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The buzzing of my phone in the middle of the night jolted me awake. On the other end of the line came a voice I could never forget. It was my daughter! However, she died three years ago!

Every day, my son and husband finish all the house chores before I even get home. But only because they're bringing my husband's first love, Sally Sullivan, back for Thanksgiving, I pour boiling water on my son's face. I also kick both my son and husband out when it's 104°F outside. Desperate to save our son, my husband sprawls across the front porch, begging me to open the door. "Wanda, open the door! We need to save our son! I only invited Sally over because she saved you once back then. I didn't mean anything else by it!" "Mom, it hurts!" my son cries. "Mom, can't you kiss me? Mom…" Meanwhile, I'm slouching on the couch, snacking away as I watch TV. In the end, my husband can't take it anymore and brings me to the Bad Mom Court for trial. The moment my memories are extracted, the entire court bursts into tears.

My name is Ivy Lawson. At 3:00 am, I get a call from Christina McSpire, a parent of one of my students. "Hello, Ms. Lawson, I noticed Zoe only spent five dollars on her meal yesterday. Did she not eat any meat?" she asks. Pushing through my exhaustion, I reply, "Don't worry, Mrs. Street. I'll check on it tomorrow." Another half hour goes by, and she calls again. "It's supposed to rain tomorrow. Can you remind Zoe to bring an umbrella?" I can hardly keep my eyes open. "Got it," I reply absentmindedly. A few minutes later, my phone rings once more. "Please make sure Zoe brushes her teeth for three minutes. It's also important that she scrubs each side of her face at least three times." Suppressing my frustration, I calmly respond, "Zoe is in her senior year of high school. I'm sure she's capable of taking care of herself." I expect that to be the end of it, but when I wake up, my silenced phone shows over a hundred missed calls.

Love is sweet and unique like the flavor in candy. Sometimes sweet, sometimes sour. Sometimes, something that looks good will look bad. Vice versa, it is that same with matters of the heart. Sometimes, giving in is sweeter than being with someone you love. However, with an acidic groove. The sweet and sour side is like a unique unity, like a complicated storyline. But, made an impression on the heart. Two separate earphone cables, reconnect. The sweet taste that accompanies the sour taste that will not move gloomy. Because, the sweet one will be loyal to make the sweet groove on the sour. Isn't this a unique fair epilogue? When the smile comes and the shackels of disappointment both embrace at the end of the story.

No momento em que Luana Tavares perdeu o bebê, Henrique Ribeiro estava comemorando o retorno de Bianca Monteiro ao país. Três anos ao lado dele—cuidando, se dedicando, sendo parceira—no fim, pra ele, Luana era só uma empregada e cozinheira dentro de casa. Ela se cansou, perdeu a esperança, e decidiu se divorciar. No círculo deles, todo mundo sabia: Luana era famosa por ser igual chiclete, difícil de desgrudar. — Eu aposto que em um dia a Luana volta correndo. — Um dia? Meio dia já é máximo. — Disse Henrique. Assim que assinou o divórcio, Luana decidiu: nunca mais olhar pra trás. Se jogou na nova vida, correu atrás da carreira deixada de lado, se ocupou em conhecer gente nova. Dia após dia, Henrique já não via nem sombra dela em casa. Quando o desespero bateu, numa conferência, Henrique finalmente a viu—ela estava cercada de gente, diferente de antes. Ele foi direto: — Luana, até quando você vai continuar com essa palhaçada?! Dante Siqueira entrou na frente, empurrou Henrique com frieza: — Não encosta na sua cunhada. Henrique nunca amou Luana. E, quando finalmente aprendeu a amar, ela já não tinha mais espaço pra ele.

I served; I did what I needed to do, but it wasn't good enough. I sat chained in a dark room for nearly 3 hard, painful years, trying my best to keep myself protected and together when all I wanted to do was crumble under the pain and loss of my self-worth and ability to defend myself. There was never an even fight. It was them against me. Tied up. My brother is my life. We are Twins, and when I found out that he had died even though I tried my best to keep him alive and save him, My whole world fell to pieces. I'm a fighter; I don't back down so easily. I fight for what I believe in, but his death brings me to my knees and makes me feel as though I am drowning. His best friend is there to pick me back up. He makes me feel safe and loved, even when I can't love or forgive myself. He shows up even when I don't want him to, and he proves that he is there. Encourages me to take that leap and believe in myself. But can I really do this? Can I live even without my brother here?

Nicolas Navarro me pediu em casamento sessenta e seis vezes em sessenta e seis viagens diferentes. Na sexagésima sétima, meu coração finalmente cedeu. No dia seguinte ao casamento, entreguei a ele sessenta e seis cartões de perdão. Um acordo silencioso: toda vez que ele me irritasse, poderia usar um para ser perdoado. Seis anos se passaram. Toda vez que a amiga de infância dele entrava entre nós, um cartão desaparecia. Quando restavam apenas dois, Nicolas finalmente notou. E era tarde demais para fingir que nada havia mudado.

I was diagnosed with Neurogenic Wolf Spirit Atrophy. In half a month, I would be dead. The day I received the diagnosis, I decided to give up treatment and donate my body to the Central Research Institute after my death. Through the mind link, I reached out to my brother, whom I hadn’t seen in six years, hoping he would help me sign the papers. He sneered and cut off the link without any hesitation. With the Spirit Severance Donation Contract, a formal waiver of my right to have my wolf spirit returned to my pack's sacred grounds after death, I crossed countless territories alone to the high-ranking city where he resided. He had been promoted to commander of the Silverfang Patrol, basking in glory. He casually signed the document without even looking at me, then said with chilling indifference, “Don’t ever come to me again. Given how ungrateful you are, I can't be bothered to give you a proper burial." I nodded lightly. “I understand.” He did not know that the money for his treatments in the past years had come from me. Now, there were only seven days left until my death.

My suitcase, filled with precious and expensive birthday gifts, was mistakenly claimed by another person at the airport. When I opened the one left behind, I found it packed with men’s clothes instead of my belongings. Determined to retrieve what was rightfully mine, I went on a frantic search for the man who had taken my suitcase. When I finally confronted him and politely asked for an exchange, he responded with the gentlest of tones: “Oh, I opened it and realized I’d made a mistake—it’s all women’s items.” I breathed a sigh of relief, ready to thank him and express my gratitude. Then he added casually, “I couldn’t use any of those things, so I sorted them out and gave them to my girlfriend. You’re welcome.” My jaw dropped. I could barely muster a response as I muttered under my breath, “What the hell?”