Confessions Anonymous Novels & Stories

David said nothing; he was clearly angry at Roslyn but he’d refused to say it. They continue to eat in silent until David opened his mouth to speak; “I want to tell you something but I worried you’ll not talk to me again.” Roslyn knitted her brow; she pondered why David said that. “Well, if ya think I’ll not speak with ya again, why bring it up?” she asked. “You can tell me anything David; only if it doesn’t have to do with you cheating on me.” she told him sincerely; David shakes his rapidly in denial. “Far from it, the last thing I’ll ever do is to cheat on my wife.” “Then what is it?” asked Roslyn good-naturedly. He shifted uncomfortably in his wheelchair and sighed. “It’s about Dave.” Ro

He looked both ashamed and defensive. “But Cole…” “No, listen to me.” I leaned in. “You got ‘anonymous’ pictures. ‘Anonymous’ messages. That alone is a red flag. You can’t trust anything sent anonymously… especially when it’s meant to destroy a relationship. You of all people should know this already.” He looked away. I continued. “And what did Amber say when you confronted her?” He shrugged. “She denied it, saying she had rejected the marriage proposal but had hidden it from me because she didn’t want to hurt me. She tried to explain further, but I was too angry to listen. So… I just left and blocked her contact.”

Tension hung heavy in the air as we confronted them, our voices laced with a mixture of desperation and determination. "We need to know who is behind these attacks," Alexander stated, his gaze searching the faces of our companions. "This cannot continue. We deserve to live without fear." The room fell into a heavy silence, each person grappling with their own suspicions and fears. Then, a voice broke through the stillness, the words weighted with a mix of guilt and regret. "I have something to confess," Marcus, Alexander's longtime friend and confidante, spoke up, his eyes downcast. "I have been receiving anonymous messages, threats against my own life if I don't comply with certain demands.

Knowing that Erica could not be persuaded easily, Ansel suddenly confessed his wrongdoing: "Erica, I know that what I'm about to say might make you angry, but I feel like I need to confess something to you." Ansel paused to gauge Erica's reaction. As expected, his voice suddenly turned serious, which made Erica feel a little uneasy. She anxiously awaited Ansel to complete what he had started, which heightened her curiosity and also caused her to feel anxious. "What is it?" Erica couldn't bear it any longer and urged, "Please tell me quickly." Ansel took a deep breath and finally revealed his confession to Erica:

Tonight the church is empty and I’m sitting in his confession booth with my heart in my throat and my underwear already wet. The wood smells like incense and furniture polish, and when he settles on his side of the screen I hear his breathing change because he knows it’s me before I say a word. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” “How long since your last confession?” His voice is tight, careful, the way you handle something that might break if you hold it wrong. I give him the easy sins first because I want him comfortable. Missed mass, took the Lord’s name in vain, never visited my grandmother enough.

How do you confess something you didn’t choose. My chest felt tight, not dramatic, just quietly suffocating. Like someone had pressed pause on my lungs. I opened my notes app because that felt safer than talking. I typed. I need to tell you something. Deleted. Please don’t be angry. Deleted. I didn’t cheat. I swear I didn’t cheat. Deleted. My fingers hovered, useless. There was no version of the truth that came out clean. There was no sentence that did not end in loss. Another message buzzed in.

I spot a patrol car parked outside, lights off but engine running. My stomach drops. I slam my car into park and rush toward the entrance just as two uniformed officers step out. “Ronan Blackthorne,” one of them says, recognizing me instantly. “We’re conducting a wellness check.” “A what?” I snap. “We received an anonymous report,” the officer continues calmly, “expressing concern for the resident’s mental state.” I see red. “Who reported it?” I demand. “That information is confidential.” Of course it is. I push past them and take the stairs two at a time. When I reach Annabelle’s door, it’s already open.

But tonight, staring into the mirror at a face I barely recognized—painted wife, hollow eyes—I stopped waiting. The encrypted account blinked green when the files uploaded. Offshore accounts. Bribes labeled as “consulting.” Medical reports doctored until they bled lies. And tucked between them, proof that what was done to my body wasn’t healing at all. It was control. I didn’t need my name on the leak. Anonymous was enough. Anonymous had teeth. By 7 a.m., the world was chewing. ********************************** The first call came before breakfast—Veronica, voice clipped. “The board is convening early. Don’t leave the house.” Translation: don’t let him see you celebrating.

But I'm leaning towards someone he knows. ANONYMOUS is known for finding people, but I know if any one of my fellow hackers could find her, so could I. But the organization Mem works with is even better, more advanced if the nuggets he's dropped over the years can be believed, and I have no reason not to believe him.

Luther got bolder after that, his words sharper by the second. A smile tugged at Rachel's mouth, like she was laughing at us for not knowing our place. "People this unethical should be kicked out of the company. We can't let them drag us down." The second she finished, a voice came from the conference room door. "Oh? Who are you kicking out?" It was my dad. When he saw me, he smiled. Rachel thought it was for her. She stood right away and greeted him in a sweet voice. "Mr. Malone, we have two interns who refuse to learn and even tried to steal someone else's work."