Daniel I Land Birthday

By our sixth year of marriage, Derrick hadn't touched me in three months. Said he was swamped at work. Always tired. After everything, I still believed him. Then on my birthday, I caught his friend talking in Garmenian—a language Derrick didn't think I understood. "You cut off the side piece yet? You were with her nonstop. Surprised you didn't drop dead. Your wife cool with that?" Derrick let out a smoke ring. "Haven't touched Audrey in months. Sabrina's insane in bed—I'm not over her yet. Sucks she got pregnant. Audrey doesn't want kids, so I gave Sabrina some cash. She'll have the baby overseas." My hands curled into fists. Silent tears streamed down my face. He glanced over, nervous. "What's wrong?" I smiled. "The cake you made is amazing. I'm really touched." It was sweet—but when you understand Garmenian, all you taste is betrayal.

Seorang pria yang merasakan pahitnya kehidupan harus mati dalam penyesalan. Mati karena pengkhianatan membuatnya mengerti betapa pentingnya kekuatan dan kekuasaan. Pada saat-saat terakhirnya ia berharap waktu bisa diputar kembali. Namun sayangnya waktu tidak bisa diputar kembali. Takdir berkata lain. Dia hidup kembali di dunia berbeda, di dalam tubuh seorang pemuda miskin. Pada saat itulah dia berjanji akan menjadi orang yang berkuasa.

I am the daughter of the Alpha of the Blood Moon Pack, my parents are very rich, but I have nothing. When black magic was eating away at me with a month to live, I asked to borrow ten dollars and they said I was "not worthy." I dragged my sickly body to buy the cheapest herbal medicine, but I saw them spending billions of dollars to celebrate my foster sister Vivian's 18th birthday. Tears streamed down my face, I just wanted to spend ten dollars on a piece of fabric and make my own ceremonial robe, even though I wouldn't live to be eighteen.

On my birthday, the dining table was loaded with all my favorites. My mom had been cooking and baking the entire afternoon, insisting everything be perfect for when Mike got home from work so we could celebrate together. But then, he called and said his first love had been drugged at a bar, and he had to go help her. I stopped him and begged him not to go. Mike snapped at me. "Jesus, Em, don’t pull this jealous wife crap. She’s alone, defenseless, and unconscious—I can't let some random dude take advantage of her!" My mother heard those words and was so enraged that she had a heart attack. She died on the spot. Just like that, my mom died on my birthday. I called Mike, asking him to attend my mom's funeral. But before he could reply, I saw Cathy Miller's latest Instagram post, captioned: [Mikey… after all these years, it was always you.] Mike had liked it. My thumb moved before my brain caught up, typing out the only words that mattered: [A homewrecker and a lying bastard. Hope you rot together.]

I secretly ordered a delivery of a thousand roses for my wife's birthday, hoping to surprise her. After the delivery was completed, I got a message from the delivery guy. [By the way, I tossed the trash by your door on my way out. Didn't expect you to be so kinky. Good for you, man!] He even sent me a photo. In the picture was an open trash bag stuffed with shredded pantyhose. My mind went completely blank. I was overseas on a business trip. My wife was the only one at home.

They grew up in a cult community that as a culture killed Russians, Bonnie, Donald and Dr. Markus are Russians. This is because 1000 years ago there was a war and before the war Russians used to oppress the black people so the black people rose up, some good Russians helped the black people rise up and for a time after the black people won the war and got into rule they made laws to stop the oppression and things got calmer and people were arrested for racism. One day, 1000 years later, a black ruler was dying so he gave his crown to his nephew who hated Russians and the nephew turned black people against the Russians and created a whole culture of hating the Russians, this started tensions between the two races and literally got babies killed, mixed people were killed along with their Russian parents, black people who made babies with them would be kicked out of the community that used to be Christians and the nephew's son started a culture of killing Russians 1 time a month on the 13th day of the month. RedBeeSAndAmber2's Real Name is Treasure Marie Denise Jackson and I am her, I collaborated with GOD A.K.A. Jesus Christ To help me write this book. The Writer is an African-American. _________________________________________________________________________ This story is copyrighted. (Copr. ©) The copyright symbol, or copyright sign, ©, is the symbol used in copyright notices for works other than sound recordings. The use of the symbol is described by the Universal Copyright Convention. Copyright refers to the legal right of the owner of intellectual property. ... This means that the original creators of products and anyone they give authorization to are the only ones with the exclusive right to reproduce the work.

