Remorse Family

My parents raised me like a princess from a fairy tale. I loved cake. Every day after work, Dad would bring home a small slice just for me. Mom bought a full set of ovens and baking tools and patiently learned how to bake, all so she could make cakes for me herself. Even later, when they adopted my cousin, a child no one else wanted, they would gently pat my head and say apologetically, "Sweetheart, it's just one more playmate for you. Mom and Dad's love for you will only grow, never lessen." But that day, when the lawyer was reading Grandma's will, I simply asked out of curiosity why my sister received more money than I did. Mom's eyes instantly turned red, and she slapped me hard across the face. "Her mother has passed away. She deserves to inherit two shares." "We've already given you all our love. Why are you still jealous of your sister?" From that day on, the parents who once treated me like a princess never smiled at me again. This time, all I did was help run the bathwater for my sister. She accidentally swallowed some water and choked. Mom grabbed my hair and shoved me into the oven. "How could I have given birth to such a vicious child? Being jealous of your sister isn't enough, now you're trying to drown her? "Stay in there and reflect on yourself. You can come out when you finally admit your mistake." Inside the oven, I panicked and tried to explain, but Dad, his face full of worry, interrupted me. "That's enough. Tanya has been coughing for a long time and it's not getting better. Take her to the hospital now." I heard their footsteps gradually fade away. But Mom, did you forget? Back then, to make cakes for me more conveniently, you set all the kitchen appliances to quick mode. They would automatically lock and start baking whenever they detected something inside. The temperature around me began to rise. The pain slowly made me lose consciousness. As my mind grew hazy, I thought to myself: If I reflect properly and behave well, Mom and Dad will surely love me again, just like before, won't they?

The day I signed the divorce papers, I voluntarily gave up custody of my daughter. Because that day, in the courtroom, she clung to her father’s neck, sobbing with all the fury a six-year-old could muster: “You don’t even love me… do you? If you leave Daddy, I’ll stay with him… and you’ll be all alone forever!” In my past life, I had ignored her childish threats. I fought tooth and nail for her custody. I poured every ounce of myself into raising her. And yet… she spent her entire life hating me. Not once did she ever call me “Mom” until the day I died. On her wedding day, she even invited her father’s mistress to the stage to give a speech of thanks. Now, opening my eyes again, seeing that same cruel little face staring back at me, I simply nodded. “I don’t care.” After all… I never wanted a daughter like her anyway.

My twin sister, Sarah, was dying from silver poisoning. My blood was the only thing that could save her. The healer was overwhelmed and made a mistake on the paperwork. She mailed the diagnosis report to the pack house with my name on it instead of Sarah's. She told me the truth in private.I wanted to rush home immediately and correct the misunderstanding. But before I could, the news reached the pack. My parents and Alpha Damien reacted in a way I never expected. They firmly forbade Sarah from donating blood to save me. They raged that I was being selfish for even asking for help. They said Sarah couldn't handle the weakness that came from a blood transfusion. I fought back the coldness spreading through my chest. "I'm pregnant. If I don't get treatment soon, the poison in me will kill the pup too." My mate Alpha Damien, the one who had sworn to protect me forever, responded without warmth. "We can always have more pups. Sarah only has one life to live." My wolf howled in agony inside my head. So I chose to leave, to walk away from the place that had brought me nothing but pain. By the time they realized the truth, it was already too late for regret.

After the real son, Asher Vale, was brought back, everything in our house became tied to drawing lots. The chef of the day, who would have to cook a particular person's preferred dishes, had to be decided by drawing lots. Even our parents' kisses and hugs were chosen the same way. I always drew the short stick. The long stick, by default, belonged to Asher. He never had to do anything to receive our parents' love. Whenever I felt it was unfair and wanted to cry, Mom would scold me sharply, "I bought the lot-drawing box because I was afraid you'd feel hurt. I wanted to be fair to both of you. If you want something, decide it yourselves. Your father and I won't interfere. If you can't draw the long stick, you can only blame your bad luck." So I began practicing every day, shaking the box diligently, over and over, in hopes that one day, it would help me earn my parents' love. Unfortunately, for ten years, I never once drew the long stick. Until my birthday. Asher wanted to go to the amusement park, and Mom once again told us to decide by drawing lots. I secretly glued the two short sticks together and handed them to Mom, hoping to keep her with me. She slapped me hard across the face, screaming that I was cheating and disobedient. Then she stormed out of the house with Asher. When I fell to the ground, the short stick stabbed deep into my neck. 'I'm sorry, Mom. Next time, I'll work harder. Next time, I'll definitely draw the long stick.'

After my older sister Rachelle came home from dialysis, the atmosphere at home was suffocating. She curled up on the couch, thin as a rail. She was nagging me hard and telling me not to tire myself out too much at work. Dad was by the door smoking. To get money to treat Rachelle’s condition, he had sold our old house and land. Dirty and muddied, my fiance, who had always viewed Rachelle as a sister of his own, brought home his week’s salary. They all lamented how unfair life was to already poor and suffering people who had to suffer even more. I looked at myself in the mirror with my bleeding nose and flushed away the report with my acute leukemia diagnosis. During dinner, Dad suddenly said, “Ryleigh, Rachelle needs a kidney. You’re healthy and young. You might be a match.” I looked at Rachelle’s pleading eyes and coldly put my cutlery down. “I won’t do it. I’ll be a cripple with one less kidney. How am I supposed to find someone to marry then?” Dad slapped me hard, even as my fiance called me ungrateful. I slammed the door shut as I left. I looked for the nearest room to the hospital to rent so that I could wait it out until I died. The room I found was only five blocks away from the organ donation center.

My childhood sweetheart and my older brother both fell in love with Rose, the Omega who had just sought refuge from the Northern Pack. The one who broke our engagement said, "Grace is the kind of Luna who was born to stand beside an Alpha. I’m just not worthy of her." The other had forgotten our mother’s dying words. "Rose has suffered so much. If I share half the love I gave you with her, that wouldn’t be too much, would it?" On the day of my birthday, my mate chose to throw a party for Rose instead. On the anniversary of our mother’s death, my brother was happily celebrating with Rose and her mother, helping deliver her kitten. They went with her to the Snowpine Pack to take part in the Royal Totem Insignia Design Contest and personally draped the cloak of honor over her shoulders. And me? I set fire to the house that held all our memories. I drank a potion bought from a witch, severed every mind-link I had, and faked my death in that fire, then left the Northern Pack without a word. When news of my death reached Snowpine, those two men, who had already cast me aside, went mad with grief. They rushed back to the Northern Pack overnight and collapsed in front of the burned-down house, crying like their hearts had been ripped out.

I thought I was the Conti family's "legitimate wife." Until the day I saw it with my own eyes, my husband, Christian, resting his hand on my stepsister Emma's bump belly, gentle like he was cradling the future. Everyone told me to be "big-heated": when the baby was born, they'd put it under my name, make him call me Mom, because the family needed an "heir." Even the private doctor they hired announced it in front of everyone—steady heartbeat, and from the ultrasound, it looked like a boy. I didn't cry and didn't make a scene. I just picked up the phone and told my lawyer to initiate the divestment. Twenty-four hours later, Christian's cards were frozen, his projects got their loans yanked, and assets started getting seized— That's when he finally understood: he hadn't betrayed a wife. He'd betrayed the lifeline of the entire family. But what I really wanted to know was— When he dropped to his knees and begged me to come back, would I tell him— I had already picked out his grave?

On the day I was supposed to donate my bone marrow, my mother called me. “You’re pretending to be sick again? We’re just asking you to donate some bone marrow. Why are you acting like we want you to die?” My brother agreed. “How could you be so horrible? You owe her this one! Even if she’s asking you to die, it’s because you deserve it!” Even my boyfriend could not hide his anger. “It’s just a bone marrow donation. We’re not asking you to die. How could you be so selfish?” They did not know that I would indeed die if I donated my bone marrow. Since they wanted me to die so much, so be it.

Ten years ago, I ditched a high-paying job for my family. A decade later, they asked for my kidney—supposedly for my daughter, Talia. Turns out, the real patient was Hudson's first love's son. They didn't even fake remorse. Hudson sneered, convinced I couldn't survive without him. Talia called me old and fat, acting like I should be grateful to help Bianca's kid. A whole decade of sacrifice, and what did I get? No love. No thanks. Just entitlement. To them, I was nothing but a free, disposable maid. So I walked. No regrets. I rebuilt my life, found a job, and never looked back. Then reality smacked them. Hudson and Talia finally realized everything I'd done. They begged me to come back—but my heart was already stone-cold. In the end, I left the country, threw myself into work, and finally learned what it meant to live.

My husband, Don Reginald, and my parents threw me in prison on the very night I gave him his heir. All because my sister, Felicia, set me up. She claimed I gave her a wild horse at the family races—a horse she knew she couldn't handle. It went crazy. It trampled a senator to death. With the FBI breathing down our necks, the whole family made me take the fall. Three years. Reginald didn't care that I'd just had our son. He pushed me. Over and over. "It was your horse. If you hadn't given it to her, the Feds wouldn't be after Felicia. Just do the time. When you get out, you'll still be my Donna." Three years later, I came back. Nothing had changed. They still chose her. Even the son I bled for now calls Felicia "Mama." He looks right through me, his own mother. I didn't fight. Not like the old me. I just walked away. But when I finally vanished for good, Reginald lost his mind. He tore the world apart, begging me to come back. To be his Donna again.