Blitzo Mom Death Novels & Stories

Ever since my little brother died of a sudden high fever and Mom started spending all her time with Matthew Hunt, I started cutting her out of our family photos. One day, Dad got a call from my teacher. She overheard me saying I lost my mom, and I wanted to borrow my classmate's mom instead. Dad paused for a moment, then didn't correct me. "Yeah," he said quietly. "She passed away early." At the school's parent-child sports day, Dad saw me slip a cleaner ten dollars and ask her to be my mom for the day. He didn't stop me. Instead, he handed her another 200 bucks and asked if she could attend the parent meeting, too. After that, whenever something called for a mom, Dad let me go out and "hire" one. It wasn't until much later that Mom realized she hadn't heard from us in a long time. She canceled her meetings and came to pick me up from school herself. But at the gate, the teacher frowned and stopped her. Confused, she went home. The moment she stepped inside, she heard me talking to the property manager. "My mom's dead," I said. "Do you wanna be my new mom?"

I used to be the most promising composer of my generation. But while I was working on my latest piece, my husband Charles Lambert's childhood friend destroyed everything I had. She slashed my face, stole my compositions, and set fire to my house—leaving me to burn alive alongside the kitten I'd just adopted. Then, as if my death were just a spark for her success, she posted my compositions online, claiming I'd plagiarized her. And people believed her. Everyone did. Strangers on the internet sneered and spat my name, and my own husband, Charles, chose to believe her over me. Even the International Musical Society rescinded my award and handed it to her without a second thought. My students, who once followed me loyally, were now fawning over her. I became the laughingstock of the entire internet—mocked, discredited, erased. It wasn't until a week later, when someone stumbled upon the charred remains of my lakeside studio, that they found what was left of me.

I stared at my stepfather with the intense feeling going under my wet soaked undies . “ you are so wet for daddy you little slut “ he whispered biting softly at my ear lobe . I swallowed the unknown lump on my throat and looked helplessly at my step father and the words that I had been dying to say slipped out of my mouth . “ fuck me daddy , fuck me like a dirty little slut “

From Alpha’s daughter to slave. Even the mighty must fall, but Ivy isn’t the type to cower. No, she is the type you never see coming. With Enzo at her side and her tenacious heart, Ivy is thrust into a world that wasn’t meant for her. Enzo worries it’s all too much for Ivy, but there is a storm brewing in Ivy’s heart. One that is fueled by rage and vengeance as they grow closer to their prey.  Ivy will stop at nothing to finish her mission, including seducing the Alpha of the Silvermoon pack. Much to Enzo’s dismay, Ivy enslaves herself to the pack and catches the attention of the Alpha, but he isn’t what he seems and suddenly Ivy is battling on more than one front. One for her heart and one for her vengeance-seeking soul. But what happens when the lines begin to blur and even Enzo can’t pull her out?

After three miscarriages for Xavier Lowe, I see it—my mother-in-law has three years left, my father-in-law nine years, and my sister-in-law two years. I say nothing. After the third miscarriage, my mother-in-law blames me, calling me a curse who "kills" children. My sister-in-law sneers, saying she almost died in a car crash the year I married Xavier—as if my bad luck dragged her down. My mother-in-law snaps, "She can't even keep a child. It must be because she's cursed!" Xavier just stands there, silent. He doesn't say a single word for me. I know that, deep down, he believes that I bring bad luck. Maybe it's also because he already has someone else—his secretary, Yvette Snyder. His mother has always liked her better, and he clung to her the night I lost my third child. I don't explain because I know the truth will only destroy them faster. On my 28th birthday, I catch a glimpse of my own countdown in the mirror. On that day, I take a leave of absence. I go to the funeral home and pick out an urn—pure white, just like the wedding dress I once wore. Wearing a beautiful floral dress, I text Xavier, asking him to meet me at the lake where we first met ten years ago. I wait from daylight until nightfall as my countdown ticks to zero. I die, and he never shows up.

My mom is terrified of being laughed at by others the most. Whenever the holidays are here, she will keep repeating one sentence to me—"Don't go around embarrassing me." When my relatives gather around and chat with each other, I accidentally knock a fruit platter over. Mom drags me over and slaps me on the spot. At the holiday feast, I grab extra pieces of steak for myself. Mom responds by kicking my chair over. When it's time for the holiday gifts to be distributed, my aunt, Gabriella Hall, has miscalculated the number of children present among the family. So, she has prepared one less gift for the occasion. Mom doesn't hesitate to kick me out of the apartment, leaving me shivering in the cold corridor in just my indoor clothes. The icy winds chill me to the bone. I keep slamming my palms on the front door while screaming and crying my apologies at Mom, and yet she remains unmoved and silent. Instead, she turns to face Aunt Gabriella with an apologetic smile on her face. "I'm really sorry. I didn't raise my daughter well. It's only fair that you ridicule me." What Mom doesn't know is that I get triggered whenever I hear the word "ridicule" thanks to her so-called parenting lessons. Whenever I hear that word, I want nothing more than to hurt myself uncontrollably. So when I hear the word "ridicule" coming out of Mom's mouth through the front door, I turn on my heel quietly and begin making my way toward the bridge next to the neighborhood that's plunged into darkness. The moment I jump from the bridge, the only thought I have is, "Mom, no one will ridicule you because of me this time."

