Disgrace Novel Themes Novels & Stories

My loyalty, her disappointment and relief could be easily seen in her brown eyes but I chose not to let it bother me much. I knew that the bloody ‘L’ word was quite unlucky for me and it was going to bite me in the ass if I let it consume me. Last time I said that, I ended up being an orphan. My father didn’t give two shits whether we loved him or not, he was too consumed by his greed for money and my mother was nothing without him.

I will list the possible trigger warnings below (I will edit this if there are any changes), if any of them make you uncomfortable, please proceed with caution or skip the chapters altogether. Thank you for understanding, and for supporting my work until now. I hope we can all be together till the end. WARNINGS: - eating disorders - self-harm - blackmailing - suicidal thoughts - mentions of rape (nothing explicit, I promise) - human rights violations (human trafficking, physical abuse, etc.)

She slumped to the ground, her head hanging low, as Noah's laughter echoed in the room, mocking her fears. Noah's laughter faded as Grace's thoughts turned inward, her heart heavy with unanswered questions. How many women had he slept with? How many had taken their bodies or virginity seriously when it came to him? The uncertainty chewed at her, filling her with a sense of betrayal and loss.

I've never felt pride in either family. Acknowledging it is one thing. Embracing it? That's a different story altogether. The Greys… they represent a certain kind of coldness, a calculated detachment from genuine emotion. They value appearances above all else, maintaining a facade of perfection while their inner lives are often a mess of secrets and resentments. And the Bishops… their ambition knows no bounds. They're ruthless, power-hungry, willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to achieve their goals. I carry their blood in my veins, their history in my bones. But I refuse to let their values define me.

I bet it would make ‘her’ sad if she heard this herself but, there is no hiding from the truth. Yeah, I was ONCE like her, lost and alone. I was skeptical of anything purely heartwarming in this world simply because I was born discarded of that right. Everything about me is a ‘DISGRACE’, they said. Those words gnawed this core of mine to emptiness. Every good act people made for me, they call it “bond”, but in the end, it was only for their own interest. Nothing, really. Nothing in this world had astounded me.

Vince was wild, he drank and gambled, was always fighting in the saloon in town and coming home scraped up, he was constantly courting girls he had no business even being near, more than one angry father had shown up on the Hart doorstep. Vivian's father was a stout man, an imposing figure, a rough sort of man who owned slaves. The Hart's disagreed with the practice but they refused to fight over it with their neighbors for the sake of peace. By the time John got to the Macabe house he had planned Vince and Vivian's marriage and the subsequent coup of Macabe land and freeing of the slaves.

Charmond had brought this expensive dress for her. They began to tell each other's fate as a noble wife filled with pride, but for some reason Grace felt that she found many people who were more hypocritical than herself at a time like this. A meeting that is only a matter of pride with the work and wealth they have regardless of how the husbands of the women play in the back, with treasures that they believe will not run out for up to seven generations. Do they care how the soul hurts when they find out their husband is having an affair? It must happen, because it is common knowledge for men who have money with big talk.

My grandfather was a thief. He stole my grandmother's acceptance letter and the New York scholarship she had earned under her own name, then used both to take another woman from an Appalachian coal town to Manhattan. Years later, he became a tenured Ivy League business professor who stood behind polished lecterns and lectured rich students about market ethics. The woman beside him became the darling of New York galleries, a celebrated artist who smiled into cameras and talked about female independence. My real grandmother, Grace Walker, was left in coal dust, trailer parks, and the kind of shame small towns pin on powerless women. People called her cheap and dirty. She died without ever hear

“You may see it that wat. But the truth is, this is you taking responsibility.” “Are you being serious right now, Dad? " Henry said, losing his patience. "She set this up.” “Even if she did,” his father said sharply, “you participated, didn't you?” Henry looked away. “I won’t be trapped,” Henry insisted. “You are not being trapped,” his father countered. “You are being held accountable.” There was sudden silence. Then, more quietly, Mr. Golding added, “Disgrace would stain this family more than marriage ever could.”

She tears her eyes away, her lips trembling, her throat dry. God, this is so messed up, she thinks, a scream echoing inside her skull. How is she going to break away from this? What will her family say when they find out? What will Gregory’s mother think, when the truth inevitably claws its way into the open? The shame burns through her veins, twisting with the desire she cannot extinguish. This is absurd. This is wrong. Society itself would brand her a traitor, a woman without morals, without decency. What kind of person has she become?