Frailty Thy Name Is Woman Novels & Stories

, I’m almost groaning. "Don't get me wrong,” she says slowly, her gelatine-like eyes burned with sincerity as she gazed at me. “There is a beauty in your rebellious spirit and all. Your defiance of women's place in our New Eden. And I admire that. But let's be real, Amber. It's a beauty that women in our position can't afford. Your defiance ain't going to get you anywhere, sweetheart. It’s just a slow, painful sucide," she said

The pitiful vulnerability vanished from her face, replaced by venomous desperation. "You think you're so superior, don't you? Yes! You're the rich heiress born with everything! You look down on people like us who struggle just to survive! Zach was always beneath you. He lived like a servant! "With me, he could actually be himself! What do you know about real feelings? All you have is money. What else do you have?" Security immediately stepped forward to restrain her. I paused and turned back to look at her. I almost found it amusing.

"To all men in the world… Think twice before breaking a promise to a woman. Never hurt a woman, because you never know what she may become. Their hearts are fragile; treat them like eggs. They care deeply about the men they love, but once you're off their list, your existence or demise means nothing to them anymore… "If a broken woman seeks revenge, be prepared to face the worst fate. Women are the salt of the earth; the sweeteners of the universe. Once they set their minds on something, they're unstoppable…

The person I had become would never allow anyone to walk all over me again. I would not back down, and I would not be fragile anymore. One day, all the weaknesses I once had would become armor that nothing could break.

No matter how much people mocked me, calling me foolish or masochistic, I clung to a stubborn hope—a fragile belief that I could change Mago’s heart, that I could make him see love as something more than a cruel game. That evening, Mago returned with a woman on his arm. The sight of them together was a knife twisting in my chest. My breathing quickened as I rushed to the door, intercepting them before they could step inside. I felt the weight of my decision settle heavily on me. Call me a martyr, but I refused to share my husband with anyone else. He could wound me, tear me apart with his callousness, but I would not allow another woman to take him away. The woman’s eyes swept over me with d

Something that would keep us awake at night, darken our spirit and shape us into the leader we needed to be. A soft knock at the door startled me as I was lost in thought. I wanted to move, but my body was still not responding to me. As the door opened, I pushed myself to step forward and sit on my bed. A woman with blonde hair walked in, her body skin and bone. She looked horribly bruised and so frail. I looked at her with such sadness. The life she had here was horrific. No one deserved to be treated like this. She gave me an uneven smile as she stepped forward, bowing her head. She turned and waved for three other women to enter. As they were equally frail and broken, they avoided all eye

Serena felt the big city sure lacked a bit ethics and etiquettes but at least it didn't believe the manner of caging women all life. "Well now you did." The unknown woman of early 20s commented as she passed a short chuckle out as a reply for Serena who smiled a little. Soon watching the woman pinch the flame of the cigarette on the railing of the balcony and then flicking the cigarette off carelessly the second later. Serena knew that the unknown woman did that to not make her feel uncomfortable with the smoke anymore. Serena appreciated that gesture well. At least she was considerate enough for her presence. "What is your name?"

No, it's easier to accept that Freya was an addict, and it was her drugs that killed her. Not her sick husband. There won't be any saving me, not from Paul. Not once he owns me. Which means I have a choice. Die, or do something drastic. The door behind me opens. The same older woman that fetched me from the bathroom steps out, looking pale. She's got big, blonde hair, fake nails, bright red lips. I think her name's Cathy, or Nancy, or something like that. "You okay, hon?" she asks. "We can fix your makeup real fast, okay? Then you can—"

“You are strong. You are going to get through this. And one day, you will just look back on this day as a reminder of your strength.” I pressed my lips together, too emotional to even speak. She was already walking to the door when I called out her name. “Olivia.” “Yes.” She turned around to face me. I looked at her. Looked at the woman who had weathered so many storms in her life and remained standing. She was strong but soft. Wise, but still kind and compassionate. She was a woman who understood that frailty is not being weak. She understood what it meant when they say people are flawed but still worth an inch of you.