Anonymous Diaries

On the way to get our marriage certificate for the twentieth time, Rolf Trivett regretted it once again. In eight years, this was our twentieth attempt to get the certificate. But every time we reached City Hall, he would always say he needed time to care for his seriously ill childhood friend and couldn't promise to marry me. This time, I couldn't take it anymore and asked him, "If she’s never going to get better, does that mean you’ll never marry me? What am I to you?" Rolf immediately lost his temper and yelled at me, "I've already promised to take care of her for life. Can you stop being so selfish? "Besides, we've been together for eight years. What difference does it make if we don't get this certificate?"

My husband, the hospital director, stole my kidney to save his beloved first love, who suffered from uremia. While I was under anesthesia for heart surgery, he stormed into the operating room without permission and ordered the removal of one of my kidneys. I begged him to stop, explaining that my heart condition was critical and that I could not survive back-to-back major surgeries. He only sneered at me, his voice dripping with disdain. “I knew you’d be jealous of Cece and make pathetic excuses. That’s exactly why I chose this moment.” Ignoring my desperate pleas, he took my kidney and walked away. In the end, I suffered multiple post-surgery complications and died miserably on the operating table.

On my wedding day, my fiancé showed up with another woman, flashing a marriage license. He announced, "She's my true love. Don't even think about taking her place." My doting brother sided with her too. "You've had a cushy life for over 20 years. Let her have this." I left quietly. My brother and my fiancé breathed a sigh of relief. They paraded the new girl around town, my brother even calling her his adopted sister to boost her status. They didn't know I'd gone to the border until someone mentioned me. I was done with them, but they started to regret it.

The day my wife slept with her terminally ill “male best friend” to take his virginity, I left a divorce agreement behind and walked out. Before I left, I commented under their hand-holding photo on Instagram. [Let's get divorced. I wish you and Theo a long and happy life together.] One minute later, she called me. "Logan, how did I end up marrying someone as selfish as you? Can you really let him die without someone to carry on his line?" I sneered and replied that she wasn't my wife anymore, so that wasn't really my problem. She panicked.

After dating Scott Kenta for 10 years, I said to him, "Scott, I'm pregnant." The file in his hands slipped and hit the floor. He frowned, clearly irritated. "Don't be ridiculous," he said. "This is a critical moment—my company's going public. I never planned on having a child." "It's fine. Your career matters more," I said, smiling gently. He didn't catch the meaning behind my words. I was pregnant, yes. But he wasn't the father.

The day my husband, Lucas Maxwell, helps his childhood sweetheart—Cecilia Brown, who has cancer—lose her virginity, I leave behind a divorce agreement and walk away. Before I leave, I drop a comment beneath a photo of them on his social media. Their fingers are tightly interlocked in the photo. "Let's get divorced. I wish you both a lifetime of happiness." A minute later, he calls me. "How did I end up marrying someone as selfish as you, Fiona Sinclair? Do you really have the heart to let her die without leaving anything behind?" I sneer, "You're no longer my husband. How is that my problem?" That's when he panics.

On our fifth wedding anniversary, my husband, Damian Pyke, once again left me for his first love. He said, "Taking care of a child alone isn't easy for Waverly. You're both women—can't you show her some understanding?" Not only was I willing to understand Waverly Benson, but I was also ready to step aside entirely so they could raise her child together. So, I packed my bags and applied for an overseas architecture program through my workplace. However, he eventually regretted it, crying and begging me not to go.

On the day Zachary Lake stands at the pinnacle of global technology, accepting his award, I'm lying in a hospital bed, abandoned by doctors because I can't afford treatment for kidney failure. On TV, the host asks him to call the person he's most grateful for. Without hesitation, he dials my number. "Shannon, do you regret leaving me?" he asks. I clutch the astronomical medical bill in my hand, the paper crumpling beneath my fingers. Forcing a light tone, I reply, "Can you take me on as your kept woman now that you're a big deal?" On screen, his face remains expressionless as he hangs up without a word. Then, his cold voice pierces through the broadcast. "Now, I have nothing to feel grateful for." But what he doesn't know is that when he was on the brink of death years ago, I was the one who gave him my kidney.

In our five years of marriage, my husband, Derrick Wickham, bails on me 99 times for his childhood sweetheart, Jessica Harson. This time, after he stands me up, I find two plane tickets to Frantines in his office. "I was planning to surprise you for our anniversary. Since you've already seen them, we'll just meet at the airport," he says icily. I eagerly pack and get myself ready, arriving early at the airport. I wait from the wee hours of dawn till the late hours of night, but Derrick fails to show up. Then, I see a post on Jessica's social media. "It's my birthday today. Though he doesn't have the time to go on a trip with me to Frantines, I forgive him because he brought me to the amusement park instead!" In the past, I'd have called him, crying and demanding answers. But this time, I'm truly done.

That night, I got off work early and brought home some late-night snacks. When I opened the door, I saw a pair of high heels carelessly tossed in the entryway and Gregory’s blazer thrown over the couch. His heavy breathing and the woman’s moans could be heard through the gap between the door and its frame. I was all too familiar with this sight. This time, I did not storm out like I used to. Instead, I sat quietly at the dining table and finished my cold pizza.