Emotional Damage Artinya

I've been with my girlfriend, Erin Palmer, for five years. But the moment she finally lands the job she's always dreamed of, she dumps me. It feels like a blade twisting in my heart. Without my support, she would've never gotten to where she is now. What stings even more is discovering she's been cheating on me with my supervisor, Gavin Trent. Yet little does she know that this company is just one of the subsidiaries under my name.

My mom, who works as a lawyer, decides to take me to court just because I refuse to donate my platelets to my younger sister, Lindsey Finch. I explained to her that I have a blood clotting disorder, and having an extremely low platelet count would put my life at risk. But she screamed at me through tears: “Can’t you just stop pretending? Do you really have to let your sister die? How could I have raised such an ungrateful wretch?” I lost the case, and my platelets were forcibly taken. I suffered a massive hemorrhage and died a miserable death alone in a deserted corner.

While taking the high-speed train home, I came across a post online. “My brother-in-law is pushing thirty, but no wedding bells so far. Would it bother you if he came back to visit all the time?” The comments were all over the place. With the post blowing up, the poster started arguing with commenters. “It’s bad enough that he doesn’t start his own family, but he took one of my yogurts. I can’t stand him. “Geez. Does he know nothing about keeping boundaries? I’ve been dying to put him in his place. “I converted his room into my walk-in closet. Well, that should show him for staying here.” At that point, I stopped reading. Since I paid for the family home back then, one room would always be reserved for me. As I stepped off the train, my mother texted me. “I booked you a room at the hotel, Miles. “You might want to skip staying home this time.”

The day I found out I wasn't really an Adelson, Sharon—their real daughter—stormed in and stabbed me—over and over. Just like that, my shot at being a mom? Gone. Chuck Benetton, my fiancé, lost it. My parents swore they'd disown her. To "comfort" me, Chuck proposed on the spot. My parents handed me the severance letter—Sharon officially disowned—and told me to just focus on healing. Later, they said Sharon had run off and gotten trafficked in Nyamara, some hotspot for scams and lost souls. They said it served her right. And yeah... I believed them. Six years into the lie, I saw her—very much alive, baby bump and all, curled up against my husband like she owned him. "If I hadn't snapped back then, Yasmine never would've married you, " she said. "Thank God you and Mom and Dad backed me. Otherwise, that imposter would've landed me in jail. "She probably never guessed I've been right here, carrying your baby. Once I give birth, just fake an adoption. She can nanny our kid forever. "Thanks for everything, Chuck." She smiled like he was her hero. And he blushed. "Don't thank me. Marrying her was the only way to protect you. I'd do it all again." So yeah. The guy I thought loved me? He was always lying. My "parents"? They only cared about Sharon. If that's love, I want nothing to do with it.

My husband's parents are dead. He says I'm now his sister's mother figure and need to care for her like she's my daughter. I work myself to the bone to feed her and pay for her expenses, but she's not happy with that. "My classmates drive to school and have trips abroad, Lorey. Can't you work a little harder?" She takes my car away and treats me like a maid. That's still not enough for her, though. When she finds out that I'm pregnant, she threatens to take her life. "You said you would care for me like I'm your daughter. I won't let you give someone else what's supposed to be mine!" I curse her in my heart. Who gave her the nerve to act like this?

My neighbors across the hall had a nasty habit of stealing. This included my food deliveries, my shoes from the cabinet, and even my clothes drying on the rooftop. Nothing was safe from them. I had enough. One day, I placed a pair of shoes borrowed from my friend, who was battling an extreme case of athlete’s foot, outside my door. Not long after they stole them, they came banging on my door in the middle of the night, furious about the outbreak on their feet. They even filed a complaint at the hospital where I work. I was so furious that I invited a few homeless patients to move in. A muscular man with HIV, an elderly woman with syphilis, and a young man with severe mental health issues became their new neighbors. The thieves could not handle it and begged the landlord to evict them. However, the joke was on them. My family owned the entire building. If anyone was leaving, it certainly was not me.

When my brother Beau Campbell and I drowned together at the age of four, I was the only one who survived. From that day on, my mother came to loathe me. She would often creep into my room at night with colorful "candies" in her hand, trying to pry open my mouth. However, Dad always stopped her just in time. Later, I cut off my long hair and threw away all my dresses, desperately trying to become Beau's shadow. Only then would Mom spare me a glance. Three years passed, and Mom got pregnant again. She said it was Beau coming back to us. I was happy for her and told myself it was good that Beau was back. After all, it also meant this family no longer needed the stand-in who had lived in his place. So, I found the same "candies" Mom once tried to force into my mouth, and I quietly swallowed them.

The day my husband was away on a business trip, I received a notification for a hotel charge. As I watched the video on my phone of him kissing his secretary on their way to the room, I dialed his number. “Honey, you need to come home right away. Mom was in a serious car accident,” I said. Before I could finish, Xavier Smith cut me off. “It’s just a car accident. We’ll deal with it if she dies.” He hung up without a hint of concern and went back to his cozy time with his secretary in their hotel room. He was completely unaware that the woman in critical condition at the hospital wasn’t my mom. It was his.

My sister-in-law, Hannah Martinez, was eight months pregnant when someone shoved her to the ground. Due to the heavy bleeding, she was rushed to the hospital. I happened to drive past, but I rolled up my window and pretended I saw nothing, pressing down on the gas pedal. In my previous life, I had immediately taken Hannah to the hospital when I saw her pass out from the blood loss. However, the situation was critical. After the severe bleeding, she developed an amniotic fluid embolism. My wife, Lauren Martinez, was the best obstetrician in the city. I called her, begging her to hurry to the hospital. Yet, she thought I was throwing a tantrum out of jealousy because she was having dinner with her first love, Isaac Poole, and his family. She believed I was using Hannah's emergency to force her to come back. By the time her family finally arrived, Hannah had already died from the failed treatment of the amniotic fluid embolism. Her entire family blamed me for Hannah's death, convinced that I had deliberately caused Lauren to misunderstand and let Hannah die. My brother-in-law, Jacob Turner, who rushed back from out of town, believed their lies. In his overwhelming grief, he hacked me to death with a knife at Hannah's funeral. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Hannah was pushed and started bleeding out.

My wife, wanting to spend a romantic birthday date with her first love, added a dose of sleeping medication to the milk bottle of our sick, crying daughter. The medicine took effect, and our daughter drifted into a deep sleep, which allowed them to enjoy a romantic, undisturbed date together. When I came home, I found our daughter still sleeping. By the time we arrived at the hospital, it was too late. I called my wife, but she answered with irritation. "Is it because I'm celebrating Shawn's birthday that you must ruin it? I'll go home after the celebration is over." Then, she turned off her phone. Little did she know that, for the sake of one romantic date, she had taken our daughter's life.