As my murderer's claws tear into my abdomen inch by inch, my father and brother are seated in our family's banquet hall. They're celebrating Carly's 18th birthday and coming-of-age. "You'll always be my little girl." "Happy birthday, Carly." They light 18 pink candles for her. On top of the exquisite red velvet cake is a wolf figurine that they carved for her, and there are well wishes and laughter all around. Meanwhile, I'm curled up in a sewer filled with liquid silver as I bleed to death. My phone has been crushed, and I can't get out. I can only cry for help. A few days later, my father and brother show up together at the autopsy room. My brother stands by the operating table with a scalpel. He slices open the body and sews it back up like it's nothing. My father just covers his nose as he shoots a disgusted glance at my body. He urges my brother to hurry up with the autopsy report. "The victim is a young female wolf presumed to be of pure lineage. Before her death, she was subjected to prolonged captivity and torture. Her throat is nearly severed, her cervical spine is dislocated, and her chest cavity has collapsed. She was also injected with liquid silver before death." Hearing the report, my father looks so calm that it's just like a case study of no consequence. Neither of them can recognize that the body belongs to me—their daughter and sister!

Celebrating your birthday means you acknowledge your existence as a human here on earth. But what if your special day in life turns into nightmare that haunts you forever? What would you do? Kimberly Jade Quesada loves to celebrate her birthday every year eversince she was a child. Lahat halos ng gusto niyang regalo ay nakukuha niya magmula sa mga damit, gadgets at kahit na ang presensya ng kanyang mga magulang na abala sa trabaho ay nagagawa siyang paglaanan ng oras sa kanyang kaarawan. Ito ang petsa na palagi niyang inaabangan kada taon kung saan nakukuha niya ang lahat at nararamdaman niya ang pagmamahal ng mga taong nakapalibot sa kanya. Pero paano kung ang mismong petsa na minamahal-mahal niya ay unti-unting maglaho at mapalitan ng pagkamuhi at pagkasuklam? Anong gagawin niya? "No matter how many times we argue, I still think that you are the best and will always be the greatest mom here on earth," saad ko kasabay ng pagdausdos ng luha sa gilid ng mga mata ko. "Open your eyes for me, Hyacinth. Mama, hayaan mo naman akong makabawi sayo," pakiusap ko pa habang nakayapos sa malamig at nababahiran ng dugo niyang katawan. She loves to celebrate birthdays not until binawi ng langit ang dalawang regalong ibinigay sa kanya.

“Ma’am, there’s no marriage record between you and Mr. Mark Henderson in the system.” My fingers tightened around the pregnancy report as my legs nearly gave out beneath me. Five years ago, Mark was recruited by a top law firm abroad with a high-paying offer. Without hesitation, I followed him across the ocean. He had told me, “Once I’m settled, I’ll take care of your status.” However, five years had passed, and my lawful permanent residence was still “in process.” Meanwhile, his assistant, Tonya Irving, who followed him abroad, had secured hers under his sponsorship. Back then, I made a scene, insisting on a divorce so I could return home. For the first time, the ever-composed Mark, an attorney, lost his calm. He grabbed my hand and said, “Tonya’s all alone out here, and it hasn’t been easy for her. Helping her is just the right thing to do. You’re my wife. Your status is only a matter of time. My work is sensitive right now, and I need to avoid any complications. You understand, don’t you?” But I had understood him for five whole years. My phone suddenly rang. Mark’s voice came through, light with laughter. “Tonya’s permanent residence was approved today. We’re celebrating tonight. I need you to get home early and cook up a feast.” I stared at the marriage license in my hand—now nothing more than a worthless piece of paper. A cold chill spread down my spine. As it turned out, I was never his legal wife. I had no legal status and no protection, much less rights secured for the child I was carrying. After hanging up, I scheduled an abortion and booked the earliest flight home. This time, I wouldn’t look back.

On my 16th birthday, I treat myself to the most delicious cake I can find. On that day, before I can even take a bite, my parents, who are always at odds with each other, sign their divorce papers right in front of me. So, on my wedding day, I tell my wife, Keira Jarrett, "If you ever want a divorce, just get me a birthday cake." She hugs me tightly and promises me."Don't worry. 'Birthday' won't even be a word in our home anymore." Seven years later, on Keira's birthday, her assistant, Jackson Price, throws her a surprise party. She slaps him across his handsome, gentle face and kicks him out of Jarrett Group. That day, I am convinced I have chosen the right woman for life. But three months later, on my birthday, I find out the supposedly fired Jackson has been promoted to Keira's personal secretary. He personally delivers a custom-made birthday cake to me. I call Keira to demand an explanation, but her voice on the other end is cold and distant. "Jack meant well. Don't be a spoilsport." I freeze for a moment, then hang up. It turns out my parents are right all along. The only way a birthday cake tastes right is when it's served with divorce papers.