Finger Family Bubble Guppies

Lenora Bennet is my first love. After we start dating, she's been nothing but caring toward me. But on the day of our wedding, my older brother, Gideon Sloane, calls her on the phone and tells her that he's sick and hospitalized. Lenora doesn't hesitate to ditch me at the altar. My mom wants me to be the bigger man and let Lenora take care of the ill Gideon. Meanwhile, my older sister, Hillary Sloane, chastises me for being selfish. She thinks I never let Gideon have his way. I don't understand at all. Gideon is the one who's stolen my life from me, but why is it that my family wants me to be gracious toward him? But after that, I've graciously decided that I don't want them in my life anymore. Surprisingly enough, they keep begging for my forgiveness.

After I am diagnosed with stomach cancer, I ask for some money to buy medicine. I don't want to be in excruciating pain when I die. My three elder brothers rush into the ICU. Andy Lewis—my eldest brother—slaps me hard across my face. He scolds me for ruining his beloved younger sister, Summer Lewis' coming-of-age party. My second brother, Sherman Lewis, calls me a liar. He accuses me of pretending to be sick to swindle money from them. Jimmy Lewis, who is my third brother, calls me useless. He tells me that I deserve to die. My parents, Kenneth Lewis and Autumn Farrow, don't believe that I'm sick. They pin me with looks of contempt and ridicule. "You still haven't stopped that lying habit of yours even though you're all grown up. You even learned how to blackmail us with your death. "If you want to die, do it sooner. It'll spare us from being disgusted when we're forced to look at you day in and day out." I end up dying on the first day of the New Year. Before I breathe my last breath, I send a message to the family group chat. My entire family goes crazy after reading it.

Three months after my death, my brother is hospitalized due to leukemia. That's when my family finally remembers me after kicking me out. My sister, Ruby, texts me. "Caleb is sick, so get the hell back here for a bone marrow transplant. Mom and Dad will stop holding a grudge against you for stealing money." Dad calls me a few times, but they go unanswered. He curses, "How dare she! She didn't even bother calling since we kicked her out a few months ago!" Mom holds my brother, Caleb. Her gaze is full of heartache. "Jolene is an ingrate. She must be hiding because she doesn't want to save you. I'll find her, even if I have to scour the world!" None of them care about me. They have no idea that I died on the night they kicked me out of the house. When they tossed me out, my head bumped into a stone hidden beneath the snow. The snow was particularly heavy that night. It kept falling and falling. Later, when they finally start looking for me, they find my frozen body underneath the thick snow.

On New Year's Eve, my husband, Max Davis, took me to a private dinner hosted by a big industry player. We had barely made our way around the room when a strange woman suddenly shoved me into the pool. When I insisted on checking the surveillance footage and calling the police, Max firmly held me back. He warned me to "remember my place" and not embarrass him in front of everyone. In the brief time I changed into another gown, I returned to find that same woman perched on my husband's lap, her red lipstick leaving traces on his collar. "Max, you're right! That nasty scar on her stomach really does look like a centipede. It's so hideous!" She giggled with mock innocence, adding, "It's been so fun messing with your wife. Next time, can I slap her when no one's looking?" Meanwhile, Max gazed at her like she was the only woman in the world, gently tracing his finger over her nose. "Of course, you can," he replied, eyes still locked on hers. "I'll even tie her hands behind her back for you."

When I was having a heart attack, my parents, my brother, and my fiancé were all at our family casino—celebrating Eva, our adopted daughter, at her twenty-first birthday, her official debut into the mafia world. The doctor refused to operate without a legal guardian’s signature. So I called them. My father’s assistant answered. “Sorry, Miss. The Don is in the middle of a toast.” My brother and mother let it ring until it went silent. Finally, my fiancé, Adam, picked up. Music roared behind him. I could hear laughter, glasses clinking. “Cecilia,” he said, impatient. “If you can’t even show up for Eva’s party, stop causing trouble. Today is Eva’s debut. Every Don from three territories is here. Whatever drama you’re playing can wait.” I lost count of how many times they chose her over me. So after this call, I stopped calling. I signed my own name. My family thought I’d finally learned to be obedient. But they should’ve known that in our world, silence only means one thing—I was preparing to disappear for good.

Heating starts on the 15th, so I give my mom the money to pay the heating bill two days in advance and ask her to pay it for me. But a week passes, and it still feels like an icehouse in my apartment. I am on the phone complaining to my younger brother's wife, Selena Lyons, who lives upstairs. "You are right not to pay the heating fee. I paid, and it made no difference. We're freezing to death here." From the other end of the call, I faintly hear my nephew shouting, "Mom, it's so hot! I want a popsicle!"