On my fifth birthday, my parents showed up at my birthday party later than usual. They brought with them a skinny little girl who couldn't seem to speak at all. I rushed over, hoping to hug Mom, only to get knocked down by her. That was how I fell into the ten-foot cake that my parents had specifically picked out for me. Buttercream filled my nose and mouth, suffocating me to no end. When I managed to climb out of the mess, I burst out in tears and asked Dad to cuddle me. But Dad retracted his hands while looking conflicted. "Don't blame your mom, Willow. From now on, you must take good care of Maple, your little sister. As long as Maple is happy, your mom will be happy." Later on, the mean kids in the neighborhood shove Maple Thompson, my new little sister, into a pile of sand. I rush over to protect her immediately. Once we get home, I mimic my parents by drawing a bath so that I can clean Maple up. That's when Mom suddenly barge into the bathroom and slap me heavily across the face. "You've already enjoyed our love for the past five years! Why are you still greedy for more? I can't believe you're trying to drown Maple right now!" Mom's eyes have gone bloodshot. She drags me by the hair and stuffs me into the washing machine. "Only a washing machine is capable of cleanse that filth out of your soul! You can only scramble out of the washing machine and apologize to Maple once you've decided to quit bullying your sister!" In the living room, Dad lowers his voice. "Keep your voice down when you're chewing Willow out. Maple is about to fall asleep. Don't go around waking her up now." Mom doesn't want to look at me anymore. Instead, she slams the lid onto the washing machine forcefully. I can't get out of the machine. What she doesn't know is that the washing machine will activate. "The 212-degree-Fahrenheit wash cycle has been activated." Scalding hot water is soon dumped onto my body. It hurts so much that I gradually lose my consciousness. Will Mom love me again once I'm squeaky clean after the wash cycle?

I give my grandmother a gift she'll never forget on her 60th birthday. My husband and I get into a fight on the highway back to my hometown. He pulls over in the emergency lane and chases me out of the car. He then drives off, leaving me stranded on the highway. He later gets into a major accident on the highway. His car is totaled, and he dies. It's actually not an accident—it's homicide. I'm the murderer.

I was born into a line of vampire hunters, but I was hopeless at it. I couldn't pass a single trial, couldn't make a single kill, so my family dumped me in the countryside and left me to rot. When they brought me back at eighteen, they packaged me up and handed me to the vampire noble Lucian von Karstein as his lowest blood-slave. I had already made my peace with being drained dry and tortured to death. He turned out to be nothing like what I expected. He built me a villa with good light. Every morning before dawn he went out to the garden and picked flowers still wet with dew, and left them by my pillow. When his family ordered him to kill me, he gave up five hundred years of glory for my sake. He surrendered his power, his title, his castle. He traded everything he had to keep me safe, and in the end he ran with me, away from the whole vampire world. But there was a curse in my blood. Every time I let myself feel something for him, it punished me, gnawing my heart to pieces one inch at a time. So all I could do was call him useless, force him to buy me jewelry, drive him away from my bed, and humiliate him every way I knew how. He ended up living in the garage, hauling cargo to survive, supporting a spoiled, vicious wife who treated him like dirt. One night I crept into his little partition and pulled back his collar. There was a burn the length of my hand, gotten from hauling freight day and night just to buy me a gift. I hid in the bathroom and ran the tap to cover the sound of crying. Dabbing ointment on the wound, sniffling, I asked the thing in my blood: "Curse. When is he finally going to hate me and leave?" The curse looked at the back of his hand, wet where my tears had fallen, then at the faint tremor of his lashes, and sighed. He's going to love you for the rest of his life.

My residential area suddenly catches on fire, and the twins my husband had with his first wife are trapped in the room. This time, I call 911 without hesitation. After informing my husband of the fire, I don't stop him from leaving. In my past life, when the fire broke out, my husband was about to leave on a vacation with his ex-wife and true love. The trip was to a deserted island—it was to make up for past regrets. I ripped his flight ticket to shreds, stopping him from leaving the house. We successfully saved the kids. After the fire, my husband hurried to the island. However, he learned his ex-wife was declared missing after being taken away by a strong wave. He was calm and composed after returning, even being extra caring to me. Three months later, I discovered I was pregnant. I wanted to surprise him, but my vision went blurry. I collapsed on the floor while twitching violently. He stood aside and watched me coldly. Then, he placed a photo of his ex-wife before me. "You've gotten your wish, Caroline. Are you happy now that you've killed Sasha? You can accompany her now! No, you don't deserve that. An evil woman like you only deserves to go to the underworld!" I breathe my last breath as my vision clears, allowing me to see the frostiness in his eyes. When I open my eyes again, I'm taken back to the day the fire broke out.