Caption Story Novels & Stories

I booked a consultation with a renowned traditional medicine practitioner six months in advance to treat my surgeon wife's arousal disorder over the holidays. However, on the appointment date, Wendy did not show up. Just as I was about to call to question her, I noticed a photo her male friend had posted on social media. In the photo, my usually aloof wife was hugging the guy with a radiant smile. The caption read: [Only I can cure your problem.] But what caught my attention was my wife's flushed face in the photo, clearly displaying signs of arousal. With a cold smirk, I immediately liked and commented: [You must have magic fingers that work wonders!] The comment section exploded, with everyone speculating whether I would tear my wife's lover apart. What awaited my wife was our official divorce after the cooling-off period ended.

Three months before my wedding, my fiancé, Henry Siebert, decided it was the perfect time to drop a maternity photo shoot on social media—with my foster sister, Betty Foster. The caption? Oh, just this gem: [Legally welcoming our little one into the world.] Betty added a shy emoji. And my mom? She liked the post and wrote: [Once the baby is born, I'll help take care of it so you two can enjoy your time together as a couple.] I couldn't help myself. I replied with a single question mark. And then Henry's DMs came in hot: [She's just borrowing me for a year to get married. Once the baby's born, I'll come back to you.]

Three months pregnant, I doubled over in agony, blood pooling beneath me. I called Milo Prince in a last-ditch effort for help. The moment he picked up, his voice dripped with irritation. "What is it now?" My vision was blurring. Before I could cry for help, I heard his childhood sweetheart's teasing laugh. "No interruptions today, okay?" The line went dead in the next second. When I opened my eyes again, my belly was flat. I checked Jessica Clay's social media. A photo showed their hands intertwined, her wrist adorned with the Prince family's heirloom bracelet. Her caption read, [He said this bracelet was made for me, so I'm keeping it.]

On my birthday—the same day Troy hyped some "surprise" for me online—I saw a photo that afternoon. He was on my horse. With his assistant. His shirt hung open, red finger marks dragged across his chest. Caption? [First time in my life. Thanks to him.] The comments went wild: [Jealous of whoever touched those abs.] [That position... damn.] Troy liked that one. My chest went cold. I thought that side of him was just for me. Turns out—it could be anyone. I washed the horse myself. Scrubbed off every trace. Then I signed the ranch over to him. "You can give the rest away. Pick whoever you want." He lit up. I said yes to the arranged marriage.

My husband asked me if bras were more comfortable without underwire, and I was happy that he had finally become more mature. The next day, his assistant snatched the parcel I received in the mail, saying that it had the wrong address. That night, I saw Samantha Davis post on her social media, with the caption, “My boyfriend bought this for me. Isn’t it pretty?” It was a selfie taken in a hotel mirror, and there was a beautifully decorated box containing a bra lying beside her. So, as it turned out, it was not that men became mature later in life, it was that you weren’t the one they were willing to become mature for. Naturally, I gave the post a like and took a screenshot before sending it to my husband. "What a waste. You could have gotten an 20% discount if you bought the whole set."

04:00 AM. JFK International Airport. I switched off airplane mode, and my phone lit up. The first notification was an Instagram story from my husband, Donovan Valentino, Don of the Valentino family, posted at 3:30 AM: a photo of Seraphina Moretti’s back, captioned, “Run 50 completed. Package delivered safe.” An hour before that, my flight had hit catastrophic clear-air turbulence, dropping two thousand feet in seconds. I’d clung to my seatbelt until my knuckles turned white, the crumpled threat letter from a rival crew pressed like a blade against my ribs. In those blind, falling seconds, one thought burned through the panic: If I live through this—if Donovan is waiting at arrivals—I’ll tear up my transfer papers to Dubai and stay. But there were no missed calls. No messages. He’d been too busy collecting Seraphina. He knew my flight details. He just didn’t care. Four years of marriage. 50 fully armed security details for Seraphina. For my 112 long-haul flights over those same four years? The most I ever got was a driver in an unmarked sedan. Even the night Gambino’s crew tailed me from Manhattan, and I spent six hours locked in a diner bathroom. He didn’t pick up until dawn, after the twelfth try. My transfer to Dubai was confirmed. The signed divorce settlement was in my bag. This was the last time I’d ever come back for him.

A female student named Serena Anderson was in the middle of giving birth in a dorm bathroom at the university I worked at. But the baby had its umbilical cord wrapped around its neck, making the labor process a very dangerous one. So, I rushed over to the bathroom to help her with her delivery. But once the baby was safely delivered, Serena's roommate, Lynn Farris, was the first one to attack me. "Do you even have a conscience? You've never shown up for Serena in any way throughout her pregnancy, and yet you only show your face when she's giving birth?" Thanks to Lynn's words, I went viral on the Internet. I couldn't even defend myself against the entire Internet, so I ended up getting called a jerk boyfriend by countless people. The school board didn't want any negative impact on their reputation, so they fired me on the spot. Even my wife didn't hesitate to abandon me. When Serena woke up, she burst into tears and told everyone that I was the one who had violated her. Thanks to that, I became the most unpopular person in the city. In the end, I got executed by a few extremists in public. After I get reborn, I refuse to head over to the bathroom and assist Serena with her labor. "I'm just a campus doctor, so I can't take on a responsibility as important as this."

At the company’s year-end party, management tried to cut costs by using junk as raffle items. The prize box was filled with bottle caps, instant noodle wrappers, toothpaste boxes, and other trash. Everyone was only allowed to pick one item and scan the QR code on it. Whether you won anything depended entirely on luck. I casually picked up a bottle cap and unexpectedly won a car worth 500,000 dollars. As soon as the vice president found out, he rejected my win and demanded that I hand over the prize. “The company spent 20 dollars to get these raffle items from a recycler. Any prizes won have to be recorded in the books as company assets. They belong to the company.” My boss reprimanded me as well, “Have you lost your mind because you’ve been poor? Do you think you could have won without the company? You don’t know how to be grateful, and now, you’re trying to take company property. Stop causing a scene!” I did not argue and calmly handed over the bottle cap. Then, I turned around and called one of our clients. My boss had forgotten one thing: I was the company’s top salesperson. If he insisted on crossing me, I would make him lose five million.

While on a business trip, I stumbled into my brother-in-law, Julian Zeller, mid-act with a male colleague in a hotel parking lot. Furious, I blew the lid off his fake marriage and helped my sister, Yvonne Sutton, escape that scumbag. But after the divorce, she lost his financial support. She spiraled, blaming me for destroying her perfect marriage. She even killed me for trying to stop her from going back to him. Then, everything resets. I wake up, and there he is—slipping into the car while hugging the same man. I pocket my phone. This time, I won't ruin Yvonne's happy ending.

Terrance Burgess slapped me in front of the entire company, all because I accidentally knocked over his assistant's vase. My five-year-old son, Claude Burgess, stood off to the side, clapping like it was something worth cheering for. Afterward, the assistant walked up to me while holding the bouquet the father and son had given her, showing it off right in my face. "So what if you're the wife? The one who isn't loved is the real outsider." I looked at her calmly. "Then you'd better watch yourself. If he can have you on the side, he can just as easily find someone else after you." I used to think I had a happy, complete family. Until Terrance's assistant came along and made me realize it had all been in my head. The love from that father and son had already moved on to someone else. That was the moment something in me went completely still. I called a number I hadn't contacted in years. "Dad, I want to come home and take over the family business."