsely accused, she threw fairness out the window and ruled in favor of the plaintiff's attorney: her own younger son. I begged her to be impartial. It was my last chance to clear my name. But she only snapped at me impatiently. "Your brother's just starting out. What's the harm in helping him? It's not a death sentence. A few years in prison won't kill you!" Later, when the victim's furious family stabbed me to death in the street, my mother lost her mind overnight.