Elemento Ng Emotional Quotient Mga Nobela at Kwento

During the holidays, I specifically go home to spend quality time with my family. Mom brings out a bowl of persimmons and says in a half-teasing manner, "This is for the Sherman family. Once you eat a persimmon, you'll be blessed with good luck. Outsiders aren't allowed to take from this bowl." Everyone begins fighting for the persimmons. I decide to grab one for myself as well. The next thing I know, the living room goes eerily silent. Dad drags me to the corner before he starts berating me. "You didn't get to eat any fruits when you were living with your in-laws, huh? Must you steal from our family? "Didn't you hear your mother saying that outsiders aren't allowed to take from the bowl? So why did you still take one? "Because of you, Vivian doesn't get anything at all!" I look around my surroundings. It turns out there are only eight persimmons when in reality, there are nine of us in the living room. Mom has been hinting at me the whole time that I'm the actual outsider here. So, I pass the persimmon to Vivian Andrews, my parents' goddaughter. Then, I dial my husband's phone number. "Kevin, there's no need to bring the holiday gifts over."

At a family dinner that weekend, my sister, our relatives, and I played a reverse version of "Never Have I Ever," where you bragged about stuff nobody else had done. By the third round, everyone was getting into it. Uncle Danny bragged about seeing the city at four in the morning. My cousin Kenny said he could play three instruments. I said I'd traveled to three countries for work. Then it was Sophie's turn. She lifted her chin, eyes lighting up. "I own a condo that's only in my name." A beat later, she added, "Mom bought it for me. She didn't want my future in-laws looking down on me after I get married." The table went dead quiet. I looked at Mom on instinct. She lowered her head and messed with her apron, refusing to look at me.

I spent ten years raising my stepson. Even though he never once called me 'Dad,' I never let him go without. Food, clothes, tuition, living expenses, I paid for everything. But on New Year's Eve, during the family reunion dinner, he suddenly spoke up in front of everyone. "Old man, I've got my eye on that apartment in the old district that's about to be demolished. Transfer it to me. I'll use it as my wedding house." I frowned. "That apartment is meant for your mother's retirement and your sister's education. Pick another development instead. I'll help cover the down payment." He slammed the table. "A down payment? That's nothing. "You want me to carry a mortgage at my age?" Then he looked me dead in the eye. "If you refuse to transfer the property, believe me, I'll make my mom divorce you." Instinctively, I turned to look at my wife beside me. But she only lowered her head in silence.

On the day we were supposed to get married, my girlfriend blew me off again, saying she was too busy. When I got home, there was a marriage certificate waiting for me in the mailbox—hers and her male assistant's. The date filed was today. I gave a small, bitter smile, set the certificate down on my desk, turned around, and ended things with her. The next second, my phone rang. Her annoyed voice came through right away. "Patrick, what is your problem? Why are you throwing a tantrum? You're a grown man—act like one." Before I could even say anything, I heard her assistant sobbing in the background. "Olivia, do you think Patrick got the wrong idea? You should go home. I'll be fine on my own." "Forget about him. He always pulls stuff like this—I'm so tired of it. You're the one who matters right now." The sound of my girlfriend gently comforting another man cut right through me. The call ended, and so did any last shred of hope I had left.

Because I refused to terminate my pregnancy to donate bone marrow for my younger sister, Selena Malone, she left behind a suicide note and threw herself into the sea. While my mother hated me for standing by and doing nothing, my father blamed me for being selfish and heartless. My husband, Lucian Crowe, sent me to the hospital to abort our child, forcing me to experience the pain of losing someone I loved. In the end, they joined forces to bind me to a sea stack, saying they wanted me to taste what it felt like for Selena to be swallowed by the ocean. By the time they remembered me, my corpse had already begun to rot.

I accidentally used the shared bank card linked to my husband, Ryan Newman. Before I could even leave the store, two officers pinned me to the ground and accused me of embezzling company funds. Right then, Ryan’s new secretary, Georgia Hawkins, called me. "Mrs. Newman, I was the one who reported you! Do you have any idea how hard Mr. Newman works for his money? "He works himself to the bone every day. You can’t keep spending so recklessly anymore! Starting today, I’ll be managing all your expenses. Every purchase needs my approval first! "Oh, and your monthly spending limit is now $500. You already spent $499 today, so don’t even think about spending another cent this month." Listening to her smug little lecture, I laughed. Georgia had only been at the company for a month. Just because Ryan treated her politely at work, she’d started acting like she ran his entire life. Little did she know, the company belonged to me. Every dollar in Ryan's bank account came from me, including her paycheck. As for the Mr. Newman she worshiped so much? He was just the man who married into my family. So what gave her the right to manage my money?

I'm adopted by my parents. They are very nice to me—so nice that they keep praying for my health and happiness before my bedtime every night. Later on, Mom is pregnant with a baby. I hide under my blanket and spend the night crying. Then, I secretly pack the tiny suitcase I've brought with me. But my parents don't send me away. Instead, they treat me even nicer. On the day my little sister, Freya Walker, gets born, Mom takes my hand and pats me gently on the head. "You're an older brother now. That's why you have a little sister to be with you." Dad lifts me over his head while spinning me in circles happily. "You really are our lucky charm, Ash! You'll always be our beloved darling!" Finally, I don't have to keep worrying about getting kicked out. From that day onward, I really think that I've become a part of the family. That is, until Freya smashes my favorite toy car model one day. I'm so angry that I smack her on the spot. She stumbles away from me, soon plopping to the floor. At first, she's stunned for a few moments, only to start bawling immediately after. Mom loses her mind instantly. She shoves me away before scooping Freya into her arms and keep asking her if she's hurt. Dad rushes over and starts strangling me immediately with frighteningly bloodshot eyes. "We've kept you around for so many years, and yet you have the gall to bully Freya? Believe me when I say I'm definitely sending you back to—"

When my best friend, Sienna Cross, found out I was married to a millionaire genius designer, she decided my life should belong to her. She wanted my face, my name, and my spot beside him. I was shaking when she strapped me to the operating table. Sienna smiled, thinking I was terrified. In truth, I was just trying to hold back my laughter. After all, she wasn't the only one anticipating this day. I was even more excited for it than she was.

The housekeeper deliberately reveals her busty chest when I'm out of the house. She says coquettishly to my husband, "Oh, my. This is an accident, Mr. Houston …" My husband looks like he's focusing on his drink, but he keeps sneaking looks at her. I see all of this from the housekeeper's livestream.

I am diagnosed with severe systemic lupus erythematosus, and I only have three days left to live. When my husband rejects my 188th plea for help, I take my test results and enter the hospice care center. "Hello, I'd like to schedule my own cremation process and apply for government aid." Ten minutes later, they arrive. Before I can speak, my lawyer husband, Jasper Horton, coldly slaps me across the face. "You're faking a terminal illness just to steal attention from Janice?" My doctor brother, Casey Carter, snatches the medical report from my hand and scoffs at it. "Lupus? If you're going to fake being sick, at least make it believable. Only one in a million people gets this." I endure the pain in my body, return to the counter, and hand in the application form and my medical records once more. The staff member sees the butterfly-shaped rash on my wrist and sympathizes with me. "I have no family left," I say. "I'm requesting cremation in three days, location doesn't matter. I just don't want my death to burden anyone."