Novel & Cerita Emotional Closet

My name is Ivy Lawson. At 3:00 am, I get a call from Christina McSpire, a parent of one of my students. "Hello, Ms. Lawson, I noticed Zoe only spent five dollars on her meal yesterday. Did she not eat any meat?" she asks. Pushing through my exhaustion, I reply, "Don't worry, Mrs. Street. I'll check on it tomorrow." Another half hour goes by, and she calls again. "It's supposed to rain tomorrow. Can you remind Zoe to bring an umbrella?" I can hardly keep my eyes open. "Got it," I reply absentmindedly. A few minutes later, my phone rings once more. "Please make sure Zoe brushes her teeth for three minutes. It's also important that she scrubs each side of her face at least three times." Suppressing my frustration, I calmly respond, "Zoe is in her senior year of high school. I'm sure she's capable of taking care of herself." I expect that to be the end of it, but when I wake up, my silenced phone shows over a hundred missed calls.

How crazy can night-shift nurses really be? As a doctor, I am well aware of this. That night, while making my rounds, I passed by the break room and heard strange noises from inside. Curious, I took a quick glance and saw two people in white coats pressed closely together, one in front of the other. One of them was Veronica Adams, a nurse widely admired for her beauty and innocence, often referred to as the hospital's 'angel.' When she saw me, she didn’t shy away; instead, she invited me to join them...

I was halfway through a sad cafeteria lunch when a livestream popped up: [Ring toss—whoever lands it gets the dog.] Onscreen, Alverton University's rich-boy squad cracked up, betting on who'd "own" me. Adrian Locke, the student council golden boy, flicked his ring. It landed dead center on my nameplate. "One month. Let's see which owner the little bitch wags her tail for." I closed the stream. Right then, a text from my dad lit up my phone: [Sweetheart, have you chosen your fiancé candidate?] I smirked, snapped a screenshot of the stream, and sent it. [Evaluation complete. All four disqualified.]

I had everything planned a month in advance for our holiday. I was going to take my wife and daughter on a trip to see the country's beautiful landscapes, but just before we were supposed to leave, they both disappeared. I ended up standing alone in the pouring rain, trying to call them. My daughter's voice came through over the phone—it was cold and impatient. "Mommy's having dinner with Uncle Skyler. We don't want to go anymore." Right after that, the call was cut off. I had been blocked. They locked me out of the house on purpose and left me to freeze out there all night. The rain had already drenched me, and I was running a high fever that turned into pneumonia. Meanwhile, the two of them were off enjoying a vacation with Skyler Shire. That was the moment I knew—this marriage was well and truly over.

Samson Carroll's father, who is the CEO of Carroll Group, is hospitalized, and my sister decides to return to the hospital to work as a nurse. She throws herself into the role—donating blood, helping with emergencies, and keeping watch at his bedside around the clock. Soon, everyone's calling her a hero in scrubs. One night, she blocks the hospital room's security camera. She plans to kill the patient and forge a will so that Samson will marry her. I tell her it's too dangerous. The Carrolls are an influential family with deep pockets and powerful connections, after all. A few kind words and a forged will aren't enough to sway them. But she lashes out at me, calling me an idiot. She says that everyone in Jansbury knows Samson does whatever his father tells him to do. I drag her home, still trying to talk sense into her. "The Carroll family has ties to both the authorities and the underworld. They're untouchable," I explain. "If Samson finds out you lied to him, the consequences are unimaginable." Halfway home, she grows increasingly agitated. "Tonight was my only chance, and you ruined it! You're just jealous I'm about to become a rich man's wife! Go to hell!" Then, in a fit of rage, she shoves me into an open manhole by the side of the road. When I open my eyes again, I'm back on the night I brought her dinner at the hospital.

The day I died was the same day as my twin sister’s birthday party. She was in tears and was wrapped up in my boyfriend’s arms. My mom was seething with anger and kept calling me over and over again. My brother was clearly upset and sent me a text saying, "You’re so selfish. You just can’t stand to see anyone else happy." Even my usually quiet dad was furious and said, "She’s nothing but an ungrateful brat." I touched my chest. Thankfully, it did not hurt anymore.

I had just moved in when the young male model across the hall called the police. He claimed I had fallen in love with him, turned bitter when he rejected me, and had been harassing him ever since—banging on his door, threatening him, and even trying to sexually coerce him. When the police showed up, he pointed right at me and started yelling, “Pervert! You knock on my door every night! You even use binoculars to spy on me, and you’ve been posting my photos online! “I’ve seen you! Standing by your window, staring at me, always trying to get close. It’s disgusting!” The neighbors gathered around, whispering and pointing at me. Someone even shoved me, calling me shameless. “Women like this are trash.” “She looks normal. Who would've thought she's a creep?” Under everyone’s accusations, I slowly took off my sunglasses, revealing the hollow sockets where my eyes should be. “Officer, how exactly is a blind person supposed to peep at anyone?”

I was the son of the wealthiest man in Capital City, but I had never enjoyed the flattery and fake smiles that came with that title. All I had ever wanted was a normal life. Now that I was pushing twenty-eight and still single, my mom finally lost her patience. She gave me an ultimatum: go on a blind date or she’d disown me. On my way to the date, I passed by a luxury boutique and spotted a watch that immediately caught my eye. I was just about to pay for it when, out of nowhere, a man barged in from behind and slapped a black card down on the counter. “I’ll take this watch. Wrap it up for me,” he said. I stayed calm and said politely, “Sir, I saw this watch first.” However, he just scoffed and snapped back, full of arrogance, “A broke nobody like you can look but not afford it. Get lost. I’m the assistant to Ms. Jackson, the CEO of Jackson Group. In this city, if I want something, no one will fight me for it.” Ms. Jackson? Isn’t that the exact woman I was supposed to be meeting for the blind date? Without another word, I pulled out my phone and dialed her number. “Selena,” I said calmly, “do you know your assistant is out here throwing your name around to bully people?”

On my birthday, my mother-in-law had just been wheeled out of surgery, only to be sent straight back into the ER. In a video newly posted by an intern, he was shown holding a scalpel and cutting my mother-in-law open, while the lead surgeon, who was my wife, was nowhere in sight. “Who says interns aren’t qualified to operate? No worries. My Dr. Lover dotes on me.” Colleagues flooded the comment section, saying the couple was sweet and that they were shipping them. I forwarded the video straight to the hospital director. Not long after, my wife called me. Her breath ragged and voice fragmented. “So I forgot your birthday. Is that reason enough for you to go to the director and accuse me of violating hospital rules? “I’m so done with your unreasonable behavior! Even if my mother sides with you this time, I’m still getting a divorce…” She hung up before I could respond. What she didn’t know was that her mother wouldn’t be taking my side anymore. Because the patient who went into massive postoperative hemorrhage and died during resuscitation, under the lead of an intern, was her mother.

I'm dressed in flip-flops and shorts when making an inspection of the five-star hotel my husband just acquired. When the front office manager spots me, she immediately calls for security with a disgusted look on her face. "The hotel's WiFi isn't meant for people like you to use. Hurry up and pay me 200 thousand dollars in Internet costs, then get lost!" I calmly tell her that I'm the owner of the hotel, but that only makes her sneer. "The owner of the hotel? Hey, old hag, you're putting on an act in front of the real deal! This hotel was a birthday gift from my husband to me. Aren't you fantasizing a bit too much?" Oh? Since when did Ian Lambert get another wife behind my back?