My name is Elena Valesi Moretti. I'm a Brooklyn mob bride, a pawn in everyone's game. My father Enzo traded me for an alliance. My sister Isabella played the saint while secretly selling our baby sister Sofia to the Bianchi family behind closed doors. And my husband, Dante Moretti—the man with winter in his eyes who whispered “Try to run, I’ll break your legs” on our wedding day—he married me because when I was fifteen years old, I once pointed a gun at him inside a burning building. The only rule in this marriage was simple: stay out of his way. I spent three years breaking it. I sat in on council meetings and memorized every traitor's secret. I stood and watched a man's finger be severed to teach my own brother the price of betrayal. I turned myself into a blade. Then I uncovered the truth—Dante knew everything from the start. He knew my father had planted a mole inside his inner circle. He knew my sister was a trafficker's broker. He knew the woman he married was meant to be disposable from the very beginning. But there's one thing he never accounted for. He didn't marry a lamb. He married a wolf who learned how to draw blood. Now someone is trying to sell my little sister, and I have six weeks to stop it. I'm going to beat this man at every game he ever taught me.

Our family road trip ended in a cliffside plunge. The Moon Goddess told us that to survive, we must enter the werewolf world and conquer the cruelest Alpha in existence. Only by obtaining the Alpha’s "Token of the Blood Oath" could our family be reborn. My cousin Chloe, brimming with confidence, chose the identity of the "Savior." She attempted to replicate the "White Moonlight"—the lost love—from the Alpha's memories. Meanwhile, the "Spectators" from this world were blowing up the chat stream: "This family is interesting. Much smarter than the last batch." "As long as one of them gets the Token, they all resurrect. I’m betting on the blonde hottie." "For sure. The way that Alpha looks at her? His favorability is already maxed out." Just when we thought victory was in the bag, the next day brought devastating news. The first batch of family members who entered the instance were wiped out. And Cousin Chloe died the most gruesome death of them all. The tone of the chat instantly shifted to mockery and ridicule: "LMAO. Did they really think this was some fluffy romance novel? That’s the Rogue King who crawled out of a pile of corpses." "Forget his 'White Moonlight.' He wouldn't hesitate to kill his own Fated Mate."

My birthday present this year is a written contract titled 'Behavioral Reform Contract'. My fiance, who was the mafia head Matteo Giovanni, and my parents have already signed their names at the bottom. Together, they had me sent to the Behavioral Correction Center. … The windows are always shut, and the sunlight is filtered through the metal window bars. They drug, reprimand, and ostracize me to make me shove my feelings of aggrievement down. Even while I am being humiliated and punished, they teach me to force a smile and maintain a steady breath. It was all done in the name of "treating" me. A year passes, and I go from being a so-called "troublemaker" to their ideal version of me—quiet, elegant, and utterly perfect. Matteo beams at me and says, "You've finally become my perfect wife. We can finally marry." I match his smile, a gesture that they think means obedience from my part. However, it is not true. It is just me bidding my farewell before I leave for good. There's something I don't understand, however. They constantly found me lacking, so now that I am gone from their lives, why are they falling apart?

My father raised me on one principle: fair exchange. If I wanted anything, I had to earn it myself. Fifty cents for washing the dishes. A dollar for mopping the floor. Five dollars for a perfect score on a test. To buy the pair of white sneakers I had been dreaming of, I spent three months collecting recyclables. In that house, I lived like a pieceworker, paid by the task. It was not until my senior year of high school that everything began to crack. I collapsed during morning study, my body worn down by years of malnutrition. The doctor said I needed better nutrition. My father stood by my hospital bed and started doing the math. "Three hundred for the hospital stay. Two hundred for medication. Chester, this all goes on your tab for the future." I turned my head and saw a boy in a school uniform in the next bed. His father was feeding him spoonfuls of chicken soup, his eyes red with worry. In that moment, the world I had known for 18 years fell apart. It turned out not every child had to earn their parents' love. After I was discharged, I went home and saw the pair of designer sneakers on my brother's feet; it was worth thousands. That was when I finally woke up. I tore up the family photo and, without hesitation, applied to the college farthest from home. Ten years later, my father called me in tears. My brother had taken all his retirement savings, sold the house, and run off with his girlfriend. He was left with nothing. No home. No one. I smiled and tossed him a rag. "Want a place to stay? Sure. It's 50 cents per window. Earn your own rent."