A Wife And A Mother Game Novels & Stories

Turns out that him and the word sense weren’t currently friends. Getting in the car, I started it before driving off. The idea of my wife being in a game that resembled that of yesterday worried me, and if Lilian was crazy enough, which I was believing she was. The game might be harder, and if that was the case, I just hoped my wife had a plan to get herself and the others out of there. Otherwise, the families would not only have to bear with the loss of their family members. They would be bearing the loss of themselves too. ********************

“You might not be on the best of terms but that has nothing to do with you and your duty as his wife.” A cold shiver runs down my spine. “Ew,” I hiss. Gine are the days when women were just breeding slaves for their husbands but apparently, I fit that narrative. “Don’t make that face,” Mom warns. “You are failing as a life, a Luna.” “He doesn’t consider me his wife,” I snap. “Not in any way that matters. That only matters when he controls me with the title.”

I insisted, heatedly “Oh, come off it, Charlotte!” Mathew sneered, “You can’t win this one, just accept it” “The earlier you do, the better” his wife added mockingly as she rubbed her flat belly for emphasis. “Unless you can get yourself pregnant with a boy or a ring on your ring and pregnant with a boy, you’re going nowhere” at the end of her words the couple let out a celebratory laugh with the others but it only made me even more angry.

> "I'm the cold, detached wife. I'm the emotionally unavailable physician who spent more time in the trauma bays than in her own home. I was entirely too focused on my own career advancement to notice a lonely, neglected husband." Thelma looked utterly crushed. The absolute silence that followed was all the confirmation I required. I nodded slowly, the pieces of the puzzle locking into perfect alignment. The script practically wrote itself. The highly successful, unyielding female doctor; the busy, neglectful mother; the tragic, cast-aside husband who simply fell into the arms of a warm, supportive young woman. You could almost hear the whispers spreading through the manicured lawns of River

Amythest regained her balance and walked over to the window. "How come you didn't tell me about your husband?" In hushed tones, I inquired. She scowled and drew her brows together, as if she didn't understand why I was interested in his husband. She moved away from me and said, "Umm.... he works as a body bulder." I turned around to face her and showed her my biceps once more. Despite the fact that I am not a bodybuilder, I do have abs and biceps. With a thud, she walked into the washroom, rolling her eyes. She shut the door in my face, as though I was invading her personal space. I slapped my face in humiliation and attempted to inquire about her love life.

When I saw its contents, I honestly thought that it was the account book that my soon to be ex-wife, Miranda Miller, used for bookkeeping. We were really poor when we first got together. So, we had to be careful with every penny we spent. Miranda recorded all of our expenses and income in a book. She even used a black pen for credit, and red for debit. She said that it would make it easy for us to work hard to reach our daily goals. This was a good idea when we were poor. But Miranda continued to record our expenses even after we became rich.

She sat beside Jennifer. She looked at the garden. The four of us in the Sunday kitchen. Not the strained configuration. Not the managed configuration. Something new — the specific quality of a household that had been through something large and had come out the other side into a new shape of itself, still adjusting to the new shape, finding where things went in it. “Good morning,” my mother said. To the room. “Morning,” I said. “Morning,” Jennifer said. “Morning,” Dominic said. My mother looked at the garden.

I realized that something was off, so I reached out to hold her hand and said, "Cindy, you may be able to plead for leniency if you come clean. No matter how things turn out, Eason and I will forgive you!" Everyone present looked at me with approval upon hearing those words. My own wife had slapped me in public and showered me with curses, yet I was still able to forgive her so generously. The members of the board of directors all expressed that Chapman Group would definitely continue to prosper under my leadership, but naturally, Cindy wasn't thinking the same.

"Fine. How much do you want?" I stared at him, realizing for the first time that I had been married to a stranger. To Nathan, betrayal was entertainment. And our marriage had been nothing more than a transaction. A bitter laugh escaped me as I raised three fingers in the air. All I wanted was thirty thousand, just enough to save our daughter. If Emma could be healed, I could face anything else. But this marriage was already lost. "Three hundred million?" His eyes narrowed, and open disgust flashed across his face, as if I had just confirmed every ugly thing he believed about me. "Don't get greedy. We were married, after all. The most I'll give you is thirty million."

The person who answered was not Claire’s mother. It was her father. “Dad, where’s Mom?” asked Claire. “She’s playing cards with her friends. She left her phone at home.” Her mother spent almost every day playing cards with the same group of friends at a recreational center in the suburbs. There was no way she would have passed through this market. If what her father said was true, then the woman who died probably was not her mother. At the thought of this, my heart began to race